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 THE PSYCHOLOGY 
 MAETERLINCK 
 
 AS SHOWN IN HIS DRAMAS 
 
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 The Psychology of 
 Maeterlinck 
 
 As shown in his dramas 
 
 GRANVILLE FORBES STURGIS 
 
 IN THIS book the author has made an 
 attempt to humanize the plays of this 
 master dramatic poet. He has reduced 
 to their simplest terms the underlying mo- 
 tives and mental traits of the characters sketch- 
 ed in the dramas, and has succeeded in making 
 them stand out as realities, rather than dream 
 people shrouded in veils of mysticism. The 
 plays have been grouped and analyzed accord- 
 ing to their emotions. In making the class- 
 ification, the grouping of the emotions as laid 
 down by Prof. Theodore Ribot of Paris has 
 been largely followed. In a separate portion 
 of the book the author has told the story of 
 each play, developing the plot with reference 
 to its relation and sequence in scenes and 
 acts as written by Maeterlinck. This feat- 
 ure makes it a valuable book to all students 
 of Maeterlinck, for one quickly refreshes his 
 memory of each play without requiring to 
 have that particular play at hand.
 
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 THE PSYCHOLOGY 
 OF MAETERLINCK 
 
 AS SHOWN IN HIS DRAMAS 
 
 BY 
 
 GRANVILLE FORBES STURGIS 
 
 A. B., A. M., Ph.D., University of Denver, 
 LL.B., Columbia University 
 
 BOSTON: RICHARD G. BADGER 
 
 TORONTO : THE COPP CLARK CO.. LIMITED
 
 Copyright, 1914, by Richard G. Badger 
 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A.
 
 TO MY FRIEND AND INSTRUCTOR, 
 
 DANIEL E. PHILLIPS, PH.D., 
 
 HEAD OF THE DEPARTMENT OF 
 
 PSYCHOLOGY AND EDUCATION, 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF DENVER, 
 
 I AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATE THIS WORK.
 
 "There are two mays before literature — upward 
 into ever-growing subtlety, with Verhaeren, with Mal- 
 larme, with Maeterlinck, until at last, it may be, a 
 new agreement among refined and studious men gives 
 birth to a new passion, and what seems literature be- 
 comes religion; or downward, taking the soul with 
 us until all is simplified and solidified again." 
 
 W . B. Yeats, The Cutting of an Agate, p. 59.
 
 PREFACE 
 
 MAURICE MAETERLINCK, like our 
 English G. Bernard Shaw, has been his 
 own best commentator. Such action 
 forfends critical analysis of his plays. 
 He interprets their meanings and the purposes of 
 his characters. But altho he himself, and some 
 hardy critics have discussed his claims as a Dra- 
 matist, and the philosophical doctrines which the 
 Plays and Essays present, none has dealt with the 
 plays purely from a psychological standpoint. 
 
 In this Essay, I have been careful to avoid the 
 personal opinions of M. Maeterlinck or his wife, 
 and only once or twice have referred to their opinions 
 of the characters. Only by so doing could I hope 
 to bring any originality to my subject. The reader 
 will also be surprised to find that philosophy plays 
 so inconsiderable a part in my discussion. This is 
 intentional. Where philosophy creeps in, it is purely 
 incidental and subservient to the psychological. 
 
 In compiling the Brief Biography, I have resorted 
 to innumerable sources of information, and have en- 
 deavored to give credit to each Biographer for every 
 statement. As I have not had the great pleasure 
 of personally meeting M. Maeterlinck or his wife, 
 the Biography is not authoritative. It is inserted as 
 a portion of this work, simply because one needs to 
 know something of M. Maeterlinck, the man, in or- 
 der to comprehend him better as one sees his person- 
 
 5
 
 6 Preface 
 
 ality reflected throughout the dramas. 
 
 Doubtless, M. Maeterlinck did not write these 
 dramas with the careful psychological analysis which 
 this book strives to make. But each reader of a 
 volume is permitted to enjoy it from any side which 
 best pleases himself, for to afford enjoyment— as 
 well as education— is the purpose of all writers, — at 
 least of dramatic writers. Just as modern investiga- 
 tion has demonstrated the possibility of making phys- 
 iological diagnosis from the nature of dreams, so can 
 one read much of an author's character between the 
 lines of his writings. I do not mean to imply that 
 the worst or the best as separate parts are attributa- 
 ble to the author. But each man is a composite per- 
 sonality, and the particular trend which he has in 
 disposition, or character, depends upon the environ- 
 ment, and, to a much lesser extent, the education, 
 which modifies the hereditary characteristics. 
 
 The Appendix is inserted to make the main por- 
 tion of the book more comprehensible to readers who 
 are not familiar with all the plays, or who have 
 partially forgotten the plots, and the exact order of 
 events. I have digested these plays act by act and 
 scene by scene so that one can readily grasp the 
 method of development of character as it proceeds. 
 In so doing I have sacrificed much of the smooth- 
 ness and beauty which a simple relation of plot would 
 present, and, to a certain extent, deprived the reader 
 of the aesthetic scenic environment which is a large 
 part of the joy of Maeterlinck. It is the reader with 
 strongest powers of visualization who receives the 
 most pleasure from reading Maeterlinck's Dramas. 
 The Drama, which is a stenographic form of story-
 
 Preface 7 
 
 telling, assumes strong visualization on the part of 
 the reader. This very fact frequently makes the 
 physical presentation a keen disappointment, for It 
 usually is not in accord with one's own preconceived 
 ideas of environment, and interpretation of lines. 
 Yet this very reason draws one to repeated presenta- 
 tions of the same Classic, moved by curiosity to see 
 how some other person will objectively visualize the 
 drama, and In search of the pleasurable experience of 
 perchance seeing realized one's own apperceptions. 
 
 As a pure matter of record I have occasionally giv- 
 en the place of first presentation of such of the plays 
 as have been publicly acl;ed, and have sometimes 
 mentioned the name of the principal performers, and 
 occasionally said a word concerning the reception giv- 
 en the play by the dramatic critics. 
 
 In preparing my work, I h-'ve used the admirable 
 translations of Mr. Alfred Suti«^, Mr. Richard Ho- 
 vey, Mr. Alexander Texeira de Mattos, and Mr. 
 Bernard Miall. These gentlemen have translated 
 these plays for the authorized versions published by 
 Dodd, Mead & Company, New York City. 
 
 Granville Forbes Sturgis. 
 Denver, Colorado, 
 July, igi^.
 
 .]'K
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 MAURICE MAETERLINCK 15 
 
 HERMENEUTICAL PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 THE EMOTIONS 25 
 
 Princess Maleine 32 
 
 Pelleas and MSlisande 38 
 
 The Intruder 48 
 
 The Blind 55 
 
 The Seven Princesses 57 
 
 Home 64 
 
 The Blue Bird 67 
 
 Aglavaine and Selysette 86 
 
 Mary Magdalene 89 
 
 Monna Vanna 93 
 
 Sister Beatrice 97 
 
 Ardiane and Barhe Bleue 107 
 
 AESTHETICS OF THE DRAMAS 1 1 1 
 
 Joyzelle 113 
 
 Alladine and Palomides 120 
 
 The Blind 124 
 
 The Death of Tintagiles 128 
 
 RESUME OF THE EMOTIONS 147
 
 Contents 
 
 MAETERLINCK AS A DRAMATIST... 157 
 
 STORIES OF THE DRAMAS- 
 
 Princess Maleine 173 
 
 The Blind 182 
 
 The Intruder 184 
 
 The Seven Princesses 186 
 
 Pelleas and Melisande 188 
 
 Alladine and Palomides 194 
 
 Home 198 
 
 The Death of Tintagiles 201 
 
 Aglavaine and Selysette 204 
 
 Sister Beatrice 211 
 
 Ardiane and Blue Beard 215 
 
 Monna Vanna 219 
 
 Joyzelle 222 
 
 The Blue Bird 226 
 
 Mary Magdalene 238 
 
 Index 243 
 
 Notes 251
 
 MAURICE MAETERLINCK 
 
 A Brief Biography 
 
 "Heuretix qui, dans ses vers, salt d'une voix legere 
 Passer dii grave aii dotix, du plaisant an severe." 
 Boileau, L'Art Poetique, Chant.
 
 MAURICE MAETERLINCK 
 
 IT seems strange that France, the rejector ot 
 mysticism and ritualism, and the adherent of the 
 materialistic, should have fostered so great a 
 preacher of the aesthetic and symbolic as M. 
 Maurice Maeterlinck. Yet, every epoch of over- 
 zealousness in any line of belief, has had its rever- 
 sion, so perhaps our wonder is ill-timed. Be that as 
 it may, it is certain that the 29th of August, 1862, is 
 a date of great moment to France in the shaping of 
 her beliefs, for then it was that Maurice Maeter- 
 linck first saw the light of day at Ghent, the capital 
 of the province of East Flanders, Belgium. 
 
 He received his early education at the hands of 
 the Jesuit Monks of the College of St. Barbe, and his 
 work has been influenced by their kindly teachings, 
 altho, up to the writing of Sister Beatrice, his plays 
 have been pagan, if not anti-Christian, in their 
 teachings, and filled with the gloom of the grave, 
 rather than the sunshine of the Resurrection Morn. 
 Later he continued his studies with intent of becom- 
 ing a Jurist. But, like many who have attained 
 prominence in the Literary World, he turned from 
 the reading of dry tomes to the production of liv- 
 ing books, books which have thrilled all civilized 
 countries, for they speak to the hearts of men as 
 few books ever speak. 
 
 All his writings show the influence of Mallarme 
 and Albert Rimbaud. His plays are redolent of the 
 simplicity of speech with its strange, wearisome, use- 
 
 15
 
 1 6 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 less reiterations of words and phrases, which are 
 so strangely characteristic of such provincial cities 
 as Bruges and Ghent, altho quite unnoticeable in the 
 conversation of the sophisticated persons who claim 
 Brussels or Antwerp as home. His work is tinged 
 with the influence of Plato, Plotinus, Jacob Boehme, 
 Emerson, and Carlyle, altho, to quote a certain 
 French critic, "he is more of an idealistic poet than 
 a philosopher." He certainly has a wonderful pow- 
 er for couching phrases in the most graceful, the most 
 vividly beautiful words, which charm whilst the mat- 
 ter itself may be quite common place. What book is 
 more instructive, yet more fascinatingly exquisite in 
 its composition and delicate colorings than The Life 
 of the Bee? It is a sermon on psychology, and as 
 such is used in many a University. It shows a man 
 of careful observing powers and of painstaking ac- 
 curacy of observation and record. 
 
 He was twenty-four when he first visited Paris 
 and there met several literary craftsmen who turned 
 his thoughts from further pursuit of Law to the 
 calling for which Nature had intended him. About 
 a year later, after his return to Ghent, he brought 
 forth his poems. Serves Chaudes, (1889). His 
 first play came in 1890, La Princesse Maleine, quite 
 unfitted for acting, but which so pleased Octave 
 Mirbeau that he termed him "the Belgian Shakes- 
 peare." "M. Maurice Maeterlinck nous a donne 
 I'oeuvre la plus geniale de ce temps, et la plus extra- 
 ordinaire et la plus naive aussi, comparable et— 
 oserai — je le dire? — superieure en beaute a ce qu'il y a 
 de plus beau dans Shakespeare . . . plus tra- 
 gique que Macbeth, plus extraordinaire en pensee
 
 Maurice Maeterlinck 17 
 
 que Hamlet." While some may doubt his right to 
 that title, the careful reader will admit that there is 
 a striking resemblance in the methods employed, and 
 even in the style of beginning his plays. Compare 
 the opening scene of La Princesse Maleinc and that 
 of Hamlet. The likeness is startling. But I can't 
 agree with Mirbeau in his claim that Maetelinck is 
 "superior in beauty to what is most beautiful in 
 Shakespeare." Yet, if I had only the French ver- 
 sions and perversions of the Bard of Avon to com- 
 pare with the perfect French of Maeterlinck, it is 
 possible that I, too, might agree to such a sweeping 
 statement. 
 
 In the same year appeared the one act plays. The 
 Blind and The Intruder, two of the most startlingly 
 realistic plays of modern times, yet couched in such 
 beautiful terms, filled with such aestheticism, and 
 tinged with such deep philosophy that one is filled 
 with awe at the brain capable of their conception. 
 Then followed The Seven Princesses in i. 891, with 
 a setting such as he may have gazed upon from his 
 windows at Ghent,— leaden sky, green marshes with 
 grey canals like molten lead, a landscape conducive 
 of morbidness and thoughts of death and the grave; 
 Pelleas and MeUsande, 1892, the tale of people who 
 have grown up preserving the simple, innocent pas- 
 sions of childhood; Alladine and Palomides 
 Home and The Death of Tintagiles, all of the year 
 1894; then the triangle play, Aglavaine and Sely- 
 sette, 1896; his volume of Essays, Treasure of the 
 Humble In 1897, ^"^ ^^^ volume Wisdom and Des- 
 tiny, 1898. Sister Beatrice, and Ardiane and Blue 
 Beard appeared in 1901. Nineteen hundred and
 
 1 8 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 two gave us that strange play, Manna Vanna, laid 
 in a mediaeval setting, but with a very twentieth cen- 
 tury solution, one of his most actable of plays, and 
 more nearly fulfilling the modern conditions of the 
 stage than do most of his former plays. This play 
 was not successful in Paris, but its failure was prob- 
 ably due to the fact that it was not accepted for pre- 
 sentation by the larger theatres, and finally saw the 
 footlights at a very obscure theatre near the Boule- 
 vard St. Martin, and was staged with such cheap, 
 shabby scenery, and such make-shifts of costume as 
 to be swamped. Yet the same Paris had raved over 
 The Blind, and The Intruder, when these were shown 
 by Antoine at his Naturalistic Theatre Libre. Man- 
 na Vanna did not meet the requirements of the Eng- 
 lish Censor, and so was rejected when offered to the 
 London stage. 
 
 Joyzelle, a play which some one has described as 
 "a story showing how true love will survive all tests, 
 tragic in character, yet with a happy ending," came 
 in 1903, and marks a return to Maeterlinck's "earlier 
 idyllic and symbolistic manner." 
 
 But his crowning master-piece (chef-d'oeuvre) 
 was reserved until 1908, The Blue Bird. It is a 
 remarkable Fairy Tale, easily understood by the 
 children in the audience, yet with so much mysticism 
 and philosophy beneath its gentle surface, that one 
 could write volumes illuminating and discussing its 
 teachings. It is an inspiration to everyone who 
 reads it, and each re-reading discloses unseen beau- 
 ties of language and thought. Our own English- 
 speaking Barrie gave us something very similar in 
 Peter Pan. In his play Maeterlinck has expanded
 
 Maurice Maeterlinck 19 
 
 and illuminated the old Latin inscription which is 
 engraved in the stone over the entrance to his subur- 
 ban home at Passy, and which reads like this: — 
 
 "Whoever turns his outer sense 
 
 To see his soul aright 
 He hears when no one speaks to him, 
 
 Walks seeing through the night." 
 
 The same ideas and philosophies are revealed in 
 his essays, Life of the Bee, (1901), The Buried 
 Temple (1902), The Double Gardeti (1904), his 
 wonderful essay, the companion of The Life of the 
 Bee, The Litelligence of the Flowers (1906), and 
 his much-discussed Death (1911). 
 
 His play based on the New Testament Character, 
 Mary Magdalene, was produced in 19 10, It remark- 
 ably reflects Biblical times, altho it may offend one's 
 preconceived Christian notions concerning the his- 
 torical characters involved, and in some ways is dis- 
 tasteful, not to say sacrilegious, to those of us who 
 are of Puritan ancestry. 
 
 Of the personal appearance of the man himself, 
 this can be said,— he is rather chubby, with blue eyes 
 and hair turning grey, his cheeks a rosy pink, his 
 personality suggestive of the Irish rather than the 
 French. He has the soul of the poet, with its strange 
 alternation of personality, today pensive, sad, mel- 
 ancholy, given to deep reflection, and much philo- 
 sophic speculation. "Temperament is the source of 
 many of the most striking mental differences between 
 individuals and peoples." Maeterlinck comes by 
 his temperament naturally, for the line from which
 
 20 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 he descends, has long been famed for love of the 
 mystical and the preternatural. On other days Mae- 
 terlinck is filled with the sheer "joy of living," as 
 Sudermann calls it. 
 
 His wife. Georgette Le Blanc, whom he calls "his 
 other self," is in harmony with her famous husband, 
 and tunes her temperament to his, now sitting by 
 the hour at his side, silently sewing, demonstrating 
 the firmness of their friendship by the fact that they 
 can enjoy each other's company in silence, or again 
 stewing over the stove in the kitchen of the ancient 
 Abbey of St. Wandrille in Normandy, their summer 
 home. The next day may find them indulging in a 
 Bacchanalian revelry, much to the astonishment of 
 their simple peasant neighbors; or, perchance, pre- 
 senting Maeterlinck's own translation of Shakes- 
 peare's Macbeth (as was done in 1909) with Mme. 
 Maeterlinck as the heroine, and the play staged in 
 various portions of the Abbey and estate, the exclu- 
 sive audience of fifty, composed of some of the 
 greatest geniuses of France, moving about with the 
 players as they changed from place to place. 
 
 Maeterlinck is a normal man, filled with the ex- 
 uberance of life and health, fond of skating, bi- 
 cycling, motoring, tending his bees, delving in his 
 garden or pruning in his orchard. 
 
 Madame Maeterlinck was a prominent lyric so- 
 prano at the Opera Comique in Paris, where she suc- 
 ceeded Mme. Emma Calve in Massenet's opera, 
 Sapho. She very naturally bears the French form, 
 Georgette Le Blanc, of her Italian father's Vene- 
 tian name, Bianconi, for she herself was born in 
 France. It is said that M. Maeterlinck was drawn
 
 Maurice Maeterlinck 21 
 
 to the pretty singer with the eyes of mysterious col- 
 oring, now grey, now blue, and with depths accentu- 
 ated by skilfully shaded eyelashes, because she so 
 intensely admired his own translation of the Essays 
 of Emerson. She is a mystic, "a student of Vedanta 
 Philosophy and the Science of Yoga, an occultist and 
 a crystal gazer," and something of a humorist, for 
 she has composed an admirable Code for fVives 
 which would be of quite some help in solving the 
 reasons for domestic infelicity. It will be of inter- 
 est to add that her sister is the wife of Maurice Le 
 Blanc, the author of Arsene Lupin, which was so 
 widely read as a novel, and much enjoyed as a play 
 in the United States in 1909. 
 
 Claude Debussy set Pellcas and Melisande to mu- 
 sic and it was produced at the Opera Comique in 
 1902 with Mme. Maeterlinck in the title role. But 
 the famous author quarreled with the director, M. 
 Carr, and then it was that his wife withdrew from 
 the Company, and became a dramatic actress, ap- 
 pearing the same year in Germany and Austria in 
 Monna Vanna, which her husband wrote especially 
 for her debut as an actress. Joyzelle followed. 
 
 Prior to his marriage it has been said that Mae- 
 terlinck "was an apostle of triumph of Death over 
 Life, but after his marriage he became the apostle 
 of Joy and Love." Certainly the advent of Mme 
 Maeterlinck into his life has changed his views and 
 brightened his literary productions. To the poetic 
 temperament, love of a pure woman always seems 
 essentia] for inspiration to the best work.
 
 HERMENEUTICAL PSYCHOLOGY 
 OF THE EMOTIONS 
 
 "Imagine that you are listening to a drama. You 
 feel an increased sense of reality. Through the in- 
 terpretation of the drama you feel life more in- 
 tensely. The same is true when you listen to good 
 music. Philosophy ought to do the same. It should 
 make us feel an increased sense of reality, of vi- 
 tality." 
 
 Henri Bergson's Ideal for Philosophy.
 
 HERMENEUTICAL PSYCHOLOGY OF THE 
 
 EMOTIONS 
 
 ALTHO Maurice Maeterlinck has been 
 termed "the Belgian Shakespeare," there 
 is a very striking difference between the 
 methods of presentation of subject by 
 these authors. With Shakespeare it is always the 
 objective which interests and holds the spectator; 
 with Maeterlinck it is the subjectives which gripe. 
 Probably the reason that so many disputes have 
 arisen as to Maeterlinck's value and claims as a 
 genius can be attributed to this very fact. One is so 
 astonished by the absence of action, as that term is 
 understood in common parlance, that he hastily re- 
 fuses to admit his claims as a Dramatist. It is true, 
 "one may get a certain pleasure from the perception 
 or contemplation of an object without feeling any 
 admiration," as William McDougall has so well 
 phrased it. 
 
 Let us consider for an instant the Tent Scene in 
 Richard the Third, where the eve before battle Rich- 
 ard has that terrible nightmare in which the subcon- 
 scious, taking advantage of the absence of the per- 
 sonality, as is the case in natural sleep, runs riot 
 through the wearied brain, and presents all the crimes 
 which Richard has committed and which lay heavy 
 upon his guilty conscience. Says M. Henri Berg- 
 son, "Every feeling, however simple it may be, con- 
 tains virtually within it the whole past and present 
 of the being experiencing it." A fine actor can make 
 
 25
 
 26 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 the psychological chills play along the marrow of 
 our spinal column so that the scene is almost unen- 
 durable, and its dreadful impressions of blood will 
 haunt us in our waking and sleeping hours. But 
 even a less capable actor will be able to make a won- 
 derful impression. The strength of the scene hes 
 in its words, and the physical presentment of the un- 
 canny apparitions, not in the peculiar inner tempera- 
 ment of the actor himself. 
 
 The contrary is true of Maeterlinck. Think of 
 the final scene in The Death of Tintagiles. There 
 we see no apparitions, but they are ever present, and 
 the very atmosphere is surcharged with horror. They 
 are more real than any "air-drawn daggers" such as 
 Shakespeare presents in Macbeth. Shakespeare 
 shows us the Ghost of Banquo, whereas, had Mae- 
 terlinck been writing the scene, the same effect with 
 even greater thrills would have been realized with- 
 out any banal attempt at the embodiment of the hor- 
 rid figure of charnel death. But, as Maeterlinck 
 himself has said in Monna Fanna, "Each man has 
 his destiny. Some follow an idea, others a desire.'' 
 The atmosphere of Maeterlinck's plays is always 
 charged with fear, death, mystery, disaster, and of 
 these intangible factors Maeterlinck makes aesthetic 
 material. There is always the sense of remoteness 
 in his plays. We look on as if in a dream. Indeed, 
 in some presentations a black veil of gauze has been 
 placed between the spectators and the players. Mae- 
 terlinck's ability to induce this psychological frame of 
 mind whilst we are witnessing the unfolding of his 
 dramas, makes us accept without cavil what we may 
 later dispute when in our waking consciousness, for
 
 Hermeneutlcal Psychology of the Emotions 27 
 
 "a consciousness in which change and variety is most 
 evident is a dreaming consciousness." 
 
 Shakespeare and the modern dramatists at large 
 always present their subjects in the concrete, and this 
 form is the better from a commercial view-point, be- 
 cause, as Gordon Craig has claimed at much length 
 in his On the Theatre Essays, the modern actor as a 
 rule is not endowed with very great mentality, and 
 has to rely upon the symbolic gestures with which 
 years of custom have made us all familiar, in order 
 to interpret the emotional moods of the characters. 
 "Every emotion, no matter how complex it may be, 
 has its characteristic conjunction of motor tendencies, 
 which together give rise to the characteristic atti- 
 tudes and expressions of the emotion. How true this 
 is we may realize by considering how successfully a 
 skillful actor can portray even the most complex 
 emotions." Mrs. Fiske and Mme. Nazimova, the 
 Russian, for example, illustrate the difference in pre- 
 sentation which I am claiming. These two ladies 
 belong to the class which critics have called "intel- 
 lectual actresses." They appeal to the intellect al- 
 ways. A pause in their hands may be freighted with 
 vast import and means far more than countless words 
 spoken by less capable players. 
 
 Maeterlinck is the dramatist of personality, 
 Shakespeare of character. The one writes of mental 
 states, the other of physical. With Maeterlinck we 
 feel gaunt fear as he stalks across the boards in the 
 background; with Shakespeare we see him objec- 
 tively as projected in the fleshly embodiment of some 
 of the principal charcters. The one writes as it were 
 of an emotion, the other of an instinct. The differ-
 
 2 8 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 ence between these states is well defined by Mr. 
 James, — "An emotion is a tendency to feel, and an 
 instinct is a tendency to act characteristically when 
 in the presence of a certain object in the environ- 
 ment." 
 
 It would seem that this type of fictional writing 
 came in with George Eliot, and that she was the 
 first of our English novelists to write of moods, to 
 describe the progress of thought, to develop mental 
 characteristics, and to dissect human souls. Other 
 writers described the outward peculiarities, the sym- 
 bols which pointed to mental eccentricities, but 
 George Eliot went to the basis of the whole matter, 
 and dealt with the brain itself from which spring our 
 strongest emotions. It is a conscious psychological 
 analysis of the mind which George Eliot and the 
 modern Continental writers make, as opposed to the 
 unconscious analysis of the earliest poets such as 
 Homer and Virgil. Sophocles seems to press toward 
 a psychological analysis in his direct and logical con- 
 clusions, but he ranks as a Philosopher rather than a 
 Dramatist. 
 
 There are two well-defined sources of emotion, — 
 the one from within, the other from without; the 
 one arising directly from a mental disturbance, the 
 other from some physical cause. We may accept or 
 reject the James-Lange Theory as to the cause of 
 emotion, but it remains certain that an emotion from 
 whichever source it springs, upsets the functioning of 
 both brain and body, and creates a chemical change. 
 Not to go at length into a discussion, such change 
 may continue indefinitely in the system causing vari- 
 ous ills, physical and mental. Empiricism leads many
 
 Henneneutical Psychology of the Emotions 29 
 
 to contend that the emotion which springs from the 
 subjective-self must always be the stronger and of 
 more lasting duration, and the objective the weaker, 
 and purely a secondary emotion. But this apparent 
 exception is simply because they have the chief cause 
 within, altho they attribute it to outer causes. The 
 majority of players will suffer considerably when first 
 rehearsing a strong part because the emotion springs 
 directly from the mind; later the inconvenience at- 
 tendant a performance becomes very much less, be- 
 cause the emotion has transformed itself into the ob- 
 jective, and the bodily symbolism of gesture stands 
 in place of the subjective emotion. There must be 
 a chemical reaction, as the James-Lange Theory 
 rightly claims, but the immediate effect of this ob- 
 jective upon the individual will be minimum, altho 
 its cumulative post-effect upon the nervous organi- 
 zation may be serious. 
 
 It is a mooted question as to whether a long suc- 
 cession of performances of the same character are 
 more injurious than a repertory of many characters. 
 In the "long run" the mind becomes so wearied and 
 so automatic from constant repetition, that any dis- 
 traction which occurs during a performance is likely 
 to drive the words completely from the mind, and no 
 amount of prompting will avail to suggest again the 
 flow of interrupted thought. Some players are driven 
 to complete nervous collapse from repeated perform- 
 ances of the same role. They come to depend upon 
 the subconscious to such an extent that the living mind 
 no longer controls, and they become terribly nervous 
 lest the subconscious shall fail them. "The oftener 
 the object of the sentiment becomes the object of any
 
 30 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 one of the emotions comprised in the system of the 
 sentiment, the more readily will it evoke that emotion 
 again, because, in accordance with the law of habit, 
 the connexions of the psycho-physical dispositions 
 become more intimate the more frequently they are 
 brought into operation." On the other hand, the 
 person appearing in repertory keeps well to the fore- 
 ground his own personality, and seldom confuses the 
 fictitious man with the real man. Yet he is under 
 an actual nervous strain lest words slip from his 
 active memory, for he appears so infrequently in each 
 character that the subconscious does not become a 
 very active factor in memory. Frequent change of 
 role seems to make for better health in the consci- 
 entious player. But the effects of weekly change of 
 play, as seen in Stock Companies, is not particularly 
 healthful, altho the memory soon becomes trained to 
 accomplish incredible feats of retentive memory, and 
 cultivates the very desirable faculty of dismissing 
 from mind the parts which have been discarded each 
 week. In cases such as these, the player usually 
 has to relearn a role if there be a revival of a play, 
 and at the end of a Season he has much difficulty to 
 recall even the names of the characters, and often 
 the names of the plays themselves in which he has 
 been seen that year. 
 
 A long time ago I read a very interesting psycho- 
 logical article dealing with the death of the late Sir 
 Henry Irving. Sir Henry died directly after appear- 
 ing in Tennyson's beautiful historic play Becket. 
 The night previous he had appeared in The Bells, 
 that Polish Drama which is among the earliest to 
 make use of hypnotism in extracting a confession
 
 Hermeneutical Psychology of the Emotions 31 
 
 from a man accused of crime. Its correctness in 
 assuming that possibility we need not discuss, altho 
 Prof. Jastrow and several other psychologists would 
 doubtless agree that such a thing is possible. It does 
 raise an intersting question of ethics. Sir Henry had 
 for long been ill, and was in a weakened condition of 
 health. Against the advice of his physician, he 
 appeared in The Bells, and the author of the 
 article in question claimed that The Bells 
 was the direct cause of death, that the 
 psychological strain of depicting the character 
 of Mathias had left its fatal imprint, and that 
 it remained only for the less exacting emotion of 
 Beckett to produce death. The writer then went on 
 to show that playing The Bells through the years, 
 and Sir Henry seldom appeared in it two nights in 
 succession, had little by little undermined his consti- 
 tution. 
 
 The deduction which we are justified in making is, 
 that the objective emotions, even when well under 
 the control of the subjective, do leave their physical 
 impress, and frequently their psychical, and may in 
 time act as cumulative poisons in the system, 
 and finally affect a disintegration of personality, and 
 even a complete physical dissolution, as in the case 
 just cited by way of discussion. There are countless 
 cases on record which might be cited to uphold the 
 contention, but the statement is sufficiently strong 
 to make the point. The subconscious is a normal 
 function intended to aid in every day labor, but it is 
 capable of abnormal variation which may lead to a 
 dissolution of personality.
 
 PRINCESS MALEINE 
 
 PRINCESS MALEINE is the first play pub- 
 lished by M. Maurice Maeterlinck, and is 
 the one which called forth such effusive 
 praise upon the part of M. Octave Mirbeau, 
 who then likened him to Shakespeare. At first glance 
 one fails to appreciate the reason for such extrava- 
 gant admiration. The drama is impossible as an act- 
 ing play. As Miss Ethel Puffer says, "The acting 
 play is the play of confrontations." There are no 
 less than twenty-four scenes in this play, and the cast 
 is long. 
 
 The symbolism which underlies all of Maeter- 
 linck's writings, and "the lurking universality, the 
 adumbration of greater things," is what makes his 
 plays fascinating. The lines, as we know, are often 
 commonplace, and the casual reader casts aside the 
 book as worthy only of the Kindergarten. But the 
 more one reads and ponders, the deeper is the im- 
 pression, and the greater the admiration which one 
 feels for a man of so keen a philosophical mind, a 
 man who has made psychological study of the whole 
 world of nature. 
 
 "Know then thyself, presume not God to scan ; 
 The proper study of mankind is man," 
 
 wrote Alexander Pope, and Charron said something 
 very similar in De la Sagesses, when he wrote, "La 
 vraye science et le vray etude de I'homme c'est 
 I'homme." And again, Pascal in Systemes des Phil- 
 osophes writes, "Quelle chimere est-ce done que 
 
 32
 
 Princess Maleine 33 
 
 rhomme ! quelle nouveaute, quel chaos, quel sujet de 
 contradiction ! Juge de toutes choses, imbecile ver 
 de terre, despositaire du vrais, amas d'incertitude, 
 gloire et rebut de I'univers." 
 
 The study of the progressive stages of senility in- 
 duced by over sexual indulgence and excitement is as 
 carefully traced by Maeterlinck in the character of 
 King Marcellus, as could be traced by a pathologist. 
 It is the same picture which Kipling has painted in his 
 poem, The Vampire. Queen Anne is of that excep- 
 tional class of women who prey upon the weaknesses 
 of men and suck their very life-blood. 
 
 The old become insensible to suffering because of 
 their diminishing memory of past pain, and their 
 self-absorption. So this King, not only aged, but 
 mentally diseased, is so dulled that after sharing in 
 the cold-blooded murder of little Princess Maleine, 
 and after witnessing the murder of his paramour, 
 Queen Anne, by his own son, he is swayed by the v^ery 
 rudimentary emotion, the pang of hunger. After 
 commenting upon the fact that he will be alone, "At 
 seventy-seven years !" he says in a very matter-of-fact 
 tone, "Let us go to breakfast." Then, his thought con- 
 trolled for a moment by the pleasure-pain of the re- 
 past before him, inquires, "Will there be salad for 
 breakfast? I should like a little salad." But his 
 mind wanders, and he drops into a mood of sorrow, 
 and comments on his sadness, and the "unhappy 
 look" of the dead ! He is too far gone mentally to 
 suffer grief, for that emotion has less of the tender 
 emotion, and more of anger. He has long since be- 
 come incapable of feeling anger, or even pity. He 
 can feel only such emotions as affect his very lowest
 
 34 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 sensibilities. In the reverse order in which man ac- 
 quires the use of his senses, so he loses them, altho 
 the sex passion (the latest in development) in its sim- 
 plest manifestations usually endures to the very end, 
 just as Maeterlinck indicates in the case of King Mar- 
 cellus. Truly this study bears out the Scriptural 
 words, "The wages of sin is death." 
 
 Little Princess Maleine does not seem to offer any 
 complications. She Is only an Immature child. It 
 is a careful study of juvenile psychology, but of it 
 little more can be said. Her little ruse of lying to 
 the Princess Uglyane in order to prevent her keep- 
 ing her tryst In the garden with Prince Hjalmar, Is 
 childish. A mature woman would have resorted to 
 other means to rid herself of her rival. But at no 
 time does Maleine rise to a vengeful emotion. The 
 self-regarding sentiment seems to be undeveloped. 
 Her simple unaffectedness,her genuine lack of sophis- 
 tication, are what recommend her to Prince Hjalmar. 
 
 In Uglyane there is nothing pretty or attractive, 
 —not even her name. She Is a negative character, 
 written as a foil to the simple naturalness of Maleine. 
 There Is something so like Cordelia of Shakespeare in 
 Maleine, that one keeps comparing them when read- 
 ing the play. Indeed, the entire play smacks of Shake- 
 speare, In the opening scene of Hamlet, and then 
 shows the Influence of King Lear. The two plays. 
 King Lear and Princess Maleine, are not at all alike, 
 but there Is something about the emotionalism which 
 one experiences In perusing them, which inevitably 
 raises the comparison. 
 
 Queen Anne Is the "scarlet woman," as we have 
 already said. She is an adventuress. She is swayed
 
 Princess Maleine 35 
 
 by her sex passion, which is a perversion of the nor- 
 mal sexual instinct. There is no tender emotion, 
 nothing but the self-regarding sentiment in its basest 
 form. She is lecherous and slimy. One recoils from 
 her as from a venomous reptile. Such uncon- 
 scious shrinking from some characters has arisen as 
 a matter of self-protection through the Ages, until 
 in finer natures it has become an instinct. Maurice 
 Parmelee tells us that "no instinct is likely to come 
 into existence unless it performs some definite service 
 which is of utility in the struggle for existence." He 
 adds further, in explanation. Instinct is — "an inherit- 
 ed combination of reflexes which have been integrated 
 by the central nervous system so as to cause an ex- 
 ternal activity of the organism which usually char- 
 acterizes a whole species and is usually adaptive," but 
 "instinct does not necessarily involve consciousness." 
 Prince Hjalmar thus disclo.ses noble traits of man- 
 hood in shrinking from Queen Anne's insinuating in- 
 vitations, and shaking off the very touch of her con- 
 taminating hands. He even feels that her very pres- 
 ence brings defilment, and avoids her. The one un- 
 solvable mystery is how he permitted himself to be 
 betrothed to the daughter, Uglyane. Perhaps he 
 did not appreciate the power of heredity, or perhaps 
 it was as a matter of self-preservation, and in the hope 
 that some benign power might intervene to save him 
 from so dreadful a fate. 
 
 "Du musst glauben, du musst wagen, 
 Denn die Gotter leihn kein Pfand, 
 
 Nur ein Wunder kann dich tragen 
 In das schone Wunderland."
 
 36 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 The rest of the many characters need no especial 
 analysis. They are well-sketched, and fill the canvas 
 admirably. The grossness of the beggar-men is true 
 to nature. Every day we read of just such ap- 
 proaches being made to lonely women. Perhaps it is 
 symbolical of the easy way which is spread as a trap 
 for trusting womanhood. The quarrel of the men 
 over the charms of little Maleine when she arrives a 
 stranger in the new country, is a capital sketch. So 
 is the coarseness of the vile man who comes to take 
 his bath in her pure presence. The picture is dis- 
 gusting. One shrinks with Maleine from the leering 
 faces of the debased men of the streets and the tav^ 
 ern. It is this power to make us feel an emotion 
 which sets Maeterlinck in the foremost ranks of the 
 naturalists. His pictures are always gloomy and 
 morbid in the extreme, but they are true to the side 
 of life which he paints. He is of the modern school 
 the most modern. His shadows are of the deepest. 
 By making us share the terrible, low-tone emotions, 
 he makes us appreciate more the high-lights, the 
 brighter emotions of the normal. He plays the mel- 
 ody, as it were, with the left hand, and the accom- 
 paniment is away up in the treble. It is a reversal 
 of what we are most accustomed, and one must train 
 the ear to the appreciation of such musical reversion. 
 Yet it is fascinating and stirs us, — perhaps quite as 
 much because it is novel, as because it shocks our 
 sensibilities. "The organism prepares itself for 
 shocks at definite times, and shocks coming at those 
 times are pleasant because they fulfill a need." 
 
 The contrast of bustling life which continues in 
 the most dreadful moments of existence, the fact that
 
 Princess Maleine 37 
 
 our little world is in ourselves and plays no important 
 part in the affairs of men, is well illustrated by hav- 
 ing the child, Little Allan, play hand-ball against the 
 door of the very chamber where poor little Maleine 
 is gurgling out her last moments of life in poignant 
 agony and bitter grief. As she cried in pain and fear 
 when born, so she cries in pain and fear as she dies. 
 Yet the world surges on just without her door, and 
 those who love her most are unaware of her terrible 
 end, and are quite unable to prevent. 
 
 The play is aesthetically conceived, and aestheti- 
 cally staged. For all his love of the natural, Maeter- 
 linck never permits himself to get away from a beau- 
 tiful stage picture. Perhaps here, too, lies a secret of 
 the powerful emotions raised by his plays. One 
 thinks of those who live in beautiful surroundings as 
 happy. Instead, he shows us that they are the most 
 miserable of men. The scenery furnishes the high- 
 lights for contrast in the canvas ; the puppets are the 
 shadows in the valley below. The glorious moun- 
 tain peaks are always above them, but to their heights 
 and sunny realms of brightness they never are able 
 to climb.
 
 PELLEAS AND MELISANDE 
 
 ALTHO Pelleas and Melisande is one of 
 the most discussed and most admired of 
 Maeterlinck's dramas, yet it is one of the 
 most difficult of psychological analysis. 
 It is free from intricacies in the development of the 
 jealousy of sex-passion as displayed by Golaud, the 
 husband of Melisande. His is the passionate love of 
 typical man. He is not nearly so fine a character as 
 Pelleas, for he is not able to distinguish between phy- 
 sical and spiritual affinities, nor can he appreciate the 
 pure affection, free from all sexual taint, which exists 
 between his brother, Pelleas, and his wife, Meli- 
 sande. This drama is so very characteristic of Mae- 
 terlinck and his methods of expression that one is lost, 
 because it is the emotion which the play creates that 
 sways. It is "art" in the proper sense of that much 
 abused term. "The function of art is not practical, 
 or ethical, or scientific, or philosophic, but emotion- 
 al." Further, "the nature of emotion is to disturb 
 the mind, and hence also the language of expres- 
 sion. 
 
 The lovers were but children, even as Golaud him- 
 self says in the scene without the Tower where Me- 
 lisande sits combing her long tresses in the window 
 whilst Pelleas below is passionately kissing their un- 
 bound glory. "What children! What children!" 
 
 Mme. Maeterlinck, who has oft appeared in this 
 symphonic drama with its beautiful accompaniment 
 of Claude Debussy music, says that it was the inten- 
 
 38
 
 Pelleas and Metis an de 39 
 
 tion of Maeterlinck that Melisande should be con- 
 sidered an honest woman. Mrs. Patrick Campbell, 
 who has acted the part in London with Mr. J. 
 Forbes-Robertson, says that Melisande was not In- 
 nocent, and that she and Pelleas were afraid of the 
 sexual emotion which held them in sway. Such would 
 seem to be the suspicion of Golaud when he held his 
 son up to the window to observe what was passing 
 within the chamber, and the child reported the twain 
 standing the width of the room apart, breathing 
 heavily, and with eyes dilated, as two animals at 
 bay. "It sometimes happens that the emotion is 
 strongest when the external action is inhibited, be- 
 cause action usually relieves the organic conditions 
 which give rise to the emotion. This indicates how 
 an emotion may re-enforce and strengthen a tendency 
 to an action in order to secure the relief which 
 comes through action. This Is why emotions be- 
 come powerful factors in the determination of be- 
 havior." They were above the observation of con- 
 vention, so we cannot believe that they Insisted upon 
 having present the Little Ynlold to satisfy such social 
 conventions. It seems better to believe that, altho 
 there may never have been any stepping aside from 
 the paths of rectitude and virtue, that they felt 
 strongly the sexual emotion which was drawing them 
 closer and ever closer. "It is a weak emotion which 
 does not sweep the will before it," so they kept the 
 child with them as a protection against themselves. 
 
 When Golaud sends Melisande to seek the lost 
 wedding-ring, one sees in her hesitancy to go with 
 Pelleas that she Is afraid of her own strength, and 
 realizes the danger that lies that way. There may
 
 40 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 also be a hint of underlying symbolism in that as they 
 had lost the ring when playing together, so they 
 should find it together, and so, in a sense, restore the 
 bond which had been severed. The three sleeping 
 beggars in the cave, whither they go to conceal the 
 lie which the wife has told, are doubtless symbolical 
 of the three persons of this moving drama, — Golaud, 
 Pelleas, and Melisande. They were sleeping in a 
 spiritual sense, oblivious of the rising tides of emo- 
 tion which might come at any moment and engulf 
 them, and which finally does rise and sweep them all 
 to their death. Pelleas, too, is aware of the rising 
 emotion within his breast, and is fain to depart, but 
 is urged to linger, and weakly consents. But for 
 this weak yielding all might have been well. "He 
 who hesitates is lost." 
 
 One incident in the play stands out prominently to 
 make one wonder just how innocent was Melisande; 
 that is, the episode in the Park when, recklessly toss- 
 ing her wedding-ring above the sparkling waters of 
 the well, she loses it in the depths. The incident is 
 symbolical of her reckless regard of the conventions, 
 and the construction which her husband and the 
 world would put upon her relations with her brother- 
 in-law, Pelleas. Pelleas warns her of danger of 
 loss of the ring, but she wilfully disregards, and the 
 inevitable happens. That she has no standard of 
 honor is evident when, instead of being willing to 
 frankly confess how and where she lost the ring, she 
 immediately formulates a lie,— the cave, to which 
 we later see her repairing because she is ignorant of 
 its interior and must see it in order to live up to the 
 false fabric of the tale of the lost ring. Had she
 
 Pelleas and Melts ande 41 
 
 been innocent, there seems no reason why she should 
 not have been willing to tell her husband the truth 
 concerning the ring. It is evident that already she 
 was controlled by the sexual emotion, and, tho she 
 had not surrendered physically, that she felt herself 
 too greatly swayed to withstand any close question- 
 ing by her husband concerning the affection which 
 she bore toward Pelleas. 
 
 Melisande is a strange woman, and very much 
 more difficult of comprehension because we know 
 nothing of her past. The readiness with which Go- 
 laud accepts the unknown Melisande and subsequently 
 marries her, is reason for considerable surprise. It 
 would seem to be a case of "Love at sight." One 
 is often intuitively drawn toward a person, or just 
 as unaccountably repulsed. What we call "intui- 
 tion" is not really such; it is the subconscious acting 
 for us. In the course of life one meets many per- 
 sons and comes to know their peculiarities and eccen- 
 tricities — their character. These persons are cata- 
 logued, as it were, and placed in niches of the mem- 
 ory. When we again meet any one of that type, we 
 are attracted or repulsed simply because the subcon- 
 scious draws upon this storehouse of information 
 and makes a quick survey and calculation of the indi^ 
 vidual in question, and approves or disapproves. 
 Our first likes or dislikes are correct when we have 
 been careful observers of human-nature, and have a 
 reliable subconscious. It is well-recognized that a 
 man is usually drawn toward such women as resem- 
 ble in some considerable degree his mother, whereas 
 a woman is likely to be attracted to a man with the 
 characteristics, mental or physical, of her father. Go-
 
 42 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 laud, therefore, was drawn to Melisande in this way: 
 — either she resembled his former wife, whose loss 
 was vitally present in his mind, or his mother. Per- 
 haps it would be better to say that she partook, of the 
 attributes of each, for the first wife would have had 
 much which was characteristic of his mother. She 
 would be attracted to him for similar reasons. What 
 we call "woman's intuition" is only a keenly devel- 
 oped subconscious, which might well be likened to the 
 developed sense of smell of animals; it seems unfath- 
 omable and mysterious, but is founded upon sure nat- 
 ural basis. 
 
 We see Melisande first lost in the woods, symboli- 
 cal of lost home, — lost virtue, perhaps. And she has 
 lost a golden crown. Was that her virtue? What- 
 ever the crown was symbolical of, she had no desire 
 to regain it, and even tho the water was so shallow 
 that Golaud could readily have reached the ghtter- 
 ing bauble, yet she shows her pettishness of disposi- 
 tion, her stubbornness, and protests that she will not 
 wear it! She cries, "I am lost! — I am lost!" And he 
 reiterates, prophetically, "I am lost too !" Lost in 
 the emotion of the tender sentiment, lost to happi- 
 ness, lost to what? Maeterlinck does not tell us, but 
 the whole motive of this drama resounds to that cry, 
 "Lost, Lost, Lost!" 
 
 That the characters were lost to virtue would 
 seem to be the symbolism of the prologue, when the 
 procession of servants comes out at the front door 
 and begin to cleanse the stained marble steps, and 
 one comments, "We shall never be able to clean all 
 this," and the Porter remarks, "Pour on water; pour 
 on water, pour on all the water of the Flood ! You will
 
 Pelleas and Melisande 43 
 
 never come to the end of it." How these words of the 
 Porter suggest the hne from Macbeth, — "Out, dam- 
 ned spot! out, I say!" Then one instantly connects, 
 and prophetically, most likely, the line, "All the per- 
 fumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand!" 
 That last sentence of the Porter hints at the mysti- 
 cism and mystery of the plot, and that seek as much 
 as we will, like Golaud, we shall never come to the 
 depths of the controlling emotion. 
 
 In the end Melisande dies from the tender passion. 
 The physician pronounces that she is not dying from 
 the abuse received at the hands of Golaud. But Go- 
 laud's conduct toward her, especially that hideous 
 scene when, maddened by jealousy, he drives her be- 
 fore him crawling upon her knees, and guided by her 
 long tresses which he handles as reins, has killed the 
 last spark of love which she had ever had for him. 
 Some women would have cowered submissive, and 
 frightened by these violent signs of his jealous pas- 
 sion, but she was of the other type of women, and 
 her affection had already gone out to Pelleas, who 
 was in every way the better man. Even in the mo- 
 ment of her death, Golaud must question and reques- 
 tion, for he is so firm a believer in the doctrine that 
 "every event in mind has its event in the body," 
 that he cannot believe that if his wife loved Pelleas 
 intensely, she could be pure and virtuous. She had 
 lied to him in the loss of the ring, and now he has 
 no confidence in her protests. 
 
 The sentiment of motherhood is most touchingly 
 displayed as the poor, weak, doll-mother, tries to 
 stretch her arms toward her tiny offspring, and the 
 tears course down her cheeks as she realizes her help-
 
 44 1'^^ Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 lessness, her inability to ever clasp the babe to her 
 bosom. At this moment "Her soul weeps," as Mae- 
 terlinck makes old Arkel say. Is it only the emotion 
 of mother-love which sways her and so deeply stirs 
 the well-springs of her pity and loneliness? Is it the 
 primal instinct of fear as she faces "the great cold?" 
 Or is it because in her extremis her guilty past rises 
 before her, and she feels herself unworthy of moth- 
 erhood, and that her life is ending with the stain of 
 a lie upon her lips? 
 
 Perhaps that we are so perplexed, like Golaud, in 
 our opinions of Melisande, is simply because she has 
 a loosely organized habit of thought, and has never 
 reached maturity, — the time when our emotions and 
 sentiments are supposed to be organized and settled 
 in definite channels. T. H. Green, in Prologomena 
 of Ethics, says, "Conscience or moral character is an 
 organized system of habits of will." Melisande 
 seems to be of the type who has never acquired such 
 a character. She has weakly surrendered to each 
 gust of the wind of emotion, and her final tears may 
 be simply those of a weak soul who, in dying, realizes 
 that her life has been thrown away, and that she has 
 accomplished nothing. She was simply a negative 
 in the world of life. 
 
 Golaud, the husband, was governed by the con- 
 ventionalities, was a man of his time, with all the 
 vital passions and emotions of a normal man. His 
 character had been shaped by the society in which 
 he came in contact. "No individual can make a 
 conscience for himself. He always needs a society 
 to make it for him." As to what is conscience, 
 Paulsen has answered, "The rational will, governed
 
 Pelleas and Melisande 45 
 
 by an ideal, subjects the lower forms of will, impulse, 
 and desire, which persists even in man as natural pre- 
 dispositions, to constant criticism and to a process of 
 selection. This criticism we call conscience." As 
 the question of Freedom of Will may arise to con- 
 front us later in our discussion, I will quote a few 
 more lines from Paulsen. "The faculty of educat- 
 ing and disciplining the natural will by means of the 
 rational will is called Freedom of the Will. A being 
 who thus controls his inner life is called a personal 
 being." 
 
 Golaud seems strong in the love of family and 
 home; this is evident from his affection for his 
 parents and his little son, Yniold. This is the high- 
 est form of the sexual emotion. At its basis we find 
 jealousy. "Jealousy arises when the object of the 
 sentiment gives to another, or merely is thought to 
 give to another, any part of the regard thus claimed 
 for the self." Pelleas and Melisande stood in this 
 position, hence the emotion in Golaud. Anger is .1 
 very active emotion in this sentiment of jealousy, and 
 we have some violent exhibitions of it, — in the 
 scene with Melisande, for example, where he forces 
 her to crawl on her knees before him. Revenge is 
 another ingredient; vengeful emotion is complex, 
 and partakes of both anger and the self-regarding 
 sentiment. There is a sense of injury; Golaud felt 
 that Pelleas had trespassed upon the sacred fold of 
 Melisande's love for himself (Golaud). He re- 
 solves to put him out of the way, and leads him be- 
 neath the castle, where are dank and slimy pools, with 
 intent of drowning him there. "Orientation of our 
 consciousness towards action appears to be the fun-
 
 46 The Psychology of Maeterlmck 
 
 damental law of psychical life." But pity, (a sym- 
 pathetic pain), gains the ascendancy, and he brings 
 Pelleas back into the light of day, and dismisses him 
 with a warning to be more circumspect hereafter in 
 his relations with Melisande. But the vengeful emo- 
 tion still gnaws at Golaud's heart like a canker, until, 
 at the final moment, when he sees his broth- 
 er and his wife enclasped in each other's arms, 
 he slays his brother, (Pelleas), and casts his 
 body into the deep, deep well, where the wed- 
 ding-ring has already been lost. The episode 
 of Pelleas drowning in the well is quite sym- 
 bolic, and points to anything but innocent relations 
 between the man and the woman. Golaud's abuse of 
 Melisande is in accord with his sentiment of jealousy, 
 for, "any expression of regard for a third person, 
 (Melisande for Pelleas), on the part of the object 
 of the sentiment, provokes a jealousy of which the 
 anger turns mainly upon that object (Melisande) 
 itself." 
 
 The final emotion which controls Golaud is grief. 
 This differs from mere sorrow, in that it has "less 
 of the tender emotion and more of anger." He is 
 angry that Melisande should die now thar Pelleas is 
 out of the way, and he is free to bask in her charms. 
 Yet the very same emotion of anger had compelled 
 him to the double murder. What finally becomes of 
 Golaud it is hard to speculate. However, to be log- 
 ical, one would anticipate that the emotion of resent- 
 ment at the death of the object of his affection, and 
 the anger at being cheated by death, would send him 
 to suicide. He is of the type who should have slain 
 himself in a spasm of rage and fallen across the life-
 
 Pelleas and Melisande 47 
 
 less form of pitiable little Melisande. 
 
 Of Pelleas less can be said. Undoubtedly he was 
 swayed by the sexual emotion, and the positive sen- 
 timent of self-feeling was so stirred that he thrilled 
 beneath it, and, like a child playing with fire, kept 
 tempting himself by holding always before his eyes 
 the form of Melisande, and by being in her society 
 so constantly, until at last he was burned. When 
 Golaud gave him the warning to be more careful, it 
 was too late, for the emotion of admiration, which 
 was based upon wonder that Melisande should love 
 him, and partook of the sentiment of negative self- 
 feeling, which was submission to her will, had ap- 
 proached to the emotion of fascination, and he was 
 held chained, rooted to the spot, the worshipper of 
 her aesthetic presence. His emotion was too great 
 to be governed by will, so, like the poor moth who 
 ignominiously perishes in the light of the flame, he 
 went to his death. 
 
 "A fiery soul, which, working out Its way, 
 
 Fretted the pygmy-body to decay, 
 And o'er-informed the tenement of clay. 
 
 A daring pilot in extremity ; 
 Pleased with the danger, when the waves went high 
 
 He sought the storms." 
 
 But one feels that there is something lacking in 
 the aesthetic harmony of the drama, and is annoyed. 
 Our instinct of construction feels offended. Our sym- 
 pathies have been played upon, and yet our instinct 
 of curiosity has not been satisfied. Violence has been 
 done to our self-regarding sentiment, and we leave 
 the play with an emotion of resentment toward 
 Maeterlinck, the author.
 
 THE INTRUDER 
 
 THE INTRUDER belongs to the morbid 
 quartette of plays, of which the other three 
 are The Blind, The Seven Princesses, and 
 The Death of .Tintagiles. Each is a study 
 in the approach of death, and the emotions which 
 are experienced by the subject, or which affect the 
 onlookers. In The Intruder, we are introduced to a 
 family circle seated about the table, talking in low 
 whispers so as not to disturb the Mother lying ill in 
 the adjoining room. In a corner a few feet removed, 
 sits the old, blind grandfather, who, because the hour 
 of his own dissolution is near at hand, is more sensi- 
 tive to every sound and presence than the lively, 
 healthy group at the table. The old man is keenly 
 alert, scenting the presence of death in their midst as 
 surely as cats are said to realize the approach of the 
 shadowy wing of the dark angel. There may be a 
 physiological basis for the ability to perceive the ap- 
 proach of death. There is an odor peculiar to those 
 who are dying, and some who have more highly de- 
 veloped organs of smell may detect this aroma, and 
 so have the ability which ignorant people would term 
 second-sight or clairvoyance; it is well-known that 
 the trained physician often detects the nature of a 
 disease by the odor; in this same way he oft informs 
 himself of the actual progress of a disease. Or, the 
 grandfather may have felt death simply because his 
 senses were keener owing to his lack of sight, and 
 his acute ear detected movements of the nurse in the 
 
 4»
 
 The Intruder 49 
 
 adjoining room, which conveyed to his mind the im- 
 pression that all was not well. 
 
 The old man is the one important figure in this 
 play. The others seem preternaturally obtuse and of 
 dulled sensitiveness. It is strange that not one seems 
 to care to be near the Mother who lies so very ill, 
 but that all should sit talking about the table. But 
 strangest of all is the fact that they leave alone the 
 tiny baby in the lonely bedroom. Maeterlinck makes 
 a very fine comparison of the close rapport of child- 
 hood and senility (second-childhood), by making the 
 grandfather feel the presence of death, and the babe 
 cry out in terror at the final moment when the angel 
 passes by. Here again we must draw upon the mysti- 
 cal for an explanation. Says Mr. Henry Frank, 
 "This bioplasm ("soul") — is so completely a dupli- 
 cate of the opaque visible body, of which we are con- 
 stantly conscious, that could this outer shell be re- 
 moved, leaving only the inner, invisible body, we 
 would have a rarefied duplication of ourselves, 
 which if it were phosphorescent and should be over- 
 taken in the dark would be a sublimate semblance of 
 our bodies very much in appearance what people 
 think a ghost to be." 
 
 All matter is material, and this bioplasm is also 
 material. Therefore, the "soul" is material, and phy- 
 sical, altho of so fine a substance that it is transparent 
 and invisible. As science now admits the presence of 
 living matter in compass too small to be evident to 
 the human eye even with the aid of the most power- 
 ful glass yet invented, so should we admit the exist- 
 ence of the soul, that which is usually termed the 
 "spiritual." As some natures throw off a luminous
 
 50 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 radiance of phosphorescence which forms a halo, vis- 
 ible to some eyes, so do souls project a phosphores- 
 cent radiance of simulacrum to the fleshly body, and 
 this simulacrum is visible to the eyes of some mortals 
 of unusual or further developed spiritual vision. 
 Chemistry has been the great demonstrator of phy- 
 sical truth, and there lies the hope that not far dis- 
 tant Chemistry will reveal the existence of this ether- 
 eal body, the soul. An extremely sensitive camera 
 plate will catch impressions which go unnoticed by 
 the human eye with its physical limitations. Already 
 scientists claim to have recorded upon a sensitive 
 plate the umbra of a dying rodent. Further experi- 
 ments are being pressed in certain French Labora- 
 tories, and at any moment we may hear of triumphal 
 success in catching a glimpse of the departing human 
 soul. 
 
 Such theories may sound mystical in the extreme, 
 and many readers may have no patience with such 
 ideas, but Prof. James has said, "It is the mystics 
 who have usually proved to be right about the facts, 
 while the scientifics had the better of it in respect to 
 the theories." 
 
 The spirit of the passing Mother doubtless 
 prompted the cry of the infant. There is a close af- 
 finity between Mother and young child which con- 
 veys the emotion experienced by the one to the other, 
 and even affects the health of each. The child would 
 recognize its Mother's presence, when it would not be 
 able to distinguish others. We do not know the age of 
 this babe, so cannot base our opinions upon its de- 
 velopment of the eye, for it may have been too young 
 to have had use of those organs. Mr. Preyer says,
 
 The Intruder 5 1 
 
 "The newborn infant not only has no reason or con- 
 sciousness, but is also deaf and only gradually devel- 
 ops its sense and thought centres." And Mr. Frank 
 supplements, "The child is blind when just bom, as 
 can easily be proved by experimenting with objects; 
 and when it at length sees the light or some object, it 
 imagines it is "in its eye," for it clutches at it, wheth- 
 er it be close as a neighboring chair or as distant as a 
 star." But the child instinctively recognized its 
 Mother, and cried in fear when she had passed. 
 
 The peculiar mental emotions which are experi- 
 enced by the subjects In this moving domestic drama 
 are true to all rules of psychology. Mr. Evans has 
 said, "In all operations of the mind, thoughts and 
 feelings are Inextricably Interblended, and it is im- 
 possible to draw a line of demarkation between them. 
 There Is no language of emotion as opposed to or 
 essentially distinct from language of thought. Emo- 
 tion is only thought under tension, though strongly 
 emphasized and Impelled by desire. Every cry or 
 exclamation presupposes an idea of Intellectual con- 
 ception, without which the emotion would never arise; 
 and it is hardly possible to determine where the one 
 begins and the other ends." 
 
 The thought-transference of approaching death 
 which the daughter transferred to the old man, her 
 father, was of the class termed "veridical," in that 
 it coincides with the calamity impending. Mr. My- 
 ers, who has gone Into this condition very deeply, has 
 written this paragraph, "Each of us is in reality an 
 abiding psychical entity far more extensive than he 
 knows, — an individuality which can never express it- 
 self completely through any corporeal manifesta-
 
 52 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 tion. The self manifests itself through the organism; 
 but there is always, as it seems, some power or or- 
 ganic expression in abeyance or reserve." 
 
 But enough. Whatever explanations we may bring 
 forward to elucidate the mental emotions of the old 
 man who hears the steady tramp, tramp of approach- 
 ing death, the fact remains that he does hear it, and 
 that the tiny babe hears, and perchance sees. It is 
 a play of intense mysticism, and the most interesting 
 thmg of all is, that Maeterlinck has placed it in 
 such a common-place setting, made every incident 
 so very natural, that the reader takes it into his own 
 world. There is nothing uncommon in the entire 
 scene, nothing in the occurrence materially different 
 from similar scenes through which we have passed 
 during the anxious hours of watching and waiting 
 while the soul of some dear one was awaiting the 
 toll of the heavenly knell which would lead the soul 
 to other worlds beyond mortal ken. 
 
 Maeterlinck charges the atmosphere with the in- 
 tensity of this emotion and we catch the emotion, 
 and feel our nerves tingle in accord. There is a 
 peculiar telepathic connection established between the 
 personages of the drama, and the spectator, which 
 makes the thesis itself seem plausible, for if we can 
 experience this emotion by simply watching its de- 
 velopment as part of the plot, there is less ground 
 to question the existence of an emotional rapport be- 
 tween the old man and his daughter, and the daugh- 
 ter and her off-spring, the tiny, weak little soul, strug- 
 gling for life in the one bed-chamber, as the Mother 
 has been struggling in the other. One is justified 
 in saying that there is a comparative study of the
 
 The Intruder 53 
 
 babe struggling with life, for it has come so recently 
 from the land of dreams, and the Mother in the 
 other room, struggling hard with death, for she has 
 many years belonged to this world, the world which 
 we call the material. The contrast of material and 
 spiritual is made with an exact hand. 
 
 "We are the voices of the wandering wind, 
 Which moan for rest, and rest can never find; 
 Lo! as the wind is, so is mortal life, 
 A moan, a sigh, a sob, a storm, a strife. 
 
 Wherefore and whence we are ye cannot know. 
 Nor where life springs, nor whither life doth go; 
 We are as ye are, ghosts from the inane, 
 What pleasure have we of our changeful pain ?" 
 
 Sir Edwin Arnold. 
 
 Now let us glance at this group of four plays in 
 the order in which Maeterlinck has developed them. 
 His theme is death and its manner of approach and 
 its methods of communication to the persons con- 
 cerned. 
 
 The Intruder, as we have seen, brings in the 
 psychic and shows that there is nothing unusual, be 
 it ever so mysterious, in the quiet approach of death, 
 and the realization of the fact being transferred to 
 the mind of a person in another room, or, to stretch 
 the doctrine further, in another part of the world. 
 These telepathic communications between soul and 
 soul at the hour of dissolution are so well-established 
 in every day experience that they have passed beyond 
 any realm of doubt, and require no exegesis to de- 
 monstrate. We have discovered a method of tele-
 
 54 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 graphing pictures by means of telegraph instruments, 
 and, it is claimed, of even transferring reflected 
 images very short distances, — perhaps only a few 
 hundred feet— by telephone. In some such manner 
 the brain of one person makes an impression upon 
 the other, and the waves of the other make a cor- 
 responding impression upon the brain of the other 
 person, which causes the mental picture of the per- 
 son making the communication to materialize in the 
 brain area. To once more refer to Mr. Evans, who 
 has said so many fine things which bear directly upon 
 the doctrines of Maeterlinck, "Metaphysics would 
 seem to be the spiritual counterpart of metamor- 
 phosis, the transmigration of souls being logically and 
 analogically suggested as a corollary to the trans- 
 mutation of species. The one does not necessarily 
 involve the other, but both lie in the same line of 
 thought. There is no reason why the theory of 
 the conservation and persistence of force should not 
 be applicable to mental or psychical, as well as to 
 mechanical or physical forces. No impulse ever 
 ceases, no motion is ever lost, no atom can be dis- 
 turbed without disturbing every atom in the uni- 
 verse. If a sparrow fall to the ground, the mo- 
 mentum of its falling body is imparted to and affects 
 every particle of the globe. But what becomes of 
 the vital force which animated the bird and impelled 
 it through the air?"
 
 THE BLIND 
 
 IN The Blind, death creeps into the midst of the 
 group without any warning, and without any 
 intelhgence of his presence on the part of the 
 miserable circle surrounding the ancient priest. 
 Here is a babe, but this child seems not to know 
 that death is near. This would seem to strengthen 
 our position in holding that the babe was aware of 
 death in the preceding play because it was its Mother 
 who had been taken. The fact that it is death which 
 has come unannounced is discovered and made known 
 by the faithful dog, in the present play. The dog 
 obeys an instinct, and barks at his master. In The 
 Philosophy of the Unconscious, Edouard Von Hart- 
 mann says, "Instinct is a purposive action of whose 
 purpose the actor is unconscious." There is some 
 question in my mind as to whether this covers the 
 exact truth in this present case. To a certain extent 
 it does. The dog obeyed his instinct in barking at 
 the priest, but whether he was acting upon a formed 
 thought which prompted him to bark in order to 
 awaken the master that he might take them all home 
 for a good supper and a warm bed, is another ques- 
 tion. Certainly one does not feel that the dog was 
 aware that his master was dead. Altho, animals are 
 usually keen to scent something wrong, and raise a 
 miserable wail toward the skies. 
 
 The blind then discover that the priest is present, 
 and in a few moments that he is dead. But to them 
 his departure has been unheralded. The former 
 
 55
 
 56 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 play showed the presence by mental telepathy, based 
 upon the affection between the parent and child, 
 whereas this play seems to set forth the doctrine that 
 without mutual love and affection there cannot be a 
 telepathic communication. The mind of the priest 
 was so high above the minds of the poor beggars 
 that there was no avenue of communication, and they 
 were not able to grasp the fact of his dissolution. 
 Maeterlinck may also wish to demonstrate that some 
 natures are too coarse to grasp the finer and more 
 spiritual things of life. "Reality Itself, in the pro- 
 foundest meaning of the word, is reached by the 
 combined and progressive development of science 
 and philosophy."
 
 THE SEVEN PRINCESSES 
 
 THE next play is The Seven Princesses. 
 Here again death comes unheralded, and 
 making no impression upon the minds of 
 the dear ones who surround the dying Ur- 
 sula. But her death is quite unlike that of the 
 other two, for they passed away in full con- 
 sciousness, whilst she slips quietly away in sleep. 
 She does not stir, she does not move. It is 
 with shock that her companions discover that she 
 is sleeping the eternal sleep, and will no more awak- 
 en in the physical body. It is a beautiful ending, and 
 far more pleasant than either of the other deaths. In 
 the first the life went out in the throes of mortal 
 agony; in the second, the priest answered the call in 
 the heat of the day, and laid down his burden, just 
 as he was about to seek water to minister to the 
 physical needs of his little flock; in this play Ursula 
 slips quietly away whilst those who loved her sur- 
 round, and the fact that she is gone comes with 
 startling horror. The fourth death is the terrible 
 struggle of little Tintagiles. It is a death of bold, 
 hard, uncompromising realism. There is nothing 
 peaceful, nothing hopeful. Each of the others has 
 had some beautiful symbolism, some suggestion of 
 hope. But with Tintagiles there is nothing but Pa- 
 ganism, the fiat that death ends all. There is not 
 even the promise of perpetuity, and immortality by 
 living in the thoughts of dear ones left behind, or 
 
 57
 
 58 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 of continuity by furnishing sustenance to the "roots 
 of plants," — as in The Blue Bird. Some people 
 have found an Aesthetic Joy in cremation because they 
 consider that the gas so generated will add its share, 
 be it ever so small an amount, to give coloring to a 
 beautiful sunset at close of day. There admittedly 
 is an aesthetic beauty in such conceptions which ap- 
 peals to many. But Tintagiles seems to stand for 
 the doctrine of total annihilation. When the life 
 departs, the soulflame is as completely snuffed out as 
 when one extinguishes the candle in the sconce. 
 
 Each of these deaths is surcharged with emotion, 
 and grips us in its thrall. The group are wonderful 
 physiological and psychological studies of this phase 
 of hfe, and stamp Maeterlinck as a man of much 
 careful observation and accuracy of record. "Among 
 living writers," says Dr. Otto Heller, "Pierre Loti 
 and Maurice Maeterlinck, by an almost hypnotic 
 power, communicate to the reader their own minor- 
 key temper of mind." 
 
 This play belongs distinctly in the realm of the 
 aesthetic. It is like a Rembrandt painting. It is 
 as discerning and as accurate as the famous School 
 of Anatomy. Maeterlinck is a vivisector of the 
 emotions, and his hand never trembles even tho the 
 subject flinch beneath the scalpel. Quivering hu- 
 manity does not affect his sensibilities. He continues 
 relentlessly to lay bare the inmost secrets of the work- 
 ing of the brain of man. There is nothing hidden 
 from his keen scrutiny. Every thought and act in 
 life are but material for his indefatigable research. 
 
 The contrasts in tone of the two sides of the stage- 
 picture in this play are unique and impressive. Mae-
 
 The Seven Princesses 59 
 
 terlinck belongs to the school of painters who pay at- 
 tention to the shadows, and by contrasting them with 
 the sunlight attain their wonderful naturalistic ef- 
 fects. Such artists do not paint objects of nature in 
 their normal colorings, but In the shadings which 
 seem natural according to the contrasting surround- 
 ings. A chair which Is actually painted red, may 
 seem brown as one gazes upon It In Its setting In 
 the drawing-room. The old school of painters en- 
 deavored to paint sunshine. How Impossible was 
 the task Is evident If we consider Kirschmann's sta- 
 tistics, In which he claims that "the brightest spot of 
 any painting Is never more than sixty-six times bright- 
 er than the darkest, while the gray sky on a dull 
 rainy day is four hundred and twenty times brighter 
 than a white painted cross-bar." 
 
 Such was the former method of the dramatists, 
 and such is the prevailing method In melodrama. We 
 are given a slice of serious Interest, then the so-called 
 "comedy relief" laid on with a calcimine-brush. The 
 bad Is painted In black, the good In brilliant hues, 
 each character having lines of symbolic hue which 
 vividly represent the psychological mood — If such a 
 term can be applied to such crude work. That type 
 of dramatic composition appeals to persons of prim- 
 itive emotions, those who still revel In the primary 
 colors for personal adornment. 
 
 The modern dramatists have gotten far afield 
 from these vivid contrasts, but not to the extent of 
 Maeterlinck, who Is of the new school,— the artists 
 who sketch the shadows, and allow the high lights 
 to manage themselves, as It were. 
 
 The emotion of pure joy is almost Impossible to
 
 6o The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 depict. No matter how clever the player, one al- 
 ways feels a lack, and that the tonic-note has not 
 been sounded. There is a hollow, off-key ring, which 
 is dissonant. On the other hand the emotion of fear 
 is much more easily attainable, and is more contagi- 
 ous. Panic is one of the most easily aroused of all 
 the emotions. Let some one gasp, cry out, and how 
 quickly will the contagion of alarm and fear spread 
 to every person in the neighborhood ! The long list 
 of catastrophes occurring in public gatherings be- 
 cause of contagious fear speak for themselves. 
 
 The phobia of darkness is one of the earliest of 
 all instincts. It is said that Robert Burns was al- 
 ways terrified when left alone in the dark, and if in 
 the open would keep peering nervously ahead in 
 vain search for ghostly apparitions. The love of 
 light, and fear of darkness is characteristic of most 
 animal-life. So Maeterlinck takes advantage of this 
 fact, and plays upon the feelings of horror at the 
 shadows. Such horror we find in Macbeth who 
 cries, "Hence, horrible Shadow! Unreal mockery, 
 hence!" 
 
 To the right of the picture in J'he Seven Prin- 
 cesses, we see the inevitable lowlands with leaden, 
 sluggish canals between, and a few scatterd wind- 
 mills. It is such a picture as Maeterlinck had gazed 
 upon in his youth. For Ghent, as you know, is built 
 on forty islands, separated by canals, and connected 
 by over two hundred and fifty bridges. It has some- 
 times been called The Venice of the North. There 
 are fogs and mists in the background, and a shadowy 
 man-of-war looming in the haze; voices of sailors 
 are dimly heard. Is not that an awe-inspiring vi-
 
 The Seven Princesses 6 1 
 
 sion? Nothing is more horrible than such awful 
 shadows and voices of the night. 
 
 To the left of the stage-picture, is a room of the 
 castle. It is of cold, white marble, cracked, yel- 
 lowed and stained with time. An ancient lamp with 
 floating wick thrust in oil gives forth a smoky, sickly 
 illumination. To make the scene still more forbid- 
 ding and foreboding, we learn that it Is situated 
 above the vaults where lie buried countless kings and 
 queens! On one side of this room are seven, cold, 
 crumbling marble steps, and, as our eyes become ac- 
 customed to the gloom, we can see seven Princesses 
 lying each upon a step, their fragile bodies shielded 
 from the clammy, dank stone by thin cushions of 
 maroon velvet. Their little feet are bare, and blue 
 with the damp cold. Their hair streams over their 
 shoulders, enmeshing them as with a golden mist, the 
 one real ray of warmth In the old room. 
 
 In the center of the picture is a marble terrace, 
 with long doors and windows, separating the room 
 to the left, and the canals and marshes to the right. 
 On this terrace stand a trembling, shrivelled old man 
 and woman, their regal robes of sovereignty pitably 
 unfitted to protect the wearers from the penetrating 
 chill of the fast approaching night and the long "win- 
 ter of discontent." They are all awaiting the arrival 
 of the handsome Prince who Is to marry Ursula, the 
 central one of the seven sleepers. From the pro- 
 tracted vigil they are weary and distraught. The 
 maidens have fallen asleep, basking in the dying rays 
 of the sun. 
 
 "Like our shadows, 
 Our wishes lengthen as our sun declines."
 
 62 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 At length Marcellus comes and is warmly greeted. 
 But even in that moment of greeting, we hear the 
 shout of the Sailors, "The Atlantic, The Atlantic, we 
 shall return no more," and are filled with dread. 
 There is something uncanny in the thought of vast- 
 ness, coldness, and unfathomable depth which those 
 words conjure. In his ability to stir an emotion to 
 its depths by simple words, Maeterlinck is a master 
 psychologist. He seems to know just what words 
 will arouse us most. His ability is that of some 
 East Indian Seer of Necromancy. 
 
 Now our attention turns from the group upon the 
 terrace to the seven sleepers stretched upon the mar- 
 ble steps of the marble chamber, — itself so sugges- 
 tive of the tomb. After unavailing efforts to awaken 
 them, Marcellus steps into the tombs beneath, and 
 emerges into the room by a marble-slab in the un- 
 even floor. One by one the sisters awaken and rise 
 to greet him, — all but one, the one alone for whom 
 the young man has eyes, Ursula, his betrothed, and 
 slowly we realize that she is no more 1 
 
 "So softly death succeeded life in her, 
 
 She did but dream of heaven, and she was there." 
 
 The sisters raise her upon their shoulders, and 
 slowly begin the ascent of the marble steps, bearing 
 the lifeless form to the old folks weeping upon the 
 marble platform of the landing. 
 
 It is a beautiful picture, a fragment of a drama 
 of life, and yet more impressive than many a sermon. 
 It seems to be founded upon the Bible Parable of the 
 Virgins who slept when the bridegroom came, and
 
 The Seven Princesses 63 
 
 rose up when it was too late. It seems to point the 
 moral that man seeks in vain for the realization of 
 his hopes and happiness. Death, — like Banquo's 
 ghost, — is always present at the banquet, and will 
 rise up with horrible grimace and grin at us sardon- 
 ically in the midst of our vain merriment. 
 
 "Gravely he smiles, 
 As if he spoke to God, though but to me, 
 
 To me who cannot answer him he speaks, 
 Me who have no possessions."
 
 HOME 
 
 THE late Master of Balliol, Benjamin Jow- 
 ett, has said, "By mysticism we mean, not 
 the extravagance of an erring fancy, but 
 the concentration of reason in feehng, the 
 enthusiastic love of the good, the true, the one, 
 the sense of the infinity of knowledge, and of 
 the marvel of the human faculties. When feed- 
 ing upon such thoughts the "wing of the soul is re- 
 newed and gains strength, she is raised above the 
 manikins of earth" and their opinions, waiting in 
 wonder to know and working with reverence to find 
 out what God in this or in another life may reveal 
 to her." 
 
 The above paragraph seems to aptly apply to the 
 play called L'Interieiir, which is translated by Rich- 
 ard Hovey under the title Home. 
 
 The one English writing which it inevitably recalls 
 to the mind is the closing scene of Tennyson's Enoch 
 Arden, where the wanderer returns to his old home 
 and garden, and stands longingly gazing through the 
 window upon the beautiful picture of the family,— 
 his wife, his children, his friend, — grouped about 
 the hearthstone. The setting is just that. But the 
 one who enters the garden is an old man, a friend 
 of the family, and he has come thither the bearer of 
 the saddest of all possible tidings to those who sit 
 so happily within the enclosing walls of "home." 
 Safe they seem from all intrusion, and yet there is 
 fast approaching, the footsteps already heard in the 
 
 64
 
 Home 65 
 
 distance, the one intruder against whom we cannot 
 bar our doors, the one who is always at our elbow, 
 Death, He has come and reaped the flower of 
 the family, the fairest of the daughters, and now the 
 old man, in grim contrast to the young child whose 
 lifeless form is being borne up the hill, stands stag- 
 gered without the warm rays of the window, hesi- 
 tant how to break the news to the happy family cir- 
 cle. The Stranger at his elbow urges the need of 
 haste, whilst the two grandchildren, swayed by the 
 sentiment of pity, urge delay. But Death knows 
 nought of delay, and the steady tramp of the bearers 
 comes nearer and nearer. At last, when procrastina- 
 tion can no longer prevail, the old man steps within 
 the threshold, and instantly we see the heart-rending 
 scene of the broken household. 
 
 The play is one of the most exact transcriptions of 
 human life that Maeterlinck has ever produced. It 
 is extreme realism laid on in all its hideous shadings. 
 There is no attempt at relief; just the horrible con- 
 trasting of light and darkness, with greater atten- 
 tion paid to the shadows; the light seems more in- 
 tense, the home more happy because of the misery 
 which is awaiting. The hesitant, uneasy mind 
 of the old man is carefully drawn, and reflects the 
 senility of the aged. Carefully sketched are the 
 childish dispositions of the two grandchildren, curi- 
 ous to know the effect which the sad intelligence will 
 produce upon the little family; and then the terror 
 which confronts them at the possibilities which the 
 thought raises, and the supplications to procrastinate; 
 then their overpowering curiosity to see for them- 
 selves the painful scene when the Mother looks upon
 
 66 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 the upturned face of her dead daughter. Primitive 
 curiosity which man shares with the animals, impels 
 them, in spite of their fears, to run to the front of the 
 house and mingle with the curious throng of villagers 
 gathering there. 
 
 Even the final line, which is uttered by the 
 Stranger, "The child has not waked," shows Maeter- 
 linck's masterhand, and his fondness of contrasting 
 the turbulent with the peaceful. It is a true pleas- 
 ure-pain emotional state viewed from the opposite 
 extremes. It is a rare touch of realism. In the midst 
 of all this woe and misery, the little babe sleeps 
 peacefully on, oblivious of the horrible event which 
 has come into its home-circle. 
 
 Maeterlinck has in this play set forth his purpose 
 and views of life in plain light, and his thesis seems 
 to agree with Lao-tsze, the great Chinese Philosopher 
 who lived about 604 B. C, who said, "My religion 
 is to think the unthinkable thought, to speak the in- 
 effable word, to do the impossible deed, to walk the 
 impassible way."
 
 THE BLUE BIRD 
 
 THE BLUE BIRD is one of the most ad- 
 mirable and consistent studies of natural 
 dream psychology which exists in modern 
 literature. This fact, unfortunately, has 
 been quite overlooked by philosophers who are 
 ever anxious to find some fresh interpretation of the 
 philosophy and ethics of its teachings, and do not 
 seem to be impressed with the perfect harmony which 
 exists between the life moving about the sleeping 
 children, and which make their impressions upon the 
 subconscious senses and are reflected in figments of 
 imagination, which form themselves into a remark- 
 able fabric of dream. The philosophy of the scenes, 
 the language, is above the intelligence of these un- 
 educated, tender children, but it is not incompatible 
 with the dream, for it is only used by the author to 
 paint the canvas of the various pictures; it is, as *t 
 were, the scenic background of the dream. But one in 
 a dream often gives expression to thoughts which 
 seem elegant and impressive, and which may or may 
 not be beyond the comprehension of the subject, and 
 yet which thoughts, if committed to paper, will in 
 the waking existence seem far less potential, and, in- 
 deed, most frequently are idiotic. "Only when we 
 are not concerned with action, in a reverie, or in 
 dreaming, do we seem to plunge into the land of 
 memory for its own sake, though even then our mem- 
 ory is suggested by elements in the present." 
 
 The obtrusion of this deep philosophy, therefore, 
 
 67
 
 68 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 is not a blemish, but an adornment justified from 
 philosophic and aesthetic points of view. It makes 
 the play delightful to the most erudite student, and 
 quite as enjoyable and comprehensible to the most 
 unsophisticated little child who ever delightedly en- 
 joyed its performance. The ability of Maeterlinck 
 to appeal to these widely divergent types stamps him 
 as supreme among dramatists and entitles him to all 
 the praise and encomiums which have been lavished 
 upon him by applauding critics. In studying The 
 Blue Bird, one will find much interest in comparing 
 with it Gerhart Hauptmann's remarkable dream 
 play, Hanneles Himmelfahrt, which is the dream of 
 a child in delirium, and contrasting it with the dreams 
 of these children in normal sleep. 
 
 Of all Maeterlinck's plays, the most discussed is 
 The Blue Bird. It is widely proclaimed as a "drama 
 of happiness," and its moral is avowed to be that we 
 "oft gan' astray" seeking pleasure and wealth when 
 these lie at our hand if only we will open our spiritual 
 eyes and behold. Yet not so long since at an inter- 
 pretation of the symbolism of this play, one in the 
 audience remarked that altho the doctrine was that 
 the blue bird lived in the children's own home, yet 
 when they gave the bird to the little sick child they 
 gave away their very last spark of happiness and 
 joy. That suggestion but completes the contention 
 of the opposing faction who claim that if Light rep- 
 resents knowledge, and Mother Night stands for 
 ignorance, it is indeed a somber picture. Even the 
 countless blue birds which flutter in the Kingdom of 
 Night are scattered and slain when day dawns. Pes- 
 simism, too, rules supreme in the Land of Memory,
 
 The Blue Bird 69 
 
 where the dead live only when the living pause to 
 think of the dear-ones beyond the gloomy portal. 
 What sadder picture can one imagine than the doc- 
 trine of predestination which is given us in The King- 
 dom of the Future? Think of the innocent children, 
 predestined to lives of misery long before their 
 birth ! Think of the children predestined to become 
 criminals; to destroy their fellowmen! Think of 
 the two lovers torn from each other's purt embrace, 
 weeping and sobbing, and the only comfort is that 
 the one promises, "I shall be the saddest thing on 
 earth," replying to the comment, "I shall be gone 
 before she comes down." Then the little girl cries, 
 "I shall never see him again," and the little fellow 
 sobs, "We shall be all alone in the world!" It is, 
 indeed, from this standpoint, a sorry picture, and 
 happiness is not in its midst. 
 
 However, let us begin to examine it from the 
 point of view of its psychological construction of a 
 dream, and see what a marvelous mind has woven 
 its richly embroidered fabric. It is human life in 
 as complete a cycle as the famed Les Miserahles of 
 Victor Hugo. 
 
 The psychology of Mother and Father Love, of 
 filial obedience is wonderfully correct and admirable, 
 and the opening scene is one of rare insight and ten- 
 der beauty. What is more fascinating than the pic- 
 ture of a Mother putting her little ones to bed? It 
 reflects the very basis of human existence, the home, 
 which has arisen through the ages, and is continued 
 by the divinely appointed instinct of self-preserva- 
 tion; or, we might be more concise and say that the 
 parental instinct has given rise to what is termed the
 
 70 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 Tender Emotion. 
 
 There is a flaw in the dramatic incident very early 
 in this opening scene, however, for it is not clearly 
 conveyed to the reader just when the dream begins, 
 and the reality ends. When the play is acted, the 
 failure of the dramatist to indicate the exact point of 
 the beginning of the dream is not quite so obvious, 
 for the children return to the bed several times, and 
 are there when Daddy and Mammy Tyl look in at 
 them. The exit in quest of the Blue Bird occurs at 
 the very end of the scene. There seems no difiiculty 
 in considering as reality the incident of the two chil- 
 dren jumping from their bed and peeking between 
 the cracks of the shutters to enjoy the pleasure of 
 the children of wealth in the great house across the 
 way. The psychology is well-drawn, the conversa- 
 tion accurate, and the contagious emotion of pleasure 
 is well reflected. Even the babe, as Darwin has 
 demonstrated to us, is affected by this emotion of 
 pleasure, and learns to smile back in answer to the 
 smile bestowed upon it, and the preservation of this 
 delightful, unsophisticated charm is what attracts us 
 to many individuals, and makes them necessary to our 
 happiness in life. But the children, according to the 
 text, do not return to their bed before the arrival of 
 Fairy Berylune, so we must assume that they were 
 so sleepy that they fell asleep upon the stool gazing 
 at the enjoyment which they could only enjoy as a 
 subjective emotion, and that they subsequently at- 
 tained the bed in a half-awake, half-asleep condi- 
 tion, or else were, like many children of their age, 
 somnambulists, and regained the bed whilst in this 
 comatose condition. The Dream, which begins at
 
 The Blue Bird 71 
 
 this moment and continues through to the end of the 
 play, is constructed by one vv'ho has been an ardent 
 student of the psychology of the Dream State, for it 
 is correct to the minutest detail 
 
 There is a very interesting doctrine presented in 
 this dream,— the inter-relation of the minds of the 
 brother and sister. As the boy is made the more 
 important character, it may be that his is the sug- 
 gestive mind, and Mytyl's the suggestible, or the 
 reverse may be urged with much stronger reason. 
 "There are positive dominating personalities whose 
 mission in life seems to be to influence others, and 
 there are receptive, passive natures which readily 
 yield themselves to such influence. So, in the sub- 
 conscious realm, some persons are far more sugges- 
 tible than others." It is normal for the sister to be 
 more solicitous of the comfort and welfare of little 
 brother than the reverse, so one may prefer to be- 
 lieve that, as he is given the preference in the dream 
 as in the waking life, and as she is somewhat the 
 elder, that she is the one whose dream state com- 
 municates by telepathic suggestion its features to 
 Tyltyl. "Telepathy is the normal means of com- 
 munication between two subjective minds, and It is 
 only between subjective minds that telepathy can be 
 employed." At the close of Act Two she says, 
 "Give me your hand, little brother," as If taking the 
 initiative, but the speech concludes with the admis- 
 sion of the very simplest, the very first emotion with 
 which man is endowed, that of fear, and she con- 
 fesses, "I feel so frightened and so cold." This last 
 word Indicates that in restless tossing the child had 
 become partially uncovered, and that the bodily
 
 72 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 sense, the objective, was aware of coldness, and sug- 
 gested this line to the sleeping consciousness. 
 
 The presence of a Fairy in the dream, is the most 
 natural of all things, for the children are of the age 
 when they are most fond of Fairy Stories, and are 
 wont to believe in such things as "singing grass," 
 and when in their play they are wont to speak to 
 flowers and even believe them little girls and little 
 boys, and to attribute to them human attributes ac- 
 cording to their own attributes; the rose will be a 
 beautiful lady of rank and wealth, for example. Says 
 G. Stanley Hall, "Many flowers, too, in their appear- 
 ance suggest birds or animals. Some have all the 
 human features; the pansy is a little face to almost 
 everyone, a sweet and innocent baby face, a roguish 
 child, sly, cute, and mischievous, or even the face 
 of a cross old woman." Then Mr. Hall continues to 
 go at length into their moral attributes, and concludes 
 with this sentence, "In all these many ways, too, the 
 appeal in adolescent years is noticeably much fuller 
 and far more suggestive in the case of girls than with 
 boys." We can continue to discuss in this way how 
 the common, everyday articles of food, such as bread, 
 sugar, milk, water, may become personified as gra- 
 cious beings who are philanthropists like the Good 
 Samaritan of Scripture, and minister to man's daily 
 needs. What more natural than that the Golden 
 Hours should be beautiful ladies? It is customary 
 for children to think of their pets as having the same 
 attributes as themselves. 
 
 Ralph Waldo Emerson says : 
 
 "A subtle chain of countless rings, 
 The next unto the farthest brings;
 
 The Blue Bird 73 
 
 And, striving to be man, the worm 
 Mounts through all the spires of form." 
 
 The children are, of course, adherents of the Ro- 
 man Catholic Church, and so their conceptions of the 
 duties of their fireside pets, the dog and cat, are 
 governed accordingly. It is Rt. Rev. John Cuth- 
 bert Hedley, Bishop of Newport and Minervia who 
 has said, "The brute creation have only one purpose, 
 and that is to minister to man, or to man's temporary 
 abode." 
 
 Rankling in Mytyl's heart was the fact that Tyltyl 
 had been selfish and refused that day to give his lit- 
 tle bird to the sick child who had taken a fancy for 
 it, and who had used that bird as a suggestive means 
 for her own recovery, just as so many older people 
 make a fetish with the curing properties of bones of 
 saints, or of handkerchiefs which have been suspend- 
 ed over St. Peter's Tomb in Rome. To this disturb- 
 ing consciousness we must attribute the real basis of 
 the dream. 
 
 The presence of Light exists In the brain area be- 
 cause the light from across the street is playing 
 through the shutters. The departure of carriages 
 will account for the opening and closing of doors 
 throughout the play, as In the Kingdom of Night, 
 and the Kingdom of the Future, and the musical 
 sounds are equally well accounted for by the orches- 
 tra playing In the house across the way, snatches of 
 which music keep floating Into the bedchamber and 
 make their way into the dreaming-brain to add their 
 modicum to the dream-fabric. The diamond on the 
 hat may be a surviving remnant of a Fairy Tale
 
 74 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 which had recently been related to the little ones, or 
 may have been suggested by a bright spot on the wall, 
 or from the lamp burning above the table. 
 
 The presence of the misty veil which separated 
 the children from the Land of Memory, falls into 
 line of moral teachings which had been given to the 
 children by their parents or the village priest, and is 
 in accord with Theological Doctrine. The pres- 
 ence of the hour for return to the Fairy's Palace was 
 evidently suggested by the hour which the children 
 awaken each day, and doubtless the house-clock, 
 sounded eight-thirty soon after they had fallen into 
 sleep. There are two suggestions which might be 
 advanced, either that the dream is divided into two 
 portions of the night, the first occurring before the 
 house-clock had sounded the hour of half after eight, 
 and ceasing somewhat later, and the thread being 
 taken up in the morning when Mother enters the 
 room. The opening of the bedroom door would be 
 sufficient to suggest the return from a journey, and 
 suggest the last act of the play. Or, one may place 
 the realm of the entire dream within the few final 
 moments before the complete return to consciousness. 
 Personally, I prefer to divide the dream period into 
 two portions, for that better allows each passing 
 sound to have its place in suggestion of the dream- 
 fabric, and does not make us resort to an explanation 
 to account for the early portion being retained from 
 the impressions of the early night when they had 
 hrst been tucked into their cot. It is well known that 
 "In sleep— our subconscious mind possesses an ap- 
 preciation of the passage of time which our conscious 
 mind cannot approximate and of which at present
 
 The Blue Bird 75 
 
 we can give no explanation." 
 
 It is in perfect accord with Theological Teachings 
 that the dead, "the guests of God," as some one has 
 so beautifully called those who have gone before us 
 into that "undiscovered country, from whose bourn 
 no traveller returns," are with us when we think of 
 them, aiKl that we can meet them at the altar-rail in 
 the solemn act of communion. This doctrine makes 
 it very natural that the children should find that their 
 deceased grandparents and little brothers and sisters 
 awakened when they came to visit them, and that 
 there should be a feast spread forth. Then it is the 
 most natural thing imaginable that the feast should 
 be such as the children had been wont to enjoy when 
 they had visited at the tiny cottage of the old folks. 
 That the bird should seem to be the long sought Blue 
 Bird, is quite compatible with the dream, and that 
 it, too, should prove to be dead, is also correct, for 
 even in dreams the mind retains as facts certain con- 
 ditions which are actual. The sense of this portion 
 of the dream can be well-expressed in the following 
 quotation from Shelley's, To a Skylark, — 
 
 "We look before and after, 
 
 And pine for what is not, 
 And our sincerest laughter, 
 
 With some pain is fraught." 
 
 Coming to the Palace of Night, we find a doctrine 
 which covers the discoveries of science for relief and 
 cure of mankind before which "the dark shadows 
 that scare the soul will flee away." It is a Kingdom 
 into which Light does not penetrate, hence the rea- 
 son for the existence there of disease; if Light had
 
 yS The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 been there, Disease would have flown away. So if 
 the Blue Bird were languishing in such an ill-abode, 
 the children must penetrate alone. It is typical of 
 the many diseases of childhood which they must suf- 
 fer alone despite all the knowledge of materia medi- 
 ca, and from which they must work out their own 
 salvation. There is nothing in the teaching of Maet- 
 erlinck here to make us call him morbid, and say that 
 the play is gloomy. It only metaphorically presents 
 conditions which are real in the world, and suggests 
 that the coming of Knowledge (Light), will finally 
 conquer all. The basis of this portion of the dream 
 may have been suggested by some bodily disturbance, 
 • — a sneeze, a cough, by one of the children, or even 
 a snore may have suggested the rumbles and noises 
 heard in the dream world. The blue birds flying in 
 the heavens were stars, and their presence in the 
 dream can be attributed to the flicker of light-rays on 
 the wall of the room; possibly Mummy Tyl had 
 looked into the room solicitous because the children 
 had coughed or sneezed in their sleep. The Cat sug- 
 gests concerning the Blue Bird, "I see him there, on 
 that moonbeam," so one is justified in saying that 
 Mummy Tyl had opened the door and peeked in, 
 causing the ray of light to shine through, which sug- 
 gested a moon-beam as it struck upon the thin skin 
 of the eye-lids closed in sleep. The Dog, looking at 
 the dead birds, inquires, "Are they good to eat?" A 
 very natural question for a dog to propound, and 
 very easily explicable because the children had been 
 enviously watching the children dining in the house 
 of the party, and there was vividly present the emo- 
 tion of hunger, a pure pleasure-pain emotion.
 
 The Blue Bird yj 
 
 The forest setting arises very naturally, consider- 
 ing that Daddy Tyl was a woodchopper, and the hut 
 itself in the fringe of a forest. We need not again 
 call attention to the naturalness of the attributes ac- 
 credited to the Trees, nor how very carefully Maet- 
 erlinck has been in giving to each the most natural 
 characteristics, — the oak, for example, being old, 
 gnarled, twisted with corns (acorns) on his ancient 
 feet; the mistletoe as his crown is natural, because it 
 is a parasite of that tree; and his gown of moss and 
 lichen also shows Maeterhnck's familiarity with Bot- 
 any, and indicates that the children were endowed 
 with trained eyes, quite natural to those who hve in 
 the midst of nature. One may have an appreciation 
 of nature from a purely aesthetic viewpoint, but if he 
 live in the wilderness, he will be familiar with the ap- 
 pearance of the plants and trees, the birds and flow- 
 ers which surround him. Altho no mention is made 
 in the play, the fact that it was Christmas Eve, — a 
 time when all impossible things are supposed to be 
 capable of occurring, — would justify us in supposing 
 that the children had probably been that day into the 
 woods gathering mistletoe either for their own hum- 
 ble dwelling, or for purposes of sale to richer neigh- 
 bors. Again, the vision of the Christmas Party with 
 its Tree and the greeneries would arise in the dor- 
 mant mind and become fabric for a dream. When 
 the Cat says to Tyltyl, "Take oft your hat, it's the 
 Oak," we have a reminder of a lesson in deportment 
 which had been suggested to Tyltyl during the day, 
 either when Neighbor Berlingot had called for the 
 bird, or when the children were selling Christmas 
 wreaths and garlands from door to door.
 
 7 8 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 The injury to self by striking against trees, is indiC" 
 ative of "the lowest order of intelligence, or that 
 stage of society in which human beings are physically 
 least removed from beasts. In proportion as they 
 rise in the scale of existence and unfold their mental 
 faculties, the more they free themselves from the 
 tyranny of the supernatural." As early as 1808 
 Gottfriend Immanual Wenzel published in Vienna a 
 book of 216 pages entitled Neue auf Vernunft und 
 Erfahrung gegriindete Entdeckungen iiber die 
 Sprache der Thiere (New discoveries concerning the 
 Language of Animals, Based in Reason and Exper- 
 ience), in which he claimed that the lower animals 
 can express themselves by articulate sounds which 
 may be understood by man and reduced to writing. 
 So the ability of the animals to hold a conference and 
 discuss killing the children, and their ability to under- 
 stand them, as well as their housepets, does not offer 
 any new doctrine, nor need it trouble us to account 
 for the presence of such ideas in the minds of the 
 children. But Maeterlinck's treatment of the dia- 
 logue of the animals is noteworthy, and shows that 
 he is an earnest and careful student of Zoopsycholo- 
 gy, the comparatively new science, which attempts to 
 analyse the "mental traits and moral qualities of the 
 lower animals, — not merely recording as curious and 
 comical anecdotes, but systematically investigating 
 and philosophically explaining" their conduct. The 
 "hypocrisy" of the cat "is a trait shown by all weak 
 animals in self-defense," according to Evans. The 
 Cat again shows this trait at the very end of the play; 
 indeed, it is a prominent characteristic of this animal 
 from Maeterlinck's viewpoint. If I may be par-
 
 The Blue Bird 79 
 
 doned still another reference to Mr. Evans' scholarly 
 book, I will quote a paragraph which summarizes the 
 Cat and Dog far better than I can do. He says, "Of 
 all domestic animals the cat was the most difficult to 
 tame, and it needed the patience and persistence so 
 strongly characteristic of the ancient Egyptians, sus- 
 tained by religious superstition, in order to accom- 
 plish this result. Even now the cat, altho extremely 
 fond of its home and capable of considerable attach- 
 ment to persons, has never been reduced to strict serv- 
 itude and become the valet of man like the dog, but 
 has always remained to a certain degree what it orig- 
 inally was, a prowling beast of prey." 
 
 The symbolic diamond which Tyltyl wears in his 
 hat represents the imagination of childhood which 
 in its adolescence gives personality to abstract things, 
 as we have already discussed at sufficient length, and 
 into which Mr. G. Stanley Hall goes in such exhaust- 
 ing detail in his valuable volumes on Adolescence. 
 
 I am somewhat at a loss to find just why the Au- 
 thor inserts where he does the Scene in the Grave- 
 yard. It would seem as if this should have been 
 placed before the Land of Memory, so that the tri- 
 umphant cry, "There are no dead !" would be an- 
 swered by the explanation that "They live always in 
 our memory." This scene, and its complement. The 
 Land of Memory, can be taken as reflective of the 
 words of Spinoza, "The mind cannot be absolutely 
 destroyed with the body, but somewhat of it remains 
 which is eternal. There are rare minds, of which 
 the principal part is eternal, so that they have scarce 
 anything to fear from death." It is the most beau- 
 tifully conceived scene, from an aesthetic standpoint,
 
 8o The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 in the entire play. The dialogue of the children is 
 interesting, for it summarizes many of the supersti- 
 tions current among peasantry concerning death and 
 the grave. The old superstition, which still persists 
 in these enlightened days and makes even the most 
 intellectual of us shudder when we pass a graveyard 
 at night-time, that the dead come forth and walk 
 about when the clock strikes midnight, is present; and 
 an earlier one, that the dead "eat roots." It is an 
 amusingchildhood explanation that why the deadwalk 
 only at night is "Because they are in their shirts." 
 The blossoming forth of glorious flowers reflects the 
 aesthetic doctrine of immortality, that we exist 
 through propagation of other forms of life, our 
 chemical properties entering into the com^postion of 
 the plants which draw their sustenance from our de- 
 caying frames. It is beautifully propounded, but the 
 paganism is writ plain and "he may run that read- 
 eth." 
 
 The Kingdom of the Future puzzles somewhat 
 because it seems misplaced. If we shift the posi- 
 tion of the Scene in the Graveyard as suggested, it 
 offers less obstacles to the flow of the dream-thought 
 in logical sequence. But, as dreams are not always 
 logical in action, the author may purposely have 
 made the arrangement which he has. The idea that 
 babies come from heaven is the most natural of all 
 conceptions to fill the child consciousness. Either the 
 laughter of the children across the way, or the recol- 
 lected vision of the dolls and the tree, furnished forth 
 the material for this phase of the dream. I have 
 already spoken of its melancholy features from a 
 philosophical standpoint, and its perfect accord with
 
 The Blue Bird 8i 
 
 the Theological conceptions of predestination. In- 
 deed, these conceptions are psychological and gener- 
 ally accepted by teachers of psychology. It is a doc- 
 trine which in its ideas is repulsive to many, and 
 from which all of us fain would escape. Again I 
 resort to quoting from Mr. Evans. "There is no such 
 thing as free agency. — The fact that mental ac- 
 tions are unforseeable is no proof that they are not 
 fixed and inevitable." Again he says, "What a man 
 may will to do, when acted upon by certain induce- 
 ments or temptations, was prearranged long before 
 his birth, not by the arbitrary decree of a vindictive 
 deity, but by prenatal influences and hereditary ten- 
 dencies, facts of organization which may be subse- 
 quently modified by the social and moral environ- 
 ment into which he is born, and the effects of early 
 education." 
 
 In this Land of Hope, Light finds the Blue Bird, 
 and conceals it beneath her cloak, and the children 
 now come back to the door of their own tiny home. 
 As I have already suggested, the entrance of Mum- 
 my Tyl to awaken the children, brought to mind the 
 final fabric of the Dream. The opening of the bed- 
 room door suggested the green house-door; the ac- 
 tual squabble of the cat and dog on the hearth mat 
 suggested the final conflict between these ancient 
 foes; the recollection in the subconscious of the ris- 
 ing hour suggested the remark of Light concerning 
 the opening of the door, "The door will not open 
 till the hour strikes." The children are already half- 
 awake, and beginning to feel that they must awaken, 
 and the figures in the dream begin to grow hazy and 
 to disappear.
 
 82 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 And now we leave the dream portion of the play 
 for the actual humdrum, every-day existence of the 
 peasant children. Mummy Tyl enters and awakens 
 them with a kiss, — the very kiss which suggested the 
 "goodbye" of Light as she dismissed them from the 
 world of dreams to the land of reality. They awak- 
 en still heavy with the vividness of the dream, hardly 
 able to take up their existence again, and, as objects 
 seem to one who has just returned from a long 
 journey, more beautiful, more bright, and with 
 unappreciated qualities, so their home seems to 
 them. "After ten years' absence," says Ribot, 
 "an object, a monument, is seen the same, 
 but it is not felt the same, it is not the 
 faculty of perceiving which has changed, but its 
 accompaniment." It is a very natural experience in 
 the life of childhood, and one which persists into 
 more advanced years. It is, no doubt, to be ac- 
 counted for in the James-Lange Theory, that rest 
 and sleep have furnished so much renewed vitality 
 and tingling sense of health, that the mind catches 
 the influence of the bodily emotion, and colors the 
 surroundings with the same intense sense of well-be- 
 ing and pleasure. 
 
 The children begin babbling their dream-experi- 
 ences, and the simple peasant mother believes them 
 possessed of some evil spirit, and then tries to find 
 a natural solution, — "Daddy's brandy bottle." When 
 Neighbor Berlingot enters they immediately believe 
 that they see the Fairy, for the subconscious had re- 
 tained this image and made it into a benign being in 
 the dream, and so, the children greet her as such. 
 This carrying over of dream ideas into the waking
 
 The Blue Bird 83 
 
 life is not at all unusual in the case of those sud- 
 denly awakened from slumber. Who is there who 
 has not awakened confused as to the day of the 
 week, or even where he may be, or how he came to 
 be in that particular place? It is typical of the diffi- 
 culty with which the personality sometimes re-enters 
 the mind and takes hold of the rudder to steer its 
 course. It is also the reason why it is so simple for 
 the personality to become separated from the phys- 
 ical during the state which we call "sleep," that pecu- 
 liar physical state, which makes children ask, "Mam- 
 ma, where are we when we are asleep?" 
 
 That the subconscious affects us during sleep, and 
 carries such affect over into our waking hours as post- 
 suggestion, Maeterlinck makes the child see that the 
 bird in the cage is blue. The color had never before 
 made such a distinct impression upon the child's 
 mind. He knew blue as blue in an abstract sense, but 
 not in all its variations and shadings which closely ap- 
 proach other colors, and so now for the first time he 
 realizes that the turtle-dove, which he may have 
 thought of as grey, if he ever named the color at all, 
 is blue. It is a very interesting psychological Idea 
 which is interposed here, and worthy of much 
 thought. It shows the part that the subconscious 
 plays in education, and explains why one may study 
 long and not seem to comprehend a subject sufficient- 
 ly to make it of practical use, and then, suddenly, 
 have the full knowledge and value burst forth as tho 
 by magic. It is highly probable that the children had 
 been studying the primary colors as part of their edu- 
 cation, or had been impressed with the colors in na- 
 ture the preceding day, and this impression had gone
 
 84 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 with them into sleep, and upon awaking exists in 
 discriminating power. Plato has said, "It cannot be 
 put into words as can other inquiries, but after long 
 intercourse with the thing itself and after it has been 
 lived with, suddenly, as when the fire leaps up and 
 the light kindles, it is found in the soul and feeds it- 
 self there," 
 
 The giving of the bird to the little sick girl is for 
 me the most beautiful moment in the whole play, for 
 it teaches the Golden Rule in its quiet simplicity, and 
 teaches us that we are not happy in selfish enjoyment, 
 but that as we share what we have which gives us 
 happiness, we ourselves become richer and happier, 
 knowing that we have made others happier. It is a 
 well-established psychological doctrine propounded 
 by Spinoza, "every advance toward perfection gives 
 us happiness." Another well-taken point is the in- 
 troduction of the little sick girl, and the intense af- 
 fection which Tyltyl feels for her as a result of his 
 kind act, for it is a settled rule that the benefactor, 
 rather than the benefacted, is the one who loves the 
 more intensely, and that if we dislike a person, the 
 surest way of changing our sentiment is by doing a 
 good turn for that person. 
 
 I have not discussed the Land of Happiness which 
 Maeterlinck inserted after the play had been per- 
 formed for some considerable time, and which has 
 been substituted for the Forest Scene. The scene is 
 exquisitely beautiful, and of strong aesthetic appeal. 
 The speech of the glorified Mother concerning the 
 attributes of Mother-love, is a gem. It is a scene 
 which delights eye and ear, but it is out of tone with 
 the play regarded as a well-constructed dream. Love
 
 The Blue Bird 85 
 
 of Mother would bring that character in naturally, 
 and her speech is but a beautifully phrased summary 
 of filial love and obedience, so not beyond plausibility 
 as a dream epoch in children of such tender years. 
 But the personification of Happiness, and the dis- 
 crimination between the small, familiar happinesses, 
 and the deep, philosophically conceived happiness of 
 Justice, Benevolence, Truth, "pale shadows of 
 the exercise of abstract thought," could only 
 be experienced by the most philosophical of 
 metaphysicians. "Under this last form it is 
 the type to which all other emotions ap- 
 proximate, when the effective element is impover- 
 ished — viz., moral emotion in rationalistic theorists 
 (the Stoics, Kant), aesthetic emotion in critics, and 
 religious emotion in metaphysicians and dogmatic 
 theologians." 
 
 It seems a shame to draw from so ponderous a 
 philosopher as Spinoza to interpret this ethereal de- 
 lineation, yet the philosophy of Maeterlinck as ex- 
 emplified in The Blue Bird cannot be better summar- 
 ized. It is this, — "Every advance toward perfection 
 gives us happiness, and it is safe to say that the buoy- 
 ancy which characterizes contemporary thought, the 
 hopeful outlook amid all dangers that threaten us, 
 the sense of the added cubit to man's stature, are due 
 largely to the recognition of powers for good within 
 his soul of which he was not formerly aware."
 
 AGLAVAINE AND SELYSETTE 
 
 AS the Blue Bird in that play is the symbol 
 of happiness, the Green Bird in Aglavaine 
 and Selysette is symbolical of the inevita- 
 able jealousy which creeps into the heart 
 of the wife when the other woman, Aglavaine, is in- 
 troduced into the intimate relations of the family 
 circle. 
 
 Jealousy is one of the complex emotions, the main 
 ingredient of which is anger, natural resentment, the 
 fierceness which an animal experiences when par- 
 tiality is bestowed upon one of the little brood. The 
 particular phase of this emotion with which Selysette 
 is afflicted, is sexual jealousy, which is very closely 
 connected with the instinct which we term "female 
 coyness." This again resolves itself into the feeling 
 of egoism, self-feeling. Meleander was her own, her 
 god about whom revolved her little world. To make 
 him happy was her one ambition in life. She is a 
 simple, unsophisticated child, with all the pettish 
 moods of pampered childhood, at the hour of bud- 
 ding maturity, and her whims show the stages of 
 adolescence with their first appreciation of sex and its 
 powers of appeal. She was so completely self-cen- 
 tered, so sure of the affections of her husband, that 
 any idea of his loving another never occupied her 
 thoughts, and hence she displayed absolutely no inter- 
 est in his correspondence with their sister-in-law, Ag- 
 lavaine. 
 
 Aglavaine was not an adventuress, but a woman of 
 intellectual height with Meleander. They were men- 
 
 36
 
 Aglavaine and Selysette 87 
 
 tal affinities, the one the complement of the other an 
 inspiration to higher ideals. Selysette was only a 
 pastime to Meleander, but Aglavaine was his reli- 
 gion. She came to the shelter of this house prompted 
 by a weak will rather than with any designing intent. 
 In the hour of her sorrow, and when she needed 
 counsel, she turned most naturally to the brother-in- 
 law who had so long corresponded with her, for the 
 advice and comfort which she most required. The 
 possibility of upsetting the household never crossed 
 her mind. It never occurred to her that she should 
 be the cause of jealousy on the part of the wife. This 
 is the thesis which Maeterlinck proceeds to expound. 
 It is this theory which has given rise to the myriads 
 of triangle-plays of the last decade. It is the thesis 
 of the impossibility of reconciling the polygamous 
 physiology of man with the monogamatic demands 
 of woman. 
 
 Little Selysette welcomes her as a sister, and is not 
 pained by the joyful kisses which Aglavaine bestows 
 at random on the entire household. Osculation is a 
 mania with Aglavaine, from which she cannot escape. 
 Doubtless it typifies the sexual emotion, the parental 
 instinct, which is at the basis and the exciting cause of 
 the tender emotion. She is overflowing with health 
 and vitality, her mind free from evil intent, and as 
 an over-exuberant juvenile, fresh from school, with 
 vacation and long hours of play ahead, she embraces 
 and kisses everyone in sight. Such is her disposition. 
 And it is that very disposition which lets loose the 
 Green Bird, which in later acts we see fluttering 
 around the castle turret, and which Selysette endeav- 
 ors to catch.
 
 88 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 Jealousy is a new experience with Selysette, and 
 awakens her curiosity, and she strives to analyze the 
 emotion, to vivisect it, as it were, and watch its very 
 pulse beats. "A new trait in his character always 
 amuses the individual." She does what is, at times, 
 ill-advised, begins a system of self-examination and 
 analysis of motives, strives to lay her finger upon the 
 sore spot, and finally decides that there is no sore 
 spot, but that the whole of herself is ill, and then, like 
 the heroine in Ibsen's The Wild Duck, prepares to 
 make-away with herself. Her suicide is the supreme 
 negation of self-feeling, and comes perilously near 
 the altruistic or philosophic suicide, in its careful 
 planning. Yet, one can't help feeling that there is at 
 basis the childish element of revenge by making the 
 two lovers remorseful all the rest of the days of their 
 lives. Aglavaine so interprets the prompting emo- 
 tion, for she cries, "We can never be happy again !" 
 
 Selysette would also picture herself as a heroine, 
 and thrill ecstatically in the radiance of the glorious 
 light in which she would see herself surrounded in 
 the memory of her beloved husband, and of Agla- 
 vaine. She felt that her suicide partook of a saintly 
 element, and made her above ordinary persons. Her 
 conduct and thoughts are so characteristic of child- 
 hood that one wonders at their simplicity and fidelity.
 
 MARY MAGDALENE 
 
 MR. E. P. EVANS says, "Spiritual affini- 
 ties have a stronger cohesive attraction 
 than natural affinities, and that, in every 
 case of tension, the latter are sure to yield 
 and be rent asunder." Such is the proposition which 
 Maeterlinck set out to prove when he wrote 
 Mary Magdalene, a play based upon New Tes- 
 tament personages, but with whom he takes much 
 poetical license. It is a triangle play, and deals with 
 the warring elements of a woman's soul. It depicts 
 the everlasting struggle between sensualism and 
 spirituality, and shows us the latter triumphant. It 
 is a startling exegesis coming from Maeterlinck, 
 whose writings are so shrouded in gloom that we 
 seem unable to discover the face of the good God. 
 
 Mary is represented as the Woman of the Seven 
 Devils, given over to a life of worldly ease and pleas- 
 ure, and indulger of the lusts of the body, the anti- 
 thesis of all that is holy and spiritual. Verus is a 
 man the embodiment of animal passion and carnal 
 desire, who seeks for self-gratification. They are 
 both swayed solely by the sex instinct and impulse, 
 and each knows nought of the discipline of self-con- 
 trol. Into the Magdalene's life comes the Saviour 
 with His Beatitudes. Mary is so impressed with 
 these words that she is moved to revolt from her life 
 of sins, and to turn to a better calling. 
 
 Such Psychologists as Theodore Ribot and G. 
 Stanley Hall, admit that there is such a thing as 
 
 89
 
 90 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 "sudden conversion." It is often due to a "moral 
 shock;" such as in the case of Mary Magdalene. 
 The sexual and the religious are not irreconcilable, 
 but as has been claimed elsewhere in this volume, the 
 sexual is essentially a part of the religious. Some 
 characters do not seem to be able to reconcile the two. 
 Doubtless this caused the terrible mental struggle in 
 Mary's mind in this play. The nature of her life 
 up to the moment of conversion was such that she 
 would find much difficulty in making any portion of 
 it a part of her new life following the moment of 
 conversion. The sexual element would be revolting. 
 It it doubtful if she ever could reconcile this emotion 
 as part of her religious life. I have suggested in the 
 later discussion a possibility of such reconciliation in 
 event of Verus proving the man of her ideal. But his 
 inability to comprehend the mental change which 
 had occurred, made him give to Mary a second 
 psychic shock, and this would, perhaps, work toward 
 an irremediable lesion in mind, and there might even 
 result a dual personality. 
 
 Mary is as a blind woman stumbling in the dark- 
 ness. About her are only those who are of earthly 
 vision. Verus is so blinded by sin and paganism that 
 in Mary's conversion and desire to follow the Mes- 
 siah, he can see nothing but a new flame, a new lover. 
 "It is one of the rare achievements of high culture, 
 and has always been the prerogative of exception- 
 ally thoughtful minds, to be able to distinguish be- 
 tween the apparent and the actual, to keep mental 
 conceptions free from the influences of optical illu- 
 sions, and not to be deceived by the surprises and 
 sophistries of the senses." So we cannot wonder
 
 Mary Magdalene 91 
 
 that the Roman Soldier, Verus, could not distinguish 
 between the phase of love and adoration which Mary 
 bore the Messiah, and the love which she had for 
 himself. The one was of heaven heavenly, the other 
 of the earth earthy. 
 
 Poor Mary was torn between the two men, anxious 
 to love each in his place, anxious to serve each. 
 She is not a complex and unusual character. She 
 is but a carefully drawn portrait of every woman 
 of her temperament. She was filled with a pas- 
 sionate, maternal love. That emotion caused her 
 to slip into the ways of sin, and the same emo- 
 tion which caused her downfall subsequently caused 
 her redemption. She realized that she was not 
 living the best, the highest life, and hungry and 
 sick of sin and its consequences, she turned to what 
 was better. Had Verus been the hero she fain would 
 have believed him, had he made a real, genuine ef- 
 fort to rescue the Teacher, Mary would have given 
 to him a wife's love. She would have served him 
 well, and been a model of wifely devotion. But be- 
 cause he was blinded, and had not the spiritual vision, 
 he scorned her, (a complex emotion of disgust and 
 anger), and turned from her in her hour of need. 
 Verus is typical of men of his class, even to his revil- 
 ing of Mary, and accusing her of sin and faithless- 
 ness, in the presence of her beggar friends. 
 
 Yet one feels a certain amount of sympathy for 
 Verus, for he was a man as we usually conceive of 
 men. "The ego in each of us is composed of con- 
 tradictory tendencies; virtues arid vices, modesty and 
 pride, avarice and prodigality, desire for repose and 
 need of action, and many others." He was swayed
 
 92 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 by a man's emotion of jealousy and suspicion, — not 
 a mean, contemptible emotion in such a case as this, 
 but an honest, righteous emotion, which made him 
 want all of Mary's love, or none. Could he have 
 had the broader vision, he might have discerned that 
 it was a religious emotion which enthralled Mary, 
 and that that emotion would only bind her closer to 
 him, and not separate them. But, "with our present 
 number of senses we are unable to perceive a great 
 variety of objects which are either too small for us 
 or too large, too near, too far, or too subtile, so that 
 we are constantly hemmed in and hindered in our 
 pursuit of knowledge by bodily limitations and im- 
 perfections, and thus only partially comprehend the 
 real relations and qualities of things." In repulsing 
 Mary at the crucial moment in her life, Verus obeyed 
 only a natural instinct. As Pascal has said, "The 
 grandeur of man is also his misery." The emotions 
 of man are not under the direct control of the will, 
 so as psychologists we can overlook his roughness and 
 brutahty, and feel pity for him in his hopelessness.
 
 MONNA VANNA 
 
 MAETERLINCK seems fond of writing 
 plays in groups so as to discuss his 
 theories from every possible vantage 
 point, and to offset one opmion with 
 another. He is a comparative essayist. Monna Van- 
 na belongs to a trilogy of triangular plays of which 
 the others are Mary Magdalene, and Aglavaine and 
 Selysette. 
 
 Mary Magdalene was a woman striving to attain 
 her ideals and throw off the shackles of materialism. 
 Selysette was a child trying to efface herself so that 
 her husband might be free to give his love where love 
 seemed to call. Monna Vanna is a woman of re- 
 markable purity, striving to be true to a man who 
 was unworthy of her noble, sacrificing womanhood. 
 Mary Magdalene seems to stand for the New 
 Testament teaching, that a believer cannot be happi- 
 ly yoked with an unbehever. The impossibility of 
 harmonizing such divergent beliefs, of finding a com- 
 mon plane for one of gross nature and one of spirit- 
 ual calm and idealization, is the emotion which stirs 
 Mary to her depths, and she sacrifices the earthly 
 peace and satisfaction for the heavenly. And one 
 feels that she has gained in so doing; her soul is rich- 
 er, for she has been true to her better-self. 
 
 "This above all," says Shakespeare, "to thine own self be 
 true, 
 And it must follow, as the night the day, 
 Thou canst not then be false to any man." 
 
 93
 
 94 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 Monna Vanna makes a similar choice as Mary. 
 She selects the better man, the one who is her ideal. 
 We find nothing discordant to our sensibilities in the 
 selection which she makes. Had her husband been a 
 stalwart, true man, who had accepted her word, we 
 would not have felt that Monna Vanna did right in 
 going away with Prinzivalle. As it was, because her 
 husband doubted her, we feel that she did the only 
 honestly possible thing by leaving him and taking up 
 a higher, more sublime life with the man who stood 
 for what is noblest and best in life. 
 
 Maeterlinck, who has been his own best commen- 
 tator, says of Monna Vanna, "Guido, being an ordi- 
 nary man, cannot comprehend that one can love and 
 still restrain one's passion. In presence of these two 
 men, so unlike in character, Monna Vanna realizes 
 the depth of her own feelings, and, threatened by the 
 danger of losing Prinzivalle, my heroine triumphs 
 over all obstacles by sheer force of will. According 
 to my analysis of the play, it is divided into three 
 distinct elements: ist, her sacrifice; 2nd, the awaken- 
 ing of her soul; 3d, the triumph of love and will 
 over destiny." 
 
 Selysette does not leave us so convinced. One feels 
 that Aglavaine lingered too long toying with the 
 husand, when she, because of her greater age and ex- 
 perience, should have departed, and left the little 
 Selysette to the enjoyment of her woman's paradise. 
 Selysette was the immature child. Monna Vanna 
 and Mary Magdalene are the mature women. They 
 place their love after mature thought. Selysette 
 obeyed her natural instinct and accepted the love be- 
 stowed upon her without question. She rises up to
 
 Monna V anna 95 
 
 contest only when she found that there were other 
 chambers In her husband's heart to which she was 
 not admitted, chambers the key to which she had not 
 lost, — like that of the tower, — but which she never 
 had possessed; and to which she could not penetrate, 
 because of the discrepancy in their years and educa- 
 tion. She is typically the woman of the Far East 
 who has never achieved her freedom. 
 
 The other two women are of the twentieth cen- 
 tury, women of action who vindicate their sex, and 
 make their minds the masters, and do not yield weak- 
 ly to their emotions. Selysette was as "a tyrant whose 
 power lay in the loyalty of her subjects, and not at 
 all in her own soul." But the others were as "a deity, 
 imminent, brooding, and unaware of itself." 
 
 The event which changed the trend of Mary's life, 
 was the visit to the house of Silanus, when she heard 
 the words of the Saviour, and was herself freed from 
 the accusation of sin. The event which altered Mon- 
 na Vanna was the moment of her realization in the 
 tent of Prinzivalle that here was a man of purity 
 of soul too great to stoop to ignoble purpose. Each 
 found a man who stood for righteousness, who was 
 not swayed by any sexual passion. Before such men, 
 women must ever bow. Fate had predestined that 
 these spiritual affinities should be attracted, but, as 
 we read in Yajnavalkyad-harma-Sastra, "As with a 
 single wheel there can be no progress of a chariot, 
 so fate without human effort cannot be carried into 
 effect." 
 
 The man which each of these women met was " — 
 like the maiden of heavenly beauty or hideous as- 
 pect, who meets the soul of the Parsi at the Chinvad
 
 g6 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 bridge, and is the personification of his own thoughts, 
 words, and deeds. Each man grows into the com- 
 plete embodiment of the propensities which he fos- 
 ters, and fondly cherished tendencies take root in 
 him as instincts." 
 
 The difference between these women of bold 
 initiative, who each solved the problem in her own 
 way, is explained by a paragraph from Evans. It 
 is not a new theory with psychologists, but it is terse- 
 ly and accurately phrased, and explains clearly the 
 reason why some women might not have been so 
 swayed by their emotions, nor acted as did these in 
 their dilemmas. "In this, as in every department of 
 ethics, the conduct of the individual depends upon 
 the degree of his mental enlightenment and moral de- 
 velopment, and is influenced by the religious creed he 
 happens to profess only so far as the latter may inci- 
 dentally modify his personal character. As a rule, 
 its effect in restrainmg inborn propensities is very 
 slight, especially when the religion is handed down 
 from generation to generation as a sacred heirloom 
 of the race, and the performance of the duties it in- 
 culcates becomes perfunctory." 
 
 "God gives us love. Something to love 
 He lends us; but, when love is grown 
 To ripeness, that on which it throve 
 Falls off, and love is left alone." 
 
 Tennyson.
 
 SISTER BEATRICE 
 
 SISTER BEATRICE confirms one's opinions 
 of Maeterlinck as a psychologist of high or- 
 der. The religious emotion is probably the 
 highest emotion which can control man. It 
 belongs to the group of higher emotions which in- 
 cludes the aesthetic and the sexual. Some psycholo- 
 gists are prone to confuse the aesthetic and the 
 religious emotions, and are not able to distin- 
 guish between the two. To me it seems evident 
 that the religious is the higher, and that one cannot 
 experience its heights, or depths, without experienc- 
 ing the ecstasies of the aesthetic. The aesthetic has 
 always been used by all forms of religion to induce 
 the religious emotion, and what is used as a scaf- 
 folding in erecting a structure, cannot be more im- 
 portant than the edifice itself. In religious senti- 
 ment we find involved all imaginable emotions based 
 upon the existence of varied sentiments. But as these 
 minor sentiments and emotions are included in the 
 aesthetic and the sexual, which make for idealiza- 
 tion and preservation of self and the family, we in- 
 clude them by making the two lesser of these three 
 higher emotions a part of the one, the religious emo- 
 tion. 
 
 Darwin, in his Descent of Man, wrote, "The feel- 
 ing of religious devotion is a highly complex one, 
 consisting of love, complete submission to an ex- 
 alted and mysterious superior, a strong sense of de- 
 pendence, fear, reverence, gratitude, hope for the 
 
 97
 
 9i{ The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 future, and perhaps other elements. No being could 
 experience so complex an emotion until advanced in 
 his intellectual and moral faculties to at least a 
 moderately high level. Nevertheless, we see some 
 distant approach to this state of mind in the deep 
 love of a dog for his master, associated with complete 
 submission, some fear, and perhaps other feelings." 
 Accepting this deduction, let us glance at Sister 
 Beatrice, the play. The setting is aesthetic, and 
 planned to awaken in the beholder the feeling of 
 religious awe and reverence the instant that the cur- 
 tain rises. Be one ever so pagan, it seems impossible 
 to resist the supernatural charm of the grey walls of 
 a peaceful convent, with its altar to the Virgin, its 
 red lamp burning before the altar, its candles, its 
 glittering brass of the rail before the shrine. When 
 this emotion has reached its height, and seems to 
 need a spur to its intensity to equalize the diminu- 
 tion in feeling as a result of a nerve-discharge of 
 ecstatic pleasure, the great doors are thrown open, 
 and we have a glimpse of the heavenly sky filled with 
 myriads of stars, and as we begin to lose some of 
 the aesthetic emotion caused by this suggestive 
 glimpse of the unfathomable universe, the orb of day 
 begins to rise, and suffuse the heavens with a roseate 
 tint, and 
 
 "The Morn, in russet mande clad, 
 Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill." 
 
 Then we hear the solemn tone of the Matins 
 Bell. The very adjective which long years have jus- 
 tified in speaking of the deep tones of a church or 
 convent bell, bespeaks the emotion which man has
 
 Sister Beatrice 99 
 
 long experienced when hearing it. The bell, or its 
 primitive brothers, the gong and the triangle, have 
 been used in primitive religions to assist in producing 
 the religious emotion. Few can resist the peaceful, 
 reminiscent mood suggested by well-tuned chimes. 
 A whole psychology might be written upon the emo- 
 tions inspired by bells. Our poets have long made 
 use of them in poetry, — the mad bells, the clanging 
 bells, the wild bells, the jangling bells, the merry 
 bells, the glad bells ! 
 
 Then come the beggars to the gate, and their shab- 
 biness and misery appeal to the pathetic, prompt the 
 benevolent, and so add their quota to the construc- 
 tion of the religious emotion. The entrance of the 
 chanting Sisters (Nuns) is aesthetic in suggestion, 
 and gives rise instantly to the emotion of reverence, 
 and we are in a mood to feel with them the horror of 
 what has happened during the night, — the theft of 
 the sacred image of the Virgin. We feel with them 
 righteous indignation at the carelessness of the custo- 
 dian, Sister Beatrice, and are able to place ourselves 
 in their emotion of horror at the sacrilege, when the 
 consecrated garments are discovered upon the sup- 
 posed Sister Beatrice. But as students of psychology, 
 we sympathize with Sister Beatrice in this scene, be- 
 cause we consider that the theft of the garments from 
 the altar-statue would be due to religious insanity, 
 due to suggestion, and that long, lonely vigils with 
 pondering before the image had had their effect upon 
 the suggestible Nun, until she had come to believe 
 herself the very Virgin, and had robed herself in 
 the finery, and then concealed the gorgeousness which 
 hespoke her holy incarnation, or transformation, by
 
 lOO The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 the humble garments of her vows of poverty and 
 chastity. The easy suggestibihty of the religious 
 aesthete is suggested by the fact that the Nuns them- 
 selves are impressed by the sincerity of Sister Bea- 
 trice and regard the occurrences as miracles. One 
 should not regard literally and materialistically the 
 roses and garlands, the palms, which tTie Nuns wave 
 as they come forth from the chastisement of Sister 
 Beatrice, and which surge across their way and im- 
 pede their footsteps. Rather must we regard these 
 as symbolic signs of the simple faith of these pious 
 women, and roseate glimpses of a spiritual vision. 
 The song which they raise is one which would well 
 to the lips of one in the heights of religious ecstasy. 
 They are hysterical to the last degree, barely escap- 
 ing the transitional line which transforms religious 
 hysteria into religious insanity. "In this instance we 
 have the exercise of close observation, judgment, rea- 
 son, and imagination culminating in the exhibition of 
 superstitions fear — all the elements, in short, which 
 constitute religious sentiment in its crudest form." 
 
 The legend itself, upon which the play is based, 
 exists in the earliest folk-stories of the Netherlands, 
 and may be even older than this source. The inci- 
 dents used by Maeterlinck come from John David- 
 son's The Ballad of a Nun, which, in turn, comes 
 from a Dutch legend. Like all folk-stories, it doubt- 
 less had its origin in truth which has been picturesque- 
 ly exaggerated. Doubtless some Nun did forsake her 
 vows and elope, and come, as one must who violates 
 his own sentiment of self-regard, to an unhappy end, 
 and then strove to take up once more the despised 
 life which, after years of suffering, shame and ig-
 
 Sister Beatrice loi 
 
 nominy, had come to seem the only life worth while, 
 by returning to the peace and quiet of the cloister 
 to die. She turned from her sins to the cloister, as 
 the Magdalene turned from hers to the Saviour. The 
 cloister to her mind was symbolic of the Holy Pres- 
 ence, and was the only refuge, aesthetic and actual, 
 where she could flee for harbouring. 
 
 To continue our reconstruction of the tale, — The 
 image was stolen by vandals, and may have been re- 
 turned in after years, as it weighed heavily up some 
 guilty conscience. It did not have a marketable val- 
 ue, and had been useless to its possessor, and doubt- 
 less the suggestion which the possession of the statue 
 made was against the successful perpetration of 
 further crime, and so, in order to free his guilty con- 
 science, the thief replaced the image as mysteriously 
 as he had abstracted it. Perhaps he stole it with the 
 assistance of the eloping Sister, and she may have 
 brought it back with her when she crept into the con- 
 vent on the eventful night after her long pilgrimage. 
 The garments were doubtless discarded as of no val- 
 ue, and the jewelled image alone transported from 
 the building. 
 
 Later some peasant woman, who had witnessed 
 Sister Beatrice eloping, came to the gate to alarm 
 the sleeping Nuns, and as she stood and gazed upon 
 the vacant niche of the Image of the Virgin, and 
 the discarded garments of the image and of the Nun, 
 was filled with admiration, a complex sentiment com- 
 posed of wonder and a negative self-feeling of sub- 
 mission, which caused her to don, timidly perchance, 
 the vestments of the image, and then in terror, as 
 the bell for early prayers rang forth, cast over them
 
 102 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 the simple habit of the Sisterhood. Or, it may be 
 that superstition so terrified her that she became hys- 
 terical, and then was filled with religious ecstacy 
 which transformed itself into mania, so that she was 
 marked with a stigmata, and instead of reflecting 
 nail-prints, or the likeness of a crucifix, upon her 
 body, reflected in herself some of the attributes which 
 the Church had taught her as appertaining to the 
 Holy Mother, and believed herself the Blessed Vir- 
 gin sent to earth to take the place of Sister Beatrice, 
 In so acting she was fulfilling what had been a hfe- 
 long desire but from which she had refrained, either 
 because of home-demands, or lack of positive self- 
 feeling and too much of the negative sentiment of un- 
 worthiness. The final end of this pious woman who 
 took up Sister Beatrice's work, we can only speculate, 
 and with no certainty. The mania which made her 
 see in herself the reincarnation of the Virgin Mother, 
 may have reacted when the real Sister Beatrice reap- 
 peared, bringing with her the image itself, and, after 
 decking it in its regal robes of gorgeous elegance, 
 crept out into the snow and cold of the night to per- 
 ish by the roadside, an unknown beggar. "Religious 
 madness," such as we have been imagining as affect- 
 ing this woman, "follows a course depending upon 
 character, education, environment, epoch, and form 
 of belief." 
 
 Any such explanation, brings in the ever-interest- 
 ing discussion of disintegrating lapse of personality. 
 The peasant woman was a woman of hysterical tem- 
 perament, a fit subject for such an event, and the 
 space elapsing between the beginning of the new 
 life and the resumption of the old, was just about of
 
 Sister Beatrice 103 
 
 the right length to fit the conception, and to accord 
 with our physiological and psychological observa- 
 tions, — the periods of early and late youth. The 
 similarity of conditions which made her drop her 
 personality and become the Virgin, and those which 
 retransformed her into her former self, are much 
 like the motions of the mesmerist when altering by 
 hypnotic gesture the personality of the subject, and 
 then by reverse gesture restoring the subject to nor- 
 mal. Prof. Jastrow says, "Personality may be marred 
 in the making; it may also fail to weather the storms 
 of life unscathed and come to port at almost any 
 stage of its journeyings to repair its damages, it may 
 be, or to continue its career in less enterprising ser- 
 vice.— The element of violent shock" was here pres- 
 ent to work the disintegrating lapse in the personal- 
 ity of the peasant, and to reverse and restore. 
 
 In the character of Sister Beatrice we find the pre- 
 dominating emotion of sex controlling. This primal 
 emotion had been the propelfing instinct which forced 
 her to the religious life. "The morbid exhaltation 
 of the religious feeling is derived from attraction and 
 love, as depression springs from fear." She felt a 
 great longing, some demand of the body requiring 
 satisfaction, and believed that it could be satisfied 
 only by the vocation of religion. This belief would 
 be encouraged by the home surroundings of the peas- 
 ant girl, and the teachings of the Parish Priest and 
 the consecrated Nuns who directed her education. 
 The impressions made upon a child before the age 
 of eight are the impressions which will weather the 
 storms of the years, and influence his character most 
 at crucial moments in life's stormy way. So it was
 
 104 ^he Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 very natural that Sister Beatrice should have become 
 an inmate of the convent, and one of its most zealous 
 members. Benevolence is one of the sentiments close- 
 ly enwrapped in the sexual emotion. But the sacred 
 wedding with the Church, did not satisfy her soul's 
 demands, and she cried out for something more, and 
 the handsome Prince Bellidor seemed to bring the 
 answer. Unused to the admiration of men, she was 
 particularly susceptible to his glances and his flatter- 
 ies, and the way of her fall was made easy by the 
 very severity of her surroundings. Every emotion 
 expends itself and leaves us empty, and so the aesthe- 
 tics of the religious life had lost their power to hold, 
 and Sister Beatrice fell, a victim to the normal de- 
 sires of womankind, the desire for Motherhood. 
 Altho she must be condemned by Theologians, yet na- 
 ture will cry out in justification. 
 
 But Bellidor was "a gay deceiver," one of the 
 earliest type of men who prey on women to please 
 their own carnal lust, and who demand frequent 
 change in order to keep alive and active their carnal 
 passions. And when he had worked his will upon 
 the unsophisticated, trusting Beatrice, he cast her 
 aside, and filled with remorse tho she was, yet shame 
 predominated; and controlled by pride which kept 
 her from returning to the convent a penitent, and 
 begging readmission into the convent, bringing 
 
 "The worldly mourning of her widow's veil, 
 Like a blackbird's wing among the convent doves," 
 
 she sank lower in the paths of sin, and, seeking bread 
 to satisfy her hunger cravings, and the cry of the
 
 Sister Beatrice 105 
 
 tiny babe in her arms, became a social outcast, the 
 most condemned among women, and yet of all the 
 most to be pitied. 
 
 In the last act, as we have reconstructed the facts 
 of the tale, the pseudo Sister Beatrice admits her as 
 she would any poor beggar-creature at the gate, and 
 in that instant her own personality undergoes a vital 
 change, and as she clothes the real Sister Beatrice 
 in her own humble garments to hide her nakedness, 
 and assists her to replace the stolen image upon the 
 altar, arraying it in its royal robes, time drops 
 from her memory, and she knows that she is herself 
 a simple peasant woman who came to beg for alms, 
 and so she slips through the open gates into the 
 world, leaving alone, penitent, broken in body and 
 spirit, the trembling, unhappy, erring Sister Beatrice. 
 
 But God, who has an all-seeing eye and looks at 
 the motives of men, has sympathy and pardons and 
 forgives the sin which had been prompted by man's 
 most controlling instinct, the sex-life, the desire for 
 the preservation of his own image in his children. 
 
 The interpretation placed by the devout Nuns 
 upon the pitiful condition of Sister Beatrice is char- 
 itable. Her wretched condition they readily attribute 
 to some mission of charity performed during the 
 night-watch, and their eyes are too dim with 
 age, and the light in the cloister too faint, for 
 them to see the indelible lines of sin which are en- 
 graved upon the countenance, altho slightly ob- 
 scured by the suffusion of the shadow of death 
 which hovers o'er her. As they pay reverential re- 
 spect to Sister Beatrice, they are paying respect to 
 the other woman, who had for twenty years carried
 
 lo6 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 the burdens in the heat of the day and who has now 
 slipped out into the night and disappeared, who knows 
 where. It is a justly accorded homage, a tribute 
 paid to the real Sister Beatrice who had struggled 
 and fought a good fight, even tho sin had vanquished 
 her in the end, and to the woman who completed the 
 work which Sister Beatrice had weakly laid down. 
 
 It is a rule that an emotion in its extreme intensity 
 sweeps the will, and that an emotion is weak in its 
 composition which does not so sweep. So in this play, 
 Maeterlinck has given us a comparative study of the 
 great emotions of religion and of sex, the latter con- 
 trolling Sister Beatrice, and the former being su- 
 preme in the life of the woman who took her place. 
 After studying this play we can say with Pascal in 
 his Thoughts, "I behold those terrible spaces in the 
 Universe which encompass me." 
 
 '*Nor heaven itself upon the past has power; 
 But what has been, has been, and I have had my hour." 
 
 Dryden.
 
 ARDIANE AND BARBE BLEUE 
 
 THIS play is the symbolism of woman's 
 love. Ardiane is typically the woman of 
 the twentieth century who is able to take 
 the initiative for herself and stands free 
 and independent of man. She consents to marry 
 Barbe Bleue in order to release from their cap- 
 tivity her imprisoned sister-women. This achieved, 
 her work is done and she scorns to receive any- 
 thing from the hands of Barbe Bleue. She is not 
 devoid of the tender emotion, for she protects Barbe 
 Bleue against the wrathful vengeance of the peas- 
 antry, and cuts his bonds, feeling safe in so doing as 
 she knows herself and her power over him. 
 
 The other women are timid souls, representative 
 of the women of the past ages, the women of the 
 Harem who worship their Lord and Master as if he 
 were a divinely appointed potentate. He can abuse 
 them, imprison them, but they are swayed by their 
 inherited instincts, and fawn at his feet as the poor 
 dog in The Blue Bird. They are ready to forgive all, 
 and he will again ill-treat them if his mood so please. 
 But Ardiane, when she finds that after she has re- 
 leased the women they will not follow her as a 
 Jeanne d'Arc, goes on her own way triumphantly, as 
 the modern woman does. She is typical of the Suf- 
 fragists as opposed to the Suffragettes; those for- 
 mer are expansionists, the latter iconoclasts. Ardiane 
 is of sterling qualities of character, and rises trium- 
 phant above the conventions of society. She is the 
 
 107
 
 io8 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 woman who divorces her husband because he is 
 slothful and does not do his share toward rearing the 
 family, yet at the instant that the decree is signed, 
 she feels for him only the extremist pity and sor- 
 row. Her love is deep, but her spirit must vindi- 
 cate itself and be free from stultifying shackles. 
 
 "Power, like a desolating pestilence, 
 Pollutes whate'er it touches; and obedience. 
 Bane of all genius, virtue, freedom, truth. 
 Makes slaves of men, and of the human frame 
 A mechanized automaton." 
 
 Shelley.
 
 Aesthetics of the Dramas 
 
 "So long as we laugh when we are joyful, and 
 weep when we are sick and sorry; so long as we 
 flush with anger, or grow pale with fear, so long 
 shall we thrill to a golden sunset, the cadence of an 
 air, or the gloomy spaces of a cathedral." 
 
 Ethel D. Puffer.
 
 AESTHETICS 
 
 IT is William McDougall in his Social Psychol- 
 ogy who claims that much of the charm of true 
 literature lies in its disclosures of the personality 
 of the author, and that through his writings "we 
 learn to grasp in some degree the personality of the 
 author and to admire him." Prof. Stanley in his book 
 Evolutionary Psychology of the Emotions sums the 
 statement more concisely by the expression, "Style is 
 the man." If ever there was an author whose works 
 breathe his personality and are filled to overflowing 
 with his own foibles and hobbies, it is Maurice Mae- 
 terlinck. His own love of the aesthetic is as much 
 reflected in his writings as in his summer home, the 
 Abbey of St. Wandrille. The aesthetics of his plays 
 are stamped with his own personal character, with 
 the modifications of environment and culture. His 
 inherent love of the beautiful is evidenced upon every 
 page, and must be attributed to his heredity. 
 
 A question may be justly raised as to the propriety 
 and correctness of attributing to an author the opin- 
 ions and emotions which are reflected in his charac- 
 ters. In the case of M. Maeterlinck, one feels justi- 
 fied in reaching the conclusion that they are "bone of 
 his bone, flesh of his flesh," as the life which he leads, 
 with its peculiar reactive temperament, the aesthetic 
 surroundings of his summer home in Normandy, and 
 his Parisian residence at Passy, are used as back- 
 grounds for so many of his stage-settings. 
 
 His small vocabulary and the almost useless repe- 
 tition of words, phrases, entire lines, is due to hi§ 
 
 III
 
 1 1 2 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 environment, for this is the method of speech among 
 the common people of Bruges, Ghent, and their out- 
 lying districts. He has used it for purposes of real- 
 ism and modified it to be within the bounds of endur- 
 ance, altho it does sound puerile to the mind not 
 aware of it as a characteristic of the classes of per- 
 sons of whom he writes. His aesthetic temperament 
 and love of the beautiful are reflected in his settings, 
 almost always palaces, castles, gardens with inevita- 
 ble marble benches and pools and fountains with 
 marble curbings, hedgerows, roses and flowers, and 
 even the suggested hum of bees, — his own particular 
 hobby. The introduction of priests and nuns is due 
 to his education at the hands of the Fathers. His 
 love of St. Wandrille has influenced his stage-mount- 
 ings, and in reading his plays, one familiar with the 
 Abbey will find himself involuntarily placing the 
 characters in some portion of the Abbey or the 
 grounds in its vicinity. 
 
 Then his own love of seclusion, his retiring per- 
 sonality, are displayed in narrowing the action of so 
 many of his plays to the confines of an island, and so 
 circumscribing his action, and showing the affect of 
 this narrow environment in the narrow, one-purposed 
 minds of his characters, whose minds seldom seem 
 great enough to embrace the whole world, but only 
 the very small segment of it which lies within the 
 boundaries of their island. This limiting of his 
 dramas may also arise because he doubts himself, 
 and fears that he may get too far astray from the 
 harmonies of time, place and incident, as he showed 
 a strong tendency to do in his first play. The Princess 
 Makine^ with its twenty-four scenes !
 
 JOYZELLE 
 
 IN the character of Merlin and Arielle, his gen- 
 ius, I always seem to see Maeterlinck himself, 
 like the Puppet Master who directed the fates 
 of the dolls which impersonated the characters 
 in Maeterlinck's Death of Tintagiles, as present- 
 ed at the Puppet Theatre in Munich, Germany. 
 He dangles on his fingers the poor persons con- 
 cerned, and plays with their loves as he will. 
 Every move has been prearranged, and they have 
 almost ceased to be creatures of free volition. 
 The play is typical of life, and the Power which 
 governs us, apparently allowing us to follow our 
 own wills, and yet mapping out our every move- 
 ment, causing us to obey biologic laws which 
 were founded with the Universe itself, and which we 
 obey even when we think that we are most freely fol- 
 lowing our own desires and volitions. For exam- 
 ple, some chemical properties of the body attract 
 complimentary properties to my body, and cause a 
 friendship to spring up, or else cause me to recoil 
 from the other being. And when emotions have so 
 changed the chemical properties of the constituents 
 of my clay and water, there comes a revulsion of feel- 
 ing, and an unexplicable severing of friendship which 
 may or may not revive in later years, and that, too, 
 depending again upon a chemical retransformation, 
 suggestive of the familiar trick performed by the 
 Magician for the delight of the small boy, when he 
 transforms clear water into the semblance of ink, and 
 
 113
 
 114 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 again renders the liquid translucent. 
 
 In the character of Arielle is observed a very pe- 
 culiar doctrine much exploited by mystics, especially 
 by the class who believe in reincarnation, and which 
 has also been reflected in the late founder of the 
 Christian Science Cult, namely, the interchangeability 
 of a sex, or, a dual personality, as it were, which has 
 not become a separated personality. That is, Merlin 
 is a man with all the passions of a man, even the 
 grossest, whilst his Genius, his better-self, as I prefer 
 to translate the French word, is of the feminine per- 
 suasion. It may only be a psychological observation 
 that passions are tenderest in the breast of woman, 
 and introduced for the sake of opposing Mother- 
 love against Father-love, or it may be that in his own 
 breast there exists the tenderness of woman, as is the 
 case with most dramatic genius. The late Clyde 
 Fitch wrote stronger women than men, altho they 
 were all afflicted with some peculiar quirk of charac- 
 ter which made them defective, and never well-round- 
 ed and complete embodiments of ideal womanhood. 
 Or, another reason, and which I surmise to be the 
 fact, and more particularly because Joyzelle belongs 
 to the transition period of his dramatic production, 
 which occurred after his marriage to the beautiful 
 Georgette Le Blanc, and is one of his most recent 
 plays, he has written into the character of Arielle the 
 influence, conscious and unconscious, which his wife, 
 whom he terms "his other self," "his complemen- 
 tary half," has had upon himself and his later writ- 
 ings. 
 
 Maeterlinck is very fond of Joyzelle. Of this 
 character he says, "Joyzelle is a spontaneous creature,
 
 Joyzelle 115 
 
 full of life, grace and love. In her I wish to illus- 
 trate how Life and Love may triumph over Death 
 and Fate, and above all to encourage Man to find 
 new motives to live and persevere and triumph." 
 
 It is quite probable that Joyzelle is an allegory to 
 show the theories of telepathy, and that "it is a nor- 
 mal means of communication between two subjective 
 minds, and that it is only between subjective minds 
 that telepathy can be employed. The London Socie- 
 ty for Psychical Research has demonstrated beyond 
 all question the fact that telepathy is a power pos- 
 sessed by many." 
 
 I have spent considerable time striving to make the 
 four characters of this play projections of the one 
 mind, Merlin's. If one believes in the ability of the 
 subjective mind to project phantasms, veridical ap- 
 paritions, and the like, one may assume that the play 
 stands for this doctrine and theory. "The subjec- 
 tive mind of man appears to be fond of allegory as 
 a means of conveying its thoughts or information 
 above the threshold of consciousness." It finally 
 suited me better to dismiss it as merely a case of dual 
 personality, and leave the lovers as normal human 
 beings. 
 
 His early plays show Maeterlinck's tendency *-o 
 morbidness in a marked degree. There is a weari- 
 some repetition of metaphors of death and blindness. 
 Truly, these conditions are used symbolically to sum- 
 marize the mental states of the characters, but they 
 none the less point to a morbid mental condition on 
 the part of the author. The settings of these plays 
 are in cold, stony castles. There is no place more
 
 Ii6 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 cheerless, not even excepting the gloomy confines of 
 a prison, than a great palace, with its vistas of rooms 
 filled with gilded furniture, the very atmosphere pro- 
 claiming to the casual visitor that these rooms no 
 longer, if ever, resound to human voice and step. 
 Such rooms are a hollow mockery of life, and be- 
 speak the quiet of the tomb, and the persons who 
 endeavor to exist in them, are as much dead to the 
 world and its needs as are those from whom the 
 breath of life has already flown. 
 
 His characters are usually sickly, and with a mys- 
 terious, baffling kind of illness. When they go forth 
 from these chilly, cheerless rooms, they walk upon 
 marble terraces, or stroll in dank gardens o'er grown 
 with rank vegetation, and rest, meditating upon the 
 dark side of life, seated upon a chilly, moss-grown 
 bench of clammy marble, beside some stagnant pool, 
 or bottomless well, and always in the shadow of the 
 chilly, drab, stone buildings, in some gloomy, for- 
 saken spot where the rays of the sun seldom pierce 
 through the hazy clouds. The very heavens are us- 
 ually as shrouded from mortal gaze as is to the mel- 
 ancholy mind veiled the realization of any world be- 
 yond the narrow confines of their forbidding cas- 
 tle-gates ! Some more venturesome souls penetrate 
 into the hunting-preserves beyond, and the aspect of 
 the scene, if possible, is there more dark and forbid- 
 ding than in the private Park. The moat which sur- 
 rounds the castle, or the waters which hollowly re- 
 sound about the lonely island upon which the palace 
 is so frequently situated, are symbolical of the social 
 caste which separates the figurants in the play from 
 their humbler brothers and sisters of the living, vi-
 
 Joyzelle 117 
 
 tally throbbing world of reality. One need not won- 
 der that the minds of the characters are twisted and 
 contorted, as they live their lives beneath these sul- 
 len, leaden skies, by the side of wildly raging ocean, 
 or slowly moving canal. Yet, one is impressed with 
 this weird, mysterious beauty, which bespeaks the 
 mental agitation which we can't comprehend, and 
 emphasises so vividly the fact that these people are 
 existing in a world so very foreign to our ken. 
 
 Maeterlinck's exteriors are replete with all the 
 minor details of nature, and show a familiarity with 
 horticulture. He resorts to the asphodel in The 
 Blind as typical of death, and a beautiful, attractive 
 death, which bespeaks the extreme throes of melan- 
 choly, such as are the throes of self-feeling, in its 
 supreme negation, when one will seek suicide as sur- 
 cease. "It is a merciful provision of nature that the 
 nearer we approach death, the less we fear it. This 
 law is universal. It is only in the vigor of youth and 
 manhood that death is looked upon with horror. The 
 aged view its near approach with calm serenity." The 
 humming bees which fill this scene, and many other 
 of Maeterlinck's landscapes, are so peculiarly char- 
 acteristic of Maeterlinck and his fondness for his 
 apiary, that it stamps him as author of these plays 
 almost as surely as the thumb-sketch of the engraver 
 appended to the corner of his work. 
 
 The author's temperament is further emphasized 
 by the repeated exclamations of his characters, "We 
 are lost!" And again that cry of the child in Prin- 
 cess Maleine who shrieks without the door of the 
 chamber where his mother has just murdered the lit- 
 tle Princess, "My mamma is lost!" It is strange, too,
 
 1 1 8 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 that Maeterlinck should have been so affected with 
 the atheistic temperament after so many years of re- 
 ligious influence of the Monks. But this may only 
 be due to weariness of teaching, and a Nietzchian de- 
 sire to demonstrate one's freedom — of body and 
 soul. 
 
 The Blue Bird indicates his preference for the dog 
 rather than the cat. He makes Tylo a very attractive 
 creature who sticks to his master, and is always ready 
 to do his bidding, even after he has been chastised 
 for striving to protect his Httle master. At all times 
 he is the faithful friend of man. But Tylette, on the 
 other hand, is made to be fawning and deceitful, with 
 a meek, slick knavery, which plots the undoings of 
 the master, and when beaten in fair fight, and suffer- 
 ing deserved punishment for trickery, whines com- 
 plaint and causes poor Tylo to be again punished. 
 His psychology of animal nature is good and speaks 
 of keen observation, but one does feel that the cat is 
 painted in colors a shade too grey. 
 
 The influence of the priests, and his study of the 
 Old Testament seem to be reflected in his fondness 
 for three and seven, — the sacred numbers, and num- 
 bers always closely associated with mysticism. 
 
 Maeterlinck's women are almost invariably de- 
 ceitful, and seem to hold virtue at low price. How- 
 ever, most of them show a wonderful tenacity of pur- 
 pose and no sacrifice seems too great to make for the 
 one they love. The contrast between the love of 
 man and woman is wonderfully drawn in act one of 
 Joyzelle, when Lanceor protests that much as he 
 craves to see Joyzelle again, he will bow to the will 
 of Merlin and refrain, if her life is to be the stake.
 
 Joyzelle 119 
 
 Joyzelle, on the contrary, protests that she will see 
 him again, no matter if her life do pay the penalty. 
 To be sure, it is her life, and she is privileged to re- 
 gard it less preciously than Lanceor. But Lanceor is 
 characteristically man, with his desire for love here 
 and now, whilst Joyzelle is woman, who looks with 
 hope toward a paradise of heavenly bliss, an eternity 
 of love. It is the doctrine of most of mankind, that 
 religion is all right for women and children, but for 
 men ! — 
 
 Symbolism is well-marked in Aglavaine and Sely- 
 sette, where Maeterlinck indicates the entrance of 
 jealousy by the appearance of the green bird which 
 Selysette alone sees, at first, and which she admires 
 because it is beautiful, but which the more experienced 
 Aglavaine, when she catches sight of little unsophis- 
 ticated Selysette playfully endeavoring to catch it as 
 it hovers about the parapet of the tower, fears. To 
 her it is a warning and a portent that jealousy has 
 come, and that one of the twain must give way to the 
 other, and she decides, as she ought, to be the one to 
 go. But the green bird is a fascination for Selysette 
 which she can not escape, and which causes her death. 
 Maeterlinck is symbolical in indicating directly that 
 it was Jealousy which caused the movement toward 
 death, and that the fall is but a secondary factor.
 
 ALLADINE AND PALOMIDES 
 
 ALLADINE AND PALOMIDES is reek- 
 ing with symbolism and aestheticism and 
 an interpretation of its closing scenes will 
 prove of interest to the reader. 
 "We see what we desire to see, and so close our 
 eyes to the undesired" is a general rule of psycholo- 
 gists of which Maeterlinck has taken advantage when 
 he conducts his hero and heroine to the disgusting 
 realms of the subterranean caverns of the castle. 
 Here they are so overwhelmed with the sense of hor- 
 ror and dread that consciousness becomes dead- 
 ened and the aesthetic sense rises superior to the hor- 
 ror and dread which would naturally arise in the 
 mind of those facing a death from starvation and 
 thirst. There was at first an acute physical pain, — 
 pain as a fact without any reahzation of it, and the 
 attributing of it to their light bandages came as a 
 secondary and slow-dawning emotion of concentra- 
 tion, and forced them to tear off their fetters and eye 
 bandages. After the first paroxysms of grief and 
 sorrow, the emotion of love, of sex, if you will, be- 
 came so intense and conscious, that the lovers became 
 unconscious to the grim realities, and when the efforts 
 of the faithful sisters without the castle had broken 
 loose a morsel of cement, and permitted one ray of 
 glorious sunshine to enter the murky depths, the 
 mental intelligence was swept by the glory of that 
 ray, and, carried away with emotion, began to paint 
 the cavern in glorious colorings. The walls, sweat- 
 
 I20
 
 Alladine and Palomides ill 
 
 ing with dampness, were transformed; the drops of 
 moisture catching the ray of light reflected it, and 
 instantly the mind transformed it into crystals with 
 the scintillations of diamonds. The poor, withered 
 miserable weeds and the poisonous became silvery 
 flowers; and the ray falling on the dank waters of the 
 pool in which the decomposing body of the lamb, it- 
 self typical of the disintegrating life and happiness 
 of the heroine, became pale blue ripples of an invit- 
 ing pool, which soothed the tortured feelings of the 
 two souls imprisoned in this awful place. They be- 
 came quite insensible to a sense of danger from slip- 
 ping, and just remained lost in ecstatic emotion. 
 
 But when the sisters had dislodged more cement, 
 and the light became brighter, the emotions were first 
 those of discomfort, of shock because of the intensi- 
 ty of the light following the semi-darkness, and then, 
 as that sensation passed, there came into their minds 
 the emotion of reality and disgust, painful, as is that 
 of one awakening to the realities of life after the 
 pleasant experiences of hypnotic sleep, and slowly it 
 dawned on the twain that they were not disembodied 
 spirits in Fairy Caves of Nirvana, but two very hu- 
 man mortals in a loathsome place, and that there 
 still remained for them greater suffering and pain, 
 perhaps the pain of slow torture at the hands of the 
 mad king, but the certainty of mental pain quite as 
 real and vivid because of the impossibility of ever 
 reconciling their miserable lives to the exigencies of 
 life and its stern realities, the hopelessness of recon- 
 ciling caste with caste, of bridging the social chasms 
 which separated them, for the reader will recall that 
 Alladine said herself, 'T was not made to dwell in
 
 il2 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 palaces." 
 
 Then, suddenly, the subconscious (subjective) 
 ceased to operate and sank below the level of the 
 objective mind into its proper place, and they lost the 
 sense of balance, because of the intensity of conscious- 
 ness realizing consciousness which makes one become 
 unconscious because of its intensity; and slipping 
 they fell into the slimy waters of the stagnant cess- 
 pool. Here again is symbolism of the inevitableness 
 of their Fate, the pool typifying the boddy passions 
 to which their love would force them to succumb, 
 when they had reared for themselves an ethical and 
 spiritual ideal which was as Mount Olympus in Its 
 heights of purity and exhaltation. But the sisters, 
 symbolical of the better-self, enter and rescue them. 
 
 In the last act we find the lovers separated by vis- 
 sible walls, symbolical again of the dividing line of 
 caste, suffering from typhoid as a result of the plunge 
 into those stagnant, putrid waters, for "anything 
 which weakens or depresses our subconscious mind 
 exposes us to disease by rendering us less able to re- 
 sist its encroachments." These waters were symbolic 
 of sin. They call to one another as their souls had 
 long since called, answering with earthly voice; and 
 at last, each passes from the body of clay to the 
 spiritual realm where belonged these tender souls, 
 too spiritual in their loves for this world, to be joined 
 in the ethereal atmosphere of the spiritual existence. 
 "Death," says Mr. Evans, "merely releases the soul 
 from corporeal restraints and enables it to seek a hab- 
 itation better suited to the gratification of its cher^ 
 ished desires, in obedience to the law of spiritual 
 affinity and attraction."
 
 Alladine and Palomides 123 
 
 By way of vivid contrast to this poetical play, let 
 us glance at the startlingly realistic, almost sordid 
 play, The Blind.
 
 THE BLIND 
 
 FATE and mysticism combine in this play to 
 a remarkable degree. The curtain rises dis- 
 closing a gloomy, impenetrable forest, with 
 occasional gleams of light from the twink- 
 ling stars. The whole setting is typical of 
 the life of man, set down as it is in a dark- 
 some maze of doubt and fear, and lighted only 
 occasionally as a zephyr from some far off, unknown 
 regions, brushes aside the interlacing branches, and 
 discloses for an instant the stars of heaven in their 
 everlasting orbits, the messengers of hope and peace, 
 where certainty and fixity abide always. 
 
 In the center, on a decayed log, sits upright, with 
 open, staring, yet unseeing eyes, the good Priest, 
 who is typical in himself and his seat of what his 
 calling represents. The decaying log is typical of 
 the decadent dogmas which man is rapidly outgrow- 
 ing; the asphodel near him is the symbolism of in- 
 evitable death to which we all approach, the near- 
 ness of death to us in our moments of greatest peace 
 and happiness. His eyes are there, but he is of the 
 blind the most blind, for he can see none of the beau- 
 ties which still surround him. And yet the peaceful- 
 ness of his face is symbolic of the serenity of the soul 
 within, of the great knowledge and wisdom which is 
 his, now that his spirit has burst the gates of doubt, 
 and revealed the true, the one reality of our being, 
 the great world which lies beyond the present, dreary, 
 round of existence. On earth he had wandered, 
 
 124
 
 The Blind 125 
 
 seeking the sunshine, and leading forth, against their 
 will, the blind who now surround him in the hour of 
 his triumph,— the blind not only in a physical sense, 
 but in the spiritual, unable to enjoy the warmth of the 
 sun, because they see not the source of the blessed, 
 warming rays, the poor unfortunates who preferred 
 the warmth of the kitchen hearth, the security of the 
 chilly stone walls and narrow confines of their re- 
 stricted sphere, the Asylum, to the vastness of Na- 
 ture's Cathedral, the beautiful forest, with its pil- 
 lars of enduring oak; its vault, the heavens; its 
 carpet, the leaves and mosses; its pews, the fallen 
 oak; its choir, sweeter than mortal choir, the hymning 
 birds and buzzing bees. 
 
 On one side sit six blind men, doubters. On the 
 opposite, six women, three of whom are steadfast in 
 their faith and loyalty to their spiritual guide, and 
 who never cease in their monotonous repetition of pre- 
 scribed prayers. One woman has gone mad with the 
 loneliness of her life, but at the moment of her own 
 disintegration of personality, she has given birth to a 
 new hope, a tiny babe, symbolic of all that is purest 
 and best, and now in the hour of their crisis, they turn 
 to this child and would fulfill the prophecy of old that 
 "a child shall lead them." One of the men seizes 
 the little fellow and raises him aloft, hoping that his 
 cry of terror and admiration as his eyes greet the 
 sun, which now, alas, has set in a physical and 
 spiritual sense, will give them the direction and so 
 guide them back to their narrow confines from which, 
 like many whose thoughts and mediations have wan- 
 dered far, they vow that they never again will leave. 
 
 But there is another there, a young girl, who has
 
 126 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 not quite lost the spiritual vision, altho her physical 
 eyes have been sealed in darkness since she was a lit- 
 tle child. She reaches out toward the guide, in pure 
 innocence, trusting that he still will show the way. 
 The one man who can still distinguish the day from 
 the darkness is confused, as one who treads a laby- 
 rinth, for the glimmer of light is too faint to awaken 
 his poor, blinded vision. The familiar dog comes to 
 them, and he follows the instinct, which should re- 
 side in man whom the world has not perverted, and 
 goes directly to the spiritual guide, to find him hushed 
 to his bark, his hand cold and irresponsive to the lick 
 of his tongue. "Animals in common with men, are 
 possessed of a duality of mind; the subjective in the 
 former being proportionately stronger than in the 
 latter, as is shown in their stronger instincts." 
 
 In horror the blind discover the awful truth that 
 death, our enemy, has entered into their midst, and 
 that they are alone, lost in the forest, the wilderness 
 of their doubts and fears. In the death of the Priest, 
 Maeterlinck shows again his accurate psychology, 
 for the Priest steals away so quietly that his friends 
 do not know that he has gone. To quote Saleeby, 
 "Normal death, if the phrase be permitted, is a pain- 
 less occurrence, usually preceded by a gradual loss of 
 consciousness, entailing no more suffering than going 
 to sleep, which it most closely resembles, literally as 
 well as poetically." Now that it is too late they cry 
 to him who never will return. The little babe cries 
 ceaselessly. All shudder and are anxious to go home, 
 — but whither? Which is the path? Will no one 
 come? Will no one aid? Must they all perish mis- 
 erably, alone there in the forest with Death in their
 
 The Blind 127 
 
 midst? They can hear nothing but the steady drop- 
 ping of the dead leaves, for their faith has long since 
 gone, and it is a more serious blindness which afflicts 
 them than the mere loss of physical vision. But 
 listen, — the young girl is speaking. She insists that 
 there are steps. Steps which are approaching, steps 
 of one who will guide and again lead the way. Eag- 
 erly she presses forward to meet — ? 
 
 Here Maeterlinck leaves the allegory for each of 
 us to solve. But is it not evident that it is the step 
 of the dear old Priest, incarnated, as it were, in one of 
 his followers, one of the three loving Nuns who so 
 long have cared for these, his blind charges, who is 
 approaching, and who will continue the work which 
 the Priest has surrendered, and endeavor to lead the 
 blind back to the Asylum which will now become a 
 precious refuge, like the refuge sought by the guilty 
 soul who fain would escape from the paths of dark- 
 ness and sin ? 
 
 It is quite probable that in the moment of his dis- 
 solution the Priest left behind a powerful telepathic 
 message which was received by one or more of the 
 Nuns, and which impression upon the subjective suc- 
 ceeded in rising into the realms of the objective suf- 
 ficiently to guide her to the spot where the blind were 
 waiting. The minds of the Priest and the Nuns 
 would be in ideal rapport for the accomplishment of 
 this thought-transference. 
 
 "For some we loved, the loveliest and the best 
 That from his Vintage rolling Time hath prest, 
 Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before, 
 And one by one crept silently to rest." 
 
 Omar Khayyam.
 
 THE DEATH OF TINTAGILES 
 
 THE statement that Maeterlinck was form- 
 erly the "apostle of death and the grave," 
 and that gloom was the keynote, with 
 death always the triumphant, conquering 
 one, is illustrated better by none of the early plays 
 than The Death of Tintagiles. 
 
 Tintagiles is the frail little brother who has been 
 sent away to school, and there his health has weak- 
 ened by reason of unhealthy surroundings, and then, 
 as a last resort, he is sent to the Island where are his 
 two loving, devoted sisters, in the vain hope that 
 they may be able to nurse him back to health and 
 strength, and that the breath of fresh air of their 
 home may paint roses on his cheeks. But at their 
 very first meeting Ygraine sees the sign of death 
 on his pale brow, and prophesies, "Thy first night 
 will be troubled, Tintagiles." Then, as she sits and 
 draws him to her side, she tenderly says, "I thought 
 thee so far away, — and so secure." What a world 
 of sadness, what pathos there lies in that one sentence 
 broken by a sigh wrung from the depths of her 
 troubled heart! Even in the moment of our great- 
 est happiness, when we feel most secure, there comes 
 the insidious seed of death to undermine the fortress 
 of our soul. Then she asks, "Who made thee come 
 here?" — She would verify her own suspicions, but 
 the child is not aware of his unhappy fate, and an- 
 swers, oh, so simply, so innocently, "I do not know, 
 little sister." "I do not know!" None of us know 
 
 128
 
 The Death of Tintagiles 129 
 
 when Death has made his mark. He comes silently 
 in the depths of the night, or swoops down from the 
 blazing heavens of midday and singles out for his 
 own the man, the woman, the child, passing in the 
 throng of the busy street. And he bids us to leave. 
 To give up all that is most precious, all that is life, 
 all that is ourselves, to go, alas, whither? 
 
 Pressed further Tintagiles recalls "It was the 
 Queen's will." The emotion of fear, of mistrust, 
 changes quickly to one of horror realized, for 
 Ygraine knows only too well who is this Queen that 
 innocent little Tintagiles mentions, and who willed 
 that he should come to this lonely island. Had not 
 this Queen carried away her father, her mother, her 
 brothers, and left only the four of them, herself, her 
 sister Bellangere, the old retainer Aglovale, and lit- 
 tle Tintagiles? And now this Queen must have him, 
 too! She ceased to be astonished now at anything, 
 even at the fact that the sailors who brought the 
 child did not tell him why he was coming hither. 
 
 Then, in one of those remarkably beautiful pas- 
 sages which abound in Maeterlinck, Ygraine begins 
 to tell the child her own sad story, filled with meta- 
 phor and philosophy, and the richest of symbolism. 
 She had lived like a blind person on this island, she 
 had stumbled along in the darkness of ignorance, liv- 
 ing close to nature, seeing in the flight of a bird only 
 a bird, and in "the trembling of a leaf or the open- 
 ing of a rose" nothing but an ordinary event. She 
 had failed to grasp the underlying meanings, to ap- 
 preciate the master-hand directing their movement, 
 to see in them a portent of hope, of joy. She could 
 not hear the voice of nature which abounded on every
 
 130 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 hand, but was affected only by the thud of fruit as 
 it fell to the earth. Neither could she read in the 
 fall of fruit, the falling of souls which had reached 
 their hour of perfection, of complete ripening, and 
 in that same instant, when the fulness of their glory 
 was being realized, had been separated from their 
 mother to fall to the earth, and return whence they 
 had come. All this filled her with horror, so that 
 she would have fled, would have escaped the work 
 of the day, her share in the plan of the Universe. 
 But one fact looms up ever persistent, the gloomy 
 castle which stands for the tomb, and where dwells 
 the horrible Queen who can be satisfied by death 
 alone, the Queen whom no one does see, who no one 
 can see, who is old, "the mother of our mother," who 
 sends her emissaries to do her bidding, but herself 
 sits day in and day out, insatiate in her demands, 
 and always demanding the one most precious to us. 
 Ygraine is so under the influence of this emotion, this 
 horror of death, that she can no longer laugh. The 
 awfulness of the tomb is always on her mental hori- 
 zon; do what she may, turn where she will, there it 
 stands, casting its shadow over her dwelling, turning 
 the blue of the mountains to darkness. She is a 
 melanchondriac and not even the joy of having little 
 Tintagiles at her side can cheer her or divert her 
 from her mournful broodings. 
 
 When we meet Bellangere in the castle, we see at 
 once that she, too, has come under the awful spell, 
 and is bordering on the same dissolution of the mind, 
 but she has had the courage to try and pry into the 
 mystery of death to learn what might lie beyond the 
 gloomy portals, and has followed along the dreary
 
 The Death of Tintagiles 131 
 
 corridors, lighted by flickering lamps, the rays of 
 light which have from time to time appeared from 
 the Borderland, to give courage and hope. This 
 symbolism shows the mysticism of Maeterlinck to a 
 remarkable degree, and makes one wonder how much 
 weight he may place in Spiritualism. He makes Bel- 
 langere push on in her investigations until she has so 
 near penetrated the veil separating this world and the 
 other as to hear voices, but her astonishment was 
 great, for the voices were not sad, but gay. She had 
 never been able to realize that there could be any- 
 thing but darkness and horror beyond the door of 
 the tomb, simply because the threshold was so dimly 
 lighted. She belongs to "those of little faith." 
 
 Maeterlinck has been accused by many critics as 
 teaching in his earlier works Paganism; and surely, 
 the doubts and dismays of Bellangere with her Sty- 
 gian ideas of the grave as a gloomy region ruled over 
 by a cruel Proserpina, would seem to justify this ac- 
 cusation. But, her consciousness made her hear that 
 which she desired to hear, and her own voice, which 
 she believed to be a voice emanating from the other 
 side of that closed door, was claiming the child Tin- 
 tagiles. Even she was Imbued with the notion that 
 Tintagiles was to die, and that idea made the voice 
 materialize. She seems to have had the gift of 
 clairaudience. 
 
 Ygraine reflects the Christian doctrines and sug- 
 gests that tears and prayers will turn away the inevit- 
 able. She says that men have feared the grim old 
 lady always, but women have been strong, and where 
 men have failed, women have sometimes won. She 
 makes a wonderful resolve, considering her own sick
 
 132 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 temperament, when she masters her mind and by 
 sheer force of will, fortifies her trembling soul to 
 fight a grim fight which shall win. This speech is 
 wonderfully built up from the point of a psychologist, 
 for she begins with a hopeless utterance, "We are 
 alone!" — Then she suggests prayer. — Then 
 tears. — Then she weakens in decision, and is 
 ready to compromise, and begins an argument 
 why Death may spare them. — Then her cour- 
 age wanes, she begins to doubt herself, her strength, 
 to admit that Death will drop a heavy stone 
 upon her, perhaps.— But suddenly, one of those 
 most inexplicable psychic changes occurs, the sub- 
 jective becomes the stronger, and negatives the 
 objective intelligence, and she is filled with trium- 
 phant strength, and announces that where man has 
 failed woman shall conquer. In that speech she has 
 passed through all the agony of a soul self-accused 
 by sin, and has risen sublimely and triumphantly 
 above it. It is a remarkable passage, and one who 
 studies it must feel that it is beyond the powers of 
 living actress to get from the lines all the emotion 
 which lies there, all the underlying feeling, the sym- 
 bolism, the philosophy, the history of the world, the 
 story of the passion, the triumph of religion. It is 
 overpowering, amazing! Bellangere does not seem 
 able to enter into this emotional transition of 
 Ygraine, but accepts it as a fact, and humbly says, 
 'T stay with thee." She is like the faithful women 
 who remained by the Saviour to the very end, the 
 women who were stronger and braver than the many 
 brawny men who had cowardly fled. 
 
 To the resolve Aglovale also accede*. He is an
 
 The Death of Tintagiles 133 
 
 old, old man. Here Maeterlinck has made the won- 
 derful contrast which exists in human nature, the 
 religion which the young accept without question, and 
 the religion which the old, who have been through 
 the battles of life, and are weakened by many 
 wounds, who are tired, weary, feeling that there is no 
 help for them, turn to as a means of possible salva- 
 tion. But Aglovale is not filled with the courageous- 
 ness of youth at his side. He admits that he has 
 often met defeat, that probably he will again meet 
 defeat. His is not an encouraging, comforting na- 
 ture, but is of the sort which drags like a millstone 
 around one's neck. Ygraine, who had never sus- 
 pected that beneath the brawny exterior of the old 
 war-hero lay any religious emotion, is astonished that 
 now he will add his strength to theirs. And then 
 Aglovale sums up his life in an aesthetically beauti- 
 ful passage which one would fain keep in his memory 
 forever. He begins with youth, — "They have all 
 tried." — "But at the last moment they have lost 
 their strength." They have become wayside Chris- 
 tians, and been "spewed from the mouth as neither 
 hot nor cold." Then he recalls his own weary, 
 weakend state, and tells how tired his feet are, and 
 yet, at Death's bidding, he, too, would leave all and 
 gladly follow up the stair into that "far bourne from 
 which no traveller returneth." It is not the speech 
 of youth who believes in success, and who is half- 
 heartedly entering into the lists, for he feels the call 
 of this new master. His is a divided heart. He is 
 suffering with ennui,— world-weariness,— he has tried 
 and exhausted every emotion, there remains no inter- 
 est in life, and when one ceases to have a new, fresh
 
 134 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 interest in the things about him, he begins to decay, 
 and complete disintegration is at hand. He admits 
 that his courage is gone, and yet he would help them, 
 for he is not quite insensible to the emotion of pity. 
 This fact is strange, too, for the senile are fain to 
 become calloused to the sufferings of those about 
 them. Perhaps their own inward griefs are too 
 intense, or, more likely, they know how useless griev- 
 ing and sorrow are, and are looking back on life as 
 an adult upon the toys and games of his childhood. 
 In a reflective state one can gaze back on his own 
 life, and, whilst realizing how poigant was the grief 
 over the broken doll, yet how trivial was that grief 
 in the light of life's after-experiences. The reflective 
 mood is wonderfully useful as a means of compari- 
 son of past and present, and helps to make us all 
 philosophers. 
 
 Then Aglovale bids them wake the child, and hold 
 him close. This command evidently Indicates that It 
 was a malady which might affect his heart so that in 
 deep sleep he would pass away, and recognizes that 
 Sleep Is the Sister of Death, and that It Is easy then, 
 when the personality is not in Its mansion, for Death 
 to steal In unawares and stop the machinery, put to 
 rout the ever watchful servants, the brain, the heart, 
 the lungs, so that when the Personality would again 
 return from Its wanderings In the Elyslan Fields of 
 Dreams It finds barred the gates, and Death standing 
 guard without. 
 
 As we ent€r the bed-chamber of TIntaglles, we 
 overhear Ygralne saying that she has examined the 
 doors — the three doors, the eyes, the ears, the mouth, 
 as I interpret her saying, — and here again we catch
 
 The Death of Tintagiles 135 
 
 sight of Pagan Philosophy, especially as she urges 
 them to help her close the heaviest, which is strong- 
 est. Then Aglovale sits at the threshold, on the very 
 steps. One reads here the symbolism of the mouth, 
 with its teeth the marble steps. The child is sleeping 
 with open mouth, and the old man recognizes the fact 
 that it must be closed, for through it might enter the 
 germ of death, stealing in unawares upon the uncon- 
 scious sleeper. As Aglovale sits and watches, the 
 association of ideas brings up a misty past, and it 
 seems as if he had done the same thing before, and of 
 course he had, when he sat beside the little brothers 
 and the old King, all of whom had surrendered to 
 the Queen of the Darkness. The sisters stand look- 
 ing at the child, and are filled with uneasiness, for 
 there are signs of tears on his cheeks, his brow is 
 pale, — it is a restless, troubled sleep. When they 
 awaken him from his drowsy state, he is too ill to 
 care to play, and the signs of his departure arc at 
 hand, for he has ceased to be able to walk. 
 
 One might almost suppose that Maeterlinck had in 
 mind infantile paralysis when writing this symbolical 
 story of little Tintagiles. When they inquire where 
 is the pain, we catch another wonderful glimpse of 
 Maeterlinck, the psychologist, for the child is unable 
 to locate it; he feels pain as bare pain which is sweep- 
 ing over his consciousness with a remarkable inten- 
 sity, so that he declares, "It is everywhere." As 
 Ygraine takes him in her arms, he localizes a particu- 
 lar spot, and then shows the characteristic emotion of 
 childhood, the love of light, and complains that the 
 one light is not sufficient. Ygraine is lead to com- 
 ment like a sage, "One never knows just what the
 
 136 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 soul believes it sees." The remark seems placed in the 
 wrong mouth, and one feels that it should have is- 
 sued from the old man seated at the threshold. What 
 a sermon one could extract from that single thought! 
 And how childish is the answer, "I have not seen the 
 soul!" It is like a child in the Sunday school who is 
 always asking if one can see God? and who cannot 
 understand our philosophical answerings that we see 
 Him in Faith and Truth. 
 
 Now their attention turns to the sword which Ag- 
 lovale is holding across his knees. The sword which 
 had been strong in the days of his youth, but which 
 had grown rusty from long disuse, and which he now 
 suspects. Isn't it typical of the Golden Rule of a 
 thousand good resolutions made in youth, and which 
 he had tried to live by, and then, carried away with 
 the winds of doctrine, has laid aside and forgotten, 
 and then in the hour of extremity resurrected from 
 the storehouse of memory to serve a final good turn, 
 but of whose value he now rightly feels lack of confi- 
 dence. He, too, gives utterance to an epitomized 
 sermon when he says, "We have to live in expectation 
 of the unexpected. And then we have to act as if we 
 hoped." This is the cry of a dying man who, like 
 Cardinal Wolsey, exclaims, "Had I but served God 
 as diligently as I have served the king. He would 
 not have given me over in my gray hairs." 
 
 Then Tintagiles, with the wisdom of the child who 
 reflects all the wisdom of the ages, points to the 
 wounds on the old man's brow, and feels a childish 
 sentiment of pity, and alarm. But Aglovale shakes 
 his head sadly, reflectively, and answers, "Those are 
 very old wounds that do not hurt me any more, my
 
 The Death of Tintagiles 137 
 
 child." They are the insults, the injuries, the fail- 
 ures in life, wounded pride, vanity, what you will, 
 scars in the heart, scars engraven on the mind, but 
 they, too, make no impression of feeling now, the 
 mind is too seared, and the dust of the years has 
 filled them over so that they are almost concealed, 
 except to very young, penetrating eyes, and they can 
 see them only when some very similar sorrow, the 
 sense of some acute loss, has entered into the life, 
 and a sympathetic kinship has been established be- 
 tween the twain, and youth has bridged the chasm be- 
 tween himself and old age. 
 
 Then Tintagiles notices the assumed emotion of 
 his sisters, who are striving to smile, but whose smile 
 is not genuine. Maeterlinck evidently agrees with 
 Stanley who contends that emotions come from the 
 mind and are reflected upon the body, and not that 
 the body is the reason for the emotion, as is claimed 
 by James and Ribot. The mind was not happy, the 
 smile was forced, and lacked reality. Children are 
 very quick to observe whether an emotion be real or 
 only simulated. Even a baby soon learns to know 
 real tears from the pretended weeping of Mother or 
 Nurse. Even Ygraine's kiss is hurtful, for the little 
 fellow discovers that even this is tinged with the 
 grief in the sister's heart. The emotion of anxiety 
 is causing her heart to beat violently. It is the old 
 influence of fear which forces the rhythms, even 
 against her will. Then occurs an example of the emo- 
 tion of contagious fear, and the symptoms evident in 
 Ygraine's heart are reflected in Tintagiles's and she 
 exclaims, "It is bursting!" Probably no emotion, un- 
 less it be the reflex one of laughter, is more contag-
 
 138 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 ious than that of fear. It is one of the earliest of 
 our emotions, and connected directly with pain, and 
 was intended as a monitor for self-preservation, al- 
 tho in some instances it defeats its own ends by para- 
 lyzing the subject so that he perishes, but this is a 
 later development which need not trouble us here. 
 However, the emotion becomes so intense with Tin- 
 tagiles, that in a moment his heart has gone wildly 
 careering, and he has suffered coma, fainted. Per- 
 haps, after all, the paleness of brow, the peculiar 
 pink of the child's cheek, the sleeping with mouth 
 open, crying in sleep, the fainting, are pathological 
 symptoms of a heart-malady, for Maeterlinck has 
 not at any time called the disease by a specific name, 
 and we can only conjecture from the symptoms which' 
 he parades before us from time to time as the plot 
 progresses. 
 
 Suddenly the watchers hear the approaching feet, 
 — they stop at the door. The Physician, Aglovale, 
 arises calmly and strives with his scalpel, the rusty 
 sword, to prevent the entrance of the unwelcome in- 
 truder who is anxious to carry away the darling, fair- 
 haired child. But, as he thrusts the sword into the 
 opening doorway, it is broken as the door invisibly 
 closes, and the foot-steps are heard running down 
 the hall. There is a moment of pause whilst the 
 watchers bend anxiously over the child, and, still de- 
 tecting his heart-beats exclaim, "He is saved!" For 
 a time, at all events, he is left to them. But, wearied 
 with their vigil, they all fall asleep, and in that silent 
 time, come the handmaidens of the Queen, and they 
 steal into the chamber, and carry away the poor 
 Tintagiles, who clutches in his tiny hands portions of
 
 The Death of Tint agile s 139 
 
 his sister's locks, symbolical of their souls, for each 
 loved one who passes into the Beyond carries with 
 him a part of ourselves, and each of us is just that 
 much poorer, our heart just that much more empty 
 of love, because a part of our love has been carried 
 into the grave. As one of our American Poets has 
 said, in speaking of his dead sweetheart, and his own 
 loneliness, "Does half my heart lie buried there?" 
 
 As Tintagiles raises his cry in the agony of death, 
 the watchers arouse themselves from their stupor, 
 and strive to rescue him, starting in vain pursuit down 
 the vista of the hall with the dimly burning lights. 
 One of the sisters is so overcome with horror that 
 the emotion sweeps away her sensibility, and she falls 
 at the threshold, but faithful Ygraine rushes on, 
 striving to catch the passing soul, and pursues up 
 the many stairs until a door slams in her face, and 
 she realizes that this is the end. 
 
 But there is a little crack, and Tintagiles, whose 
 hair has caught in the closing door, still sees his 
 sister dimly, by the light of her earthly lantern, and 
 implores her to rescue him, as still there is time. But 
 she is ignorant of the laws which unlock that great 
 door, and tears her nails and her flesh with weak 
 batterings upon it, and then, in a last vain effort, as 
 Tintagiles is struggling in his agony, with a realiza- 
 tion of the approaching of Death herself, altho he 
 cannot see Death by reason of his position against 
 the door, Ygraine slams her lamp of clay, the one bit 
 of truth which she possessed, and which has buoyed 
 her courage, against the door, and, as it shatters, she 
 hears poor Tintagiles moan and choke, as the old 
 Lady Death relentlessly presses her thumb upon his
 
 140 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 tiny windpipe ! Then, in the last moment of horror, 
 Ygraine pounds and screams at the door; — she prays, 
 she curses, she recalls the memories of Tintagiles's 
 beauties, of his fascination, his lovely ways, and begs 
 tor him back again, — "Just for a moment, one little 
 moment!" But in vain, for the door is forever closed 
 against his return, and she is alone with her anguish 
 and her grief. 
 
 In the death of the Priest in The Blind, we had an 
 example of normal death, free from pain, a gentle, 
 quiet sinking into sleep, its twin brother. In the 
 painful end of little Tintagiles, we have the rarer 
 type of death, a type which Prof. Osier in his Inger- 
 soll Lecture on Immortality mentions observing in 
 90 cases out of 500, and remarks that the pain 
 in these cases was due not to death itself, but to the 
 nature of the disease from which the patient was 
 suffering. The final agonies of the child were very 
 probably due to the rare type of heart-disease with 
 its painful strangling spasms, known among medical 
 practitioners as Cheyne-Stokes Breathing. 
 
 The Death of Tintagiles is a wonderful patholog- 
 ical study of the progressive stages of heart-disease 
 as exemplified in the Child, and of the uselessness 
 of all our efforts. Use all the means at our hands, 
 bring all scientific knowledge to the study of the 
 subject, our means may prolong, may ease the pain, 
 yet Death is there. The inevitable monster is al- 
 ways at our side waiting, waiting a moment when 
 we are feeling happy, comfortable, and indulging 
 in a moment of rest, to step in and snatch away our 
 darling. All that we have is prayer, and a few dim 
 lights to guide us on our way. Yet the irony is that
 
 The Death of Tintagiles 141 
 
 in spite of our prayers, in spite of our pursuit to the 
 very threshold of the tomb, the door of the tomb 
 will close upon our beloved, and leave us weeping and 
 praying on the hitherside of the portal. 
 
 The play is anti-Christian in its doctrine, the story 
 conceived by an Agnostic, and offers no comfort, no 
 happiness. It is the dark negation of religious con- 
 solation. It indicates that up to the time of its writ- 
 ing, in spite of his pious training by the Monks, Maet- 
 erlinck was unimpressed by Church teachings, and 
 saw in Death nothing but a gloomy monster who 
 controls humanity and makes us do his bidding, and 
 that in his palace there is no life, no light, nothing 
 but darkness. Over his portal are engraven the im- 
 mortal lines of melancholy Dante, "Abandon Hope, 
 All Ye Who Enter Here." I admire the symbolism, 
 the mastery of psychology which the play stands fo^ 
 but with its doctrines I have no sympathy. It stands 
 in terrible contrast at the side of his later plays, 
 which we have discussed. But the plot is haunting 
 and will remain in one's memory, like an awful night- 
 mare, forever! 
 
 "Then of the Thee in Me who works behind 
 
 The Veil, I lifted up my hands to find 
 
 A Lamp amid the darkness; and I heard, 
 
 As from Without — 'The Me within Thee blind.' " 
 
 Omar Khayyam. 
 
 Dismissing the morbid nature of these plays, and 
 considering only their plots, one comes away dissat- 
 isfied. There is a subconscious feeling of lack of 
 balance, of lack of natural sequence and content of 
 plot which annoys and irritates the reader. This is
 
 142 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 true of almost all of Maeterlinck's plays. In Maet- 
 erlinck's writings it is the aesthetic beauty of scene, 
 settings, and lines, the wisdom and the psychology 
 which interest and hold spell-bound. But we feel a 
 want, as one who has eaten a hearty meal and yet 
 confesses to a feeling of hunger, a pure pain emotion. 
 We are annoyed by the lack of balanced harmony, 
 the too frequent changing of scene, and the repeated 
 introduction of what is entirely irrelevant to the pro- 
 gress of the plot, altho such lines may be useful as 
 sign-posts indicating the peculiar psychology of the 
 persons involved. Frequently these lines also serve 
 in lieu of scenery by descriptions of wonderful beau- 
 ty of the natural surroundings of the characters. 
 
 Maeterlinck has oft contended that his plays were 
 not written to be acted, and in an introduction to his 
 Plays for M arionettes, ?inswers the question of wheth- 
 er he really wrote these plays for puppets, by sayings, 
 that that name was used for want of a better, because 
 such plays lost in beauty when attempt was made to 
 enact them; and he continues to emphasize his re- 
 marks by the statement that even Shakespeare is 
 more appreciated when enjoyed in the study than 
 when seen on the boards of the theatre, and advances 
 the opinion that the great Bard of Avon did not 
 care to have his plays acted ! 
 
 But Maeterlinck loses sight of one very vital dif- 
 ference, the years which separate himself from the 
 era of Shakespeare, and that now in the theatre scen- 
 ery takes the place of descriptive passages of the 
 landscape, and that what was proper on the stage of 
 that day is not in strict accord with the stage of to- 
 day. If Maeterlinck desires to have his plays en-
 
 The Death of Tintagiles 143 
 
 joyed in the library solely, that is his privilege, so 
 we need not prolong the argument with further dis- 
 cussion.
 
 RESUME OF THE EMOTIONS 
 
 "Sed res docuit id verrum esse quod in carminihus 
 
 Appius ait, 
 "Fahrum esse suae quemque fortunae." 
 
 Pseudo-Sallust.
 
 RESUME 
 
 IN conclusion, let us catch up the controlling 
 emotion which we find depicted in each of the 
 Plays, and for which we may safely say that 
 each Play stands. 
 Maeterlinck has extensively treated of the sex 
 life. He begins with the sexual emotion in all Its 
 manifestations from the simple sentiments of ado- 
 lescence In absolute purity and absence of gross man- 
 ifestations, proceeds through the various phases of 
 parental and filial love, devotion to home and fam- 
 ily, upward through the birth of aesthetic love of the 
 beautiful, to the very highest manifestations which 
 embrace the sexual In its purest form and the aes- 
 thetic, and then into the lofty realms of the religious 
 emotion, and then carries the development further to 
 the point where the emotion has converted itself into 
 the gross-semblance which is termed "sexual pas- 
 sion." Passion is a permanent emotion, a controll- 
 ing state, which has gone beyond the bounds of or- 
 dinary emotion and which has not quite reached the 
 stage where it can be termed Insanity. It is likely 
 to terminate In the latter unless some distraction can 
 be introduced which will divert the mind, and re-es- 
 tablish normal functioning of the emotional life. 
 Unity and stability are essential to Normal Char- 
 acter; when true character is once established, it 
 never changes. 
 
 Whether Maeterlinck set out with a definite plan 
 of construction and intentionally determined to de- 
 
 147
 
 148 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 velop his writing through all the stages of love from 
 lowest to highest, is not certain. But, strangely 
 enough, his first play, Princess Maleine, would lead 
 us to think such a theory probable. Princess Ma- 
 leine is a sharp contrasting of adolescent love with its 
 cravings and yearnings not translated into terms of 
 the physical. There is an uneasiness, a desire for 
 companionship, for love, as represented in Maleine 
 and Prince Hjalmar. It is pure, uncontaminated. 
 This fact is emphasized by the rare touch of having 
 the Prince shrink from contact with Queen Anne, 
 even from the defilement of her glance. At the op- 
 posite extreme we find King Marcellus and Queen 
 Anne with their sexual emotion developed, at least on 
 the part of King Marcellus, into a passion, and which 
 is carried to the logical conclusion, insanity. On the 
 one hand we have the exhaltation of the tender senti- 
 ment, and on the other its prostitution. The King 
 stands for passion, and the Queen is really the pros- 
 titute of the streets, sacrificing her bodily self for 
 gain, and willing to sacrifice likewise her daughter, 
 Uglyane. The play may also be taken as a com- 
 mentary upon certain modern conditions in the social 
 world, the sacrificing of sentiment and moral sense 
 to the desire for social prestige and financial power. 
 Against this play stands AUadine and Palomides. 
 Here we find the very highest development of the 
 sexual emotion, two souls mutually attracted. Palo- 
 mides broke his engagement with Astolaine simply 
 because he felt that there was not the subconscious 
 attraction, and that without this there could never 
 be the true union of hearts which makes for the suc- 
 cessful marriage venture. It is the doctrine of Schop-
 
 Resume 149 
 
 enhauer. The sisters were women of rare sense, and 
 did not spoil the hves of the three persons in the 
 play by insisting upon a union which would never 
 have gone beyond that of a friendship, and whose 
 basis was so slight that it might not have been able 
 to even remain a friendship, but might have ceased 
 to exist. It would have had much the outcome of 
 Hauptmann's Einsame Menschen, — lonelv lives in- 
 deed are those who have entered such a marriage 
 bond. The King is simply a sidelight, a study in 
 insanity arising from a very different cause than that 
 from which King Marcellus in Princess Maleine suf- 
 fered. 
 
 In Pelleas and MeUsande we have the same three 
 types, and each with a varied form of sexual emo- 
 tion. Pelleas has true sexual emotion, sensible, sane, 
 but evidently with intense craving for satisfaction 
 and discharge. Whether his emotion had an outlet, 
 it is difficult to conjecture, as we have previously dis- 
 cussed. Golaud is afflicted with sexual passion which 
 drives him to despair, and later to murder, and pos- 
 sibly to suicide. Jealousy is at the basis, as it is al- 
 most always with intense sexual emotion. Midway 
 between the two stands Melisande, with her touch- 
 ing manifestation of mother-love in the last act. 
 
 Ardiane and Barhe Bleue presents a study of mar- 
 riage without any rational foundation of love. The 
 group of wives are typically women of past Ages 
 who married because their parents had arranged a 
 desirable match, and who were so controlled by cus- 
 tom and habit that they dare not break the conven- 
 tionalities. Ardiane was the different sort of woman. 
 She had no feeling of sexual emotion whatever, ncith-
 
 150 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 er was she in any-wise controlled by convention. She 
 had a duty to perform, and she performed it. She 
 lived up to the demands of her conscience. She had 
 a sentiment of pity, and was controlled thereby, that 
 was all. The environment is splendidly chosen for 
 such a play, with its stress of emotion surging about, 
 for, says Ribot, "All periods of Revolution are best 
 for the development of character." 
 
 Joyzelle is still a different study of sexual emotion. 
 Here we have father-love, the love of family, de- 
 picted in Merlin who has at heart the keenest desire 
 for the happiness of his son. Perhaps his own mar- 
 ried life had been a mistake, and he is filled with 
 parental solicitude to save his son from such a Fate. 
 Lanceor is reflective of youthful independence and 
 desire for freedom of volition, but at the end he 
 shows us an example of filial devotion. Joyzelle is 
 typical of the highest and best in womanhood, and re- 
 flects at the end filial devotion. The emotion of love 
 here shown is charming. The incident of the tempta- 
 tion scene is introduced to show that there was ab- 
 sence of any form of lust or grossness, and that it was 
 a high, pure love which the characters held for each 
 other. 
 
 The Seven Princesses is a simple little study of 
 adolescent love. Love is here a sentiment, an organ- 
 ized instinct, but has not developed into an emotion. 
 Ursula dies of a broken heart because of the delay 
 of her Prince in coming. But that does not indicate 
 anything more than a youthful longing for the ob- 
 ject of its sentiment. The King and Queen show us 
 conjugal felicity at its best, sincere sexual emotion 
 which has never ceased to be admiration and affec-
 
 Resume 151 
 
 tion, and loyalty to home and family. 
 
 Aglavaine and Selysette is a study in the jealousy 
 which underlies all true sexual emotion. Unless there 
 be a righteous jealousness there is not perfect love. 
 It is a discussion of the two theories of the well- 
 spring of the emotions, the mental or the physical. 
 Aglavaine stands for the mental state, Selysette for 
 the physical. The hero seems to be a neuter so far as 
 he is developed in the play. 
 
 Monna Vanna shows us the ethical side of mar- 
 riage and its sentiment. We have no reason to be- 
 lieve that Monna Vanna had not the highest senti- 
 ment of affection and of sexual emotion for her hus- 
 band, nor are we at all persuaded that she felt real 
 sexual attraction for Prinzivalle. She was moved 
 by an ideal, and acted accordingly. Guido had a 
 sexual emotion for his wife, but seemed to have no 
 respect for her, so the marriage bond was not con- 
 genial, no matter how smooth it seemed on the sur- 
 face. Prinzivalle undoubtedly had the purest of 
 sexual sentiment. If it came perilously near pas- 
 sion at the moment that he made the demand for 
 Monna Vanna to sacrifice her purity as a condition 
 of the surrender of the City, it escaped that when 
 Monna Vanna entered his tent with her womanly 
 purity of soul. It may be that Maeterlinck wished 
 to demonstrate the theory that a good woman modi- 
 fies and alters the baser tendencies of man. 
 
 Mary Magdalene stands for the aesthetic, and 
 shows us how that emotion can elevate the grossness 
 of pure sexual desire, and place the object of its 
 affections upon a high plane, when the sentiment of 
 love transforms itself into religion. We have three
 
 152 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 types of emotion contrasted,— Verus with his animal 
 passion which was unable to become purified and re- 
 fined; Mary showing similar emotion in her early 
 development, but withal having a sentiment for the 
 aesthetic, and which made her soul good ground for 
 tillage, and which bore its fruits as we see later 
 when her emotion blossomed into pure religious 
 idealism. 
 
 Sister Beatrice contrasts the religious sentiment 
 developed through emotion into passion, as exhibit- 
 ed in the Nuns, with the sexual emotion, degenerate, 
 in this case, from the religious, as exhibited in Sister 
 Beatrice. From pure sexual emotion Sister Bea- 
 trice passes through all the various phases and vari- 
 ations, such as the sentiment of mother-love which 
 forces her to the very depths of prostituting her de- 
 sires, and eventually causes her emotion to become 
 a sensual passion which exhausts itself. Through 
 repentance the same emotion again elevates her to 
 her better-self, and brings to the fore once more the 
 religious emotion. 
 
 The Death of Tintagiles stands for Fear. There 
 is a beautiful picture of love-in-the-family, of natural 
 instinct, but Fear is what impresses one most, and is 
 the ruling emotion of the drama. 
 
 Home also shows the family and its emotions of 
 love. The one great emotion which we see contrast- 
 ed is Curiosity. Curiosity is contagious, and Mae- 
 terlinck brings this out as the episodes progress, and 
 each character succumbs at length to that instinct. 
 Curiosity is fundamental in our composition, and is 
 the foundation of the intellectual sentiment, the thirst 
 for knowledge.
 
 Resume 153 
 
 The Intruder Is another one of the plays develop- 
 ing the family life, and its emotions. Mysticism pre- 
 dominates, and the play is a treatment of mental 
 phenomena of telepathy and viridical apparition. 
 There seems to be an absence of love in the play. 
 The callousness of the group is remarkable. The 
 pecuUar temperaments manifested are due to bodily 
 conditions of the characters. As we have seen, it is 
 the advanced age of the Grandfather which makes 
 him so much more sensitive to what is occurring than 
 are the others in the room. The tendency toward Su- 
 perstition is what the play stands for. 
 
 The Blind is a study in the sentiments of faith and 
 doubt. The Young Blind Girl stands for Faith, 
 "The substance of things hoped for the evidence of 
 things not seen;" the others for Doubt. Of these 
 latter there are two classes represented, the agnostics, 
 who still go on mumbling their vain prayers, and the 
 atheists who remain silent, refusing to pray. The 
 Faith of the young maiden is supported by Bergson 
 who has said, "There is no time, space, dimension 
 except relatively. There is no perfect and com- 
 pleted science, for what is true today may not be 
 true tomorrow. Science progresses through faith in 
 the undemonstrable, and so belief in eternal life is 
 justifiable." 
 
 The Blue Bird stands for Happiness, as is gen- 
 erally agreed. It is the only play of Maeterlinck's 
 which can be so proclaimed, and it Is about the only 
 play that has a laugh In the voices of the characters. 
 Joy Is the most difficult of all emotions to depict, and 
 Maeterlinck has studiously avoided this phase of our 
 existence. In writing The Blue Bird he has not left
 
 154 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 the joy unmixed, for when he makes Light personify 
 Knowledge, he contrasts Night, which stands for Ig- 
 norance, and makes the Blue Birds seem to belong 
 to her realm, altho he strips away the husk from the 
 lie and shows that her pleasures are those of the way 
 of Death, that there is in them no life, for her Blue 
 Birds cannot survive the light of Intelligence. In- 
 cidental to this doctrine we see lovely pictures of 
 love, — Mother-love, Father-love, Filial-love and 
 obedience. 
 
 The minor emotions which affect the characters in 
 the plays have already been analyzed to considerable 
 length, so I refrain from again alluding to them. In 
 this chapter I have simply tried to point the controll- 
 ing emotions of each play. There Is a rational de- 
 terminism at the basis of each play, and Maeterlinck 
 has rigorously adhered to It, no matter how unpleas- 
 ant the story may be in consequence. His physiolog- 
 ical and psychological studies of the body and its 
 manifestations are most accurate. He gives very lit- 
 tle freedom to the Human Will, for he is a predes- 
 tinatlonist, and in this he falls in line with the best 
 authorities. It seems a dreadful thought, yet each 
 cause must have Its effect, and once that the plan Is 
 mapped out. It Is Impossible to change the scheme. 
 When we act with the greatest Freedom of the Will, 
 then we are acting under the Influence of what was 
 determined Ages before we were born. Man Is as 
 fixed in his course as are the Stars in their Orbits.
 
 MAETERLINCK AS A DRAMATIST 
 
 "He gave man speech and speech created thought, 
 Which is the measure of the Universe."
 
 MAETERLINCK AS A DRAMATIST 
 
 AS I have already set forth at considerable 
 length in my preceding book, The Influ- 
 ence of the Drama, I contend that the 
 word Dramatist, or Drama, should be 
 confined strictly to the production of an actable 
 dramatic work, and that the test of whether a certain 
 piece of literature is Drama or not, is the test of the 
 Theatre. If it will not stand such a test, then it be- 
 longs to the realm of the library, and should be de- 
 scribed by the term Drama-Novel. The dramatic 
 form is really a stenographic method of setting down 
 the characteristics of certain personalities in a story, 
 and as such may be resorted to, as it often is, by the 
 poet or the prose-writer. But if the story is not 
 capable of being physically presented, then its au- 
 thor should be judged from the standpoint of the 
 Novehst, and his work should stand or fall by that 
 criterion. 
 
 Undoubtedly any work cast In the form of dia- 
 logue could be recited, but mere recitation is not dra- 
 matic presentation. The very word dramatic sug- 
 gests something of intense, vital interest. A great 
 deal may be vitally interesting to a reader in his 
 study-chair, which would bore the same person in the 
 upholstered, but somewhat cramped chair of the 
 theatre. Therefore, to stand the dramatic test, such 
 a work must move swiftly and logically to its conclu- 
 sion, and all matter which has no direct bearing upon 
 the plot, or which may not be permissible because of 
 
 157
 
 158 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 its psychological revelation of some important char- 
 acter, must be eradicated. 
 
 The Chinese Drama does not live up to this rule, 
 but the Oriental mind is of different complexus than 
 ours. So, too, was the mind of the Elizabethan, who 
 had but little literary food, and might be too ill- 
 educated to assimilate such food had it been offered, 
 and who, therefore, depended to a greater extent, 
 than we of this bustling twentieth century, upon the 
 Church and the Theatre for the expounding of na- 
 ture and philosophy. So today we can enjoy Shakes- 
 peare in entirety in our study, but are bored when 
 we see him so presented by our players. I admit, 
 there are other reasons why we may be wearied by a 
 lengthy performance of Shakespeare, other than the 
 length of the uncut text; some of these reasons are, 
 length of waits between scenic changes, unintelligent 
 readings by the players, mutilations of the scenes. 
 
 Maurice Maeterlinck is placed among our great 
 realists, and is said to be a master of stage-technique 
 to so great an extent that he can afford to discard it 
 for the sake of securing more startling theatrical ef- 
 fects. But there are spots in his realism which are 
 not dissimilar to the garrulous memory of old age, 
 which cannot repeat a particular incident of actual 
 interest to the auditor, without embellishing the scene 
 with no end of extraneous matter and incident of no 
 interest to other than the reconteur. This is really 
 the case with Maeterlinck in very many of his plays. 
 As has been previously stated, he reflects his heredity 
 and environment, for the people of Bruges and 
 Ghent reiterate and reiterate in their conversation 
 to a wearisome degree, and while he has very cleverly
 
 Maeterlinck as a Dramatist 159 
 
 avoided the point of nausea from such intense real- 
 ism, yet he sails between Scylla and Charybdis, so 
 perilously near to the one, that, whilst avoiding the 
 rocks on one hand, he has gone aground on the rocks 
 of the other Island! He has been so simple in his 
 vocabulary that if one did not know him as a brilliant 
 essayist with a remarkably extensive and beautiful 
 vocabulary, he would classify him in the wrong cate- 
 gory. One can paint the common-place in beautiful 
 phraseology, and yet not give an impression of iiber- 
 nature. It is Stanley who has said, "Idealism is a 
 mode of realism, and realism is but the ideal of act- 
 uality." 
 
 Princess Maleine, his very first play, is remark- 
 ably simple in plot, a story which could have hap- 
 pened, doubtless did happen, in the times in which it 
 is laid. Yet it is related in such a peculiar manner 
 that it ceases to have any suggestion of probability, 
 altho as one reads it carefully over and over, he will 
 become impressed that it is not at all out of the 
 bounds of possibility for the Age in which it is 
 placed. It is the ideal of the actuality of such a 
 dramatic episode, it is bald realism, even to the vul- 
 garity of the leering beggars in the forest, the crude 
 improprieties of the villagers at Ysselmonde, and the 
 sexual passion of Queen Anne; but in its idealism it 
 is like the "Ambition which o'erleaps itself" of Mac- 
 beth, and defeats its own aspirations and purpose. 
 
 The Blind is painfully possible, and whilst It can 
 only be called an ascription of an aesthetically ideal 
 episode which might have happened to such persons 
 as those concerned, it has achieved the ideality of 
 true realism, and must be granted as conforming to
 
 i6o The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 dramatic standards. That it does, has been demon- 
 strated at the Realistic Theatre Antoine in Paris. It 
 is a play which never can be forgotten by those who 
 witness it. 
 
 The Intruder, also, falls within the rule of the 
 dramatic test, altho it is such a scene as only Con- 
 tinental Dramatists care to write; and, incidentally, 
 only Continental audiences, or select audiences else- 
 where, would endure. But this does not reflect upon 
 Maeterlinck as a Dramatist, and is simply a criticism 
 of his unpleasant subject-matter. It is so painfully 
 true, that we can't endure it. It is too much like a 
 surgeon placing a scalpel into one's breast, and then 
 turning the blade in order to observe the particular 
 contortion of anguish which the muscles would invol- 
 untarily grimace upon the subject's countenance. It, 
 too, has been successful at Antoine's, and pleased 
 the somewhat abnormal types who enjoy his offer- 
 ings. Antoine appeals to the jaded appetite which 
 is longing for a new sensation to arouse the Stoical 
 emotions which are cultivated in polished social cir- 
 cles. Heaven help them ! A breath of Nature's pure 
 air imbibed on a brisk morning's walk in the woods 
 or over wild moorland would do them far more good. 
 These plays are too much like absynthe which has 
 been banned in American Cities, and in some Euro- 
 pean Cities, too. 
 
 The Seven Princesses is painful, too, but there is 
 a daintiness, a real aestheticism which makes it fasci- 
 nating, and takes away much of the horror of the 
 blunt, plain plot,. It has met with much approval on 
 the professional stage. It is true to all idealistic and 
 dramatic standards, and will pass all tests. It has a
 
 Maeterlinck as a Dramatist i6i 
 
 concise story, well told, and a logical, inevitable end- 
 ing. 
 
 Pelleas and Melisande has been highly success- 
 ful as Operatic Libretto, and I believe it was written 
 for that purpose. In Grand Opera one accepts many 
 plots which would not be tolerated if stripped of their 
 musical accompaniment. However, it has been dis- 
 cussed from other standpoints. Mrs. Patrick. Camp- 
 bell seems to have considered the possibilites of act- 
 ing Melisande, for she has taken issue with Mme. 
 Maeterlinck as to the character of the heroine, and 
 contends that she was far from innocent, and that 
 the symbolism of the lost wedding-ring was indica- 
 tive of her loss of wifely virtue. Mme. Maeterlinck, 
 who, better than any aside from the author himself 
 should know the intent, claims the reverse, and that 
 Melisande was simply a childish, spotless woman, 
 too innocent to be accused of any intent of wrongdo- 
 ing, and that her tendency to fib was only a charac- 
 teristic of the child fearing corporeal punishment. 
 However, the construction of the play does not seem 
 strictly in accord with the modern idea, and I prefer 
 to place it, (always disregarding the Opera), as a 
 dramatic-novel. 
 
 Alladine and Palomides is very peculiar in plot, as 
 'ire all these plays, and decidedly unconventional in 
 its treatment. It is couched in beautiful lines which 
 win our admiration, but the effect of which would 
 inevitably be lost upon the auditor. I think that 
 there is the reason why one Is perplexed In placing 
 M. Maeterlinck as a Dramatist or as a Novelist. The 
 Dramatist may write no end of philosophy and beau- 
 ty Into his speeches, but they must not be too in-
 
 1 62 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 volved for ready comprehension. If they are too 
 intricate in thought, the dramatic value is lost. For 
 the auditor either misses their purport entirely, or his 
 attention is so distracted by them that he ruminates 
 upon the lines for some seconds, and misses some 
 very vital comment subsequently which illuminates 
 the plot. This particular play is rich in this under- 
 current of philosophy, and caparisoned in gorgeous 
 trappings of such rich, involute and intricate tracery 
 that one falls into a contemplative mood and mentally 
 retards the plot. It is not fitted, therefore, for dra- 
 matic presentation, except, perhaps, under some very 
 peculiar conditions, such as the Intimate Theatre in 
 Boston or Chicago might offer. 
 
 Home has at kernel a real dramatic idea, and is 
 fascinatingly painful. It would be appreciated by An- 
 toine's audiences. But American and English au- 
 diences who confessedly go to the play for entertain- 
 ment, and in rare instances for instruction, would 
 never tolerate it. It Is the extreme of realism, altho 
 it does seem to move a trifle too slowly in the pro- 
 gress of the plot. Greater speed would make it more 
 dramatic and more griping. But its torture is long- 
 drawn out, and stretched to such fearful Intensity 
 that one would lose the emotional control and rise up 
 and shriek. It is a gem of the realistic class to which 
 It belongs, and deserves a laurel wreath for Its au- 
 thor. It violates no vital dramatic requirement, ex- 
 cept, perhaps, speed, and even such suggestion sounds 
 like some exigency of the modern vaudeville manage- 
 ment which demands that everything must strive to 
 come within the twenty-minute time-limit. 
 
 When I first studied The Death of Tintagiles, I
 
 Maeterlinck as a Dramatist 163 
 
 discarded it as impracticable because of its construc- 
 tion, and wealth of engarniture, but I have since de- 
 cided that there is nothing in the play itself which 
 would prevent its affective acting, except the limits of 
 emotional possibility of the players. Some of its 
 speeches, as I have already mentioned, are filled with 
 so many divergent emotions, and so many illumina- 
 tions of character between the lines, which require a 
 remarkably plastic mask and an audience tuned to 
 the vibrations of facial play, to comprehend, that it 
 seems beyond human ability. Gordon Craig's con- 
 tentions in regard to human actors being unable to 
 play up to the demands of the ultra-modern Dra- 
 matists, and that to iiber-marionettes might more ad- 
 vantageously be intrusted such interpretations, seem 
 to be sustained in this play, for, altho it was pre- 
 sented in London before the London Stage Society 
 for a Matinee, its greatest success has been in the 
 Puppet Theatre at Munich, Germany, where it was 
 depicted, as the name of the theatre indicates, by 
 dolls. It is strange how the blank wooden counte- 
 nances of marionettes can convey an emotion to the 
 auditor across the footlights when the living actor 
 will fail; but these little wooden creatures do im- 
 press one emotionally to a remarkable degree, and 
 their stolid countenances are uncanny, to say the least. 
 Coming to the plays of the Transitional Period 
 when Maeterlinck began to revolt from his earlier 
 doctrine of the inevitable triumph of death which 
 grimly ended all, and took up the more cheerful doc- 
 trine of Happiness, as so beautifully exemplified in 
 The Blue Bird, we meet Aglavaine and Selysette. 
 Here Maeterlinck falls under the influence of the
 
 164 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 Continental Dramatists of his time, and drops into 
 writing a plot which belongs to the class of drama 
 termed Triangle Play, in which there Is a treatment 
 of two persons loved by a third, and an inevitable 
 jealousy and entanglement, with solution of divorce 
 or death. But his play is as original in plot as any 
 of the others, and Is an attempt at the reconciliation 
 of two women with the fact that they both love the 
 one man, and that his love for each is different, the 
 one being purely platonic, the other sexual. It is an 
 attempt to demonstrate the possibilities of a man 
 marrying at different times women of directly oppo- 
 site attributes, and the possibility of a harmonious 
 life with each, because the one is the complement of 
 the other. But Maeterlinck adheres to human nature, 
 and works the logical, truthful ending, that there 
 Is no possibility of harmony with both women alive, 
 and that the death of one is essential for the happi- 
 ness of the other. Also, he is quite true to nature 
 and psychology, which Is the analysis of nature, in 
 showing that platonic love will become animalistic 
 in spite of Its cold, unemotional resolves. Except 
 for its arrangement of scenes, there is no reason why 
 it should not be considered by any modern audience 
 of sufficiently Intellectual caliber to accept Its hypo- 
 thesis without vulgar peals of laughter because the 
 proposition in logic is such a syllogism as to need no 
 demonstration to prove Its fallacy and absurdum. 
 
 Sister Beatrice, which has been extensively acted, 
 is the first play thus far which conforms to all dra- 
 matic rules and requirements, including the supreme 
 test of holding interested any and every audience. 
 It is veiled in the most exquisite of verse, but it has
 
 Maeterlinck as a Dramatist 165 
 
 the "heart-interest" which managers keep demand- 
 ing, and the story is so old that even the child may 
 understand. It is the conquest of love ill-placed, and 
 the remorse which inevitably follows sin. It is such 
 a beautiful picture that words are inadequate to do 
 it justice or pay to it the tribute of commendation 
 which is deserves. Out of deference to the one real 
 and vital criticism which has been made against the 
 play, I am bound to mention that if the play be 
 thoughtfully considered, it is immoral in its doctrines, 
 for it seems to teach that when we turn aside into 
 the paths of sin, some other person will take our 
 place, altho to us will be given the credit for the 
 good done by that other; and that love excuses all, 
 so that the sinner can take her place with the saint. 
 To many, also, the presence of the Holy Mother, the 
 Virgin Mary, upon the stage, is offensive, as violat- 
 ing the sense of the religious. The play is so sacred 
 in its appeal, that it does not seem quite fitted for 
 general representation, but better adapted to the re- 
 ligious audience. 
 
 Ardiane and Barhe Bleue is a variation of the fa- 
 milar Nursery Tale, and there is no real reason why 
 it should not please audiences in pure dramatic pre- 
 sentation. However, it is a Lyrical Drama, and as 
 such is frequently seen during a Season of Grand 
 Opera in the Metropolises of the World. It is clev- 
 erly worked out, and its culmination is a dramatic 
 surprise which would do credit to the most prolific 
 producer of dramatic thrillers. 
 
 Monna Vanna, strangely enough, was rejected by 
 the Paris which had accepted the plays of ultra- 
 realism at Antoine's. This may have been due in
 
 1 66 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 the first instance to the shabby presentation which 
 was given it at a somewhat out-of-the-way Theatre, 
 off the Boulevards, which, perhaps, did not cater 
 to the type of audience which would enjoy it. It was 
 a real triumph in Germany and Austria, and some- 
 what of a furore in the United States. In London 
 it was forbidden a hearing by the Censor, altho there 
 is nothing in the play which would seem to warrant 
 such an exclusion. But of Morals of the Stage 1 
 have said much in another publication. To hazard 
 a reason why this play was rejected by Paris, I 
 should say that it is because it has a plot placed in 
 Mediaeval surroundings, a story peculiar to such 
 times, but is startling in presenting a Twentieth Cen- 
 tury solution, and the suggestion of an elopement at 
 the end. It is the unexpected ending which aston- 
 ishes, and makes one resentful, for an audience al- 
 ways dislikes to feel that its judgment has been 
 at fault, and that it has been tricked. It is an in- 
 tensely interesting study of the love of two men of 
 distinctly different type for the same woman. The 
 man with the greater advantages of heredity and 
 environment is grosser than the man who has lacked 
 in the environment, if not the heredity, and supple- 
 mented by education his deficiences. Prinzivalle is 
 unquestionably the better man of the two, and there 
 surely is no one who will not wish him and Monna 
 Vanna a long, happy life afterward. Of course, there 
 is some quibble to be raised concerning the conduct 
 of Monna Vanna, but she had put her husband to a 
 fearful test, and ought not to have been quite so sur- 
 prised to find him wanting, — it was so characteristic 
 of most men!— yet Prinzivalle had proven himself
 
 Maeterlinck as a Dramatist 167 
 
 so generous, and was so free from self-seeking, that 
 Guido showed far from a chivalrous nature, and 
 Monna Vanna seems justified in rejecting him and 
 saving Prinzivalle when there was no middle course 
 open to her. Had she allowed Prinzivalle to be tor- 
 tured, we would universally have condemned her as 
 not the woman we had suspected. On the whole, its 
 ethics are not impeachable, and we must give her a 
 safe convoy. 
 
 Joyzelle must have been sugegsted by Monna 
 Vanna and have been written by iVIaeterlinck as a 
 justification to himself of the correctness of his logic 
 in the latter play. Here he predestines the man and 
 the woman for each other, and then proceeds to sub- 
 ject them to every conceivable test, even to a trial 
 of the woman's virtue, as in Monna Vanna, and 
 seems to suggest what Monna Vanna might have 
 done to Prinzivalle had he pressed his presumable 
 purposes upon her. It seems a vindication of the 
 psychology of his earlier heroine, and as such a tract 
 we must accept it. As a dramatic composition it is 
 to be rejected, for it is too improbable for serious 
 stage consideration. It is quite suggestive of our 
 own Poe's poem of The Raven, and one wonders if 
 it is possible that Maeterlinck came under the spell of 
 that poem, as he did under the influence of Emerson, 
 who has somewhat modified his natural trend of 
 thought. Maeterlinck has been an intense admirer 
 of Emerson, and has translated his Essays into the 
 French language. 
 
 The Blue Bird makes so many demands upon the 
 mechanical side of the theatre, that one would reject 
 it from that viewpoint. It is because modern in-
 
 1 68 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 ventions have made its scenes realizable that the 
 play has won such universal success. Stripped of this 
 garniture, and its appeal would not have been so ev- 
 ident, altho its simple philosophy and beautiful sym- 
 bolism would seem to carry the play without any- 
 thing further than mental visualization. But, as 
 comparatively few have this faculty sufficiently de- 
 veloped, it probably would have failed of real suc- 
 cess. Stripped of its scenery, therefore, it will have 
 to be placed upon the book-shelf. 
 
 Mary Magdalene conforms to the dramatic uni- 
 ties, but is weighted down with philosophic discus- 
 sion until the vitality of the plot is dangerously weak- 
 ened, and the play cannot be accredited with com- 
 plete success. I do not raise the question of the pro- 
 prieties of presenting Biblical Characters, or the 
 Voice of the Saviour. This feature has been deftly 
 handled, and is reasonably free from cause of cavil. 
 But Mary Magdalene is so different from our usual 
 conception of this Biblical heroine, that one feels 
 that there is something incongruous, and is resentful. 
 There is too much dialogue, the plot itself is de- 
 cidedly tenuous, and is easily lost in the embellish- 
 ments. However, it must be classed in the actable 
 list. 
 
 To summarize, the plays which are unquestion- 
 ably actable and of rather general appeal, are Sis- 
 ter Beatrice, Monna Vanna, Mary Magdalene, and 
 The Blue Bird, and in that order. Without ques- 
 tion, The Blue Bird should head the list as having 
 achieved the greatest triumph, but is placed last be- 
 cause its success as acted drama depends so very 
 largely upon its scenic investiture, and the always ar-
 
 Maeterlinck as a Dramatist 169 
 
 dent appeal of childhood and youth with their de- 
 lightful naivete. 
 
 The Blind, Home, The Intruder, and The Seven 
 Princesses, must also be ranked as actable, and the 
 blame for their general rejection by the Stage be 
 placed upon their intensity of emotions, and our un- 
 willingness to be so roused by the pathetic and the 
 horrible. 
 
 Pelleas and Melisande and Ardiane and Barbe 
 Bleue evade classification by relegating them to the 
 realm of Opera. 
 
 The Death of Tintagiles and Aglavaine and Sely- 
 sette are left to the Puppet Booth because human ac- 
 tors seem incapable, collectively, to portray their emo- 
 tions and complicated psychology, 
 
 Joyzelle is left to the liberty shelf as a defensive 
 tract of the ethics involved in Monna Vanna. 
 
 The Princess Maleine and Alladine and Palo- 
 mides are so very close to the dividing line, that it is 
 necessary to leave them on the library shelf, or en- 
 trust them to the tender (?) mercies of the mari- 
 onettes, wise little wooden men with stolid counten- 
 ances which seem to bespeak the secrets of the world. 
 
 As Germany has hailed Gerhart Hauptmann as the 
 greatest German Dramatist since Goethe, and be- 
 stowed upon him, November 15, 191 2, the Nobel 
 Prize for the encouragement of idealism in Litera- 
 ture, we must hail Maurice Maeterlinck as of fore- 
 most rank with the few great Dramatists of the Era. 
 From the conventional conception of what consti- 
 tutes a Dramatist, many of us would wish to ex- 
 clude Hauptmann, for so many of his plays are of 
 abnormal length, fitted for enjoyment in entirety only
 
 170 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 in the library, and are innocent of all dramatic cur- 
 tains, or real dramatic, moving interest, so we would 
 exclude Maeterlinck. But as greater have crowned 
 Hauptmann with title of Dramatist, so we must 
 crown Maeterlinclc with the French Palme d'hon- 
 neur. But even as we do so, we are obliged to com- 
 ment, that it is a pity that a man who is such an in- 
 comparable Essayist, should ever have entered the 
 competitive Lists to contend for the prize of Drama- 
 tist, when his peculiarities raise within us such mixed 
 emotions that one is ever in doubt as to his right- 
 fulness to be classed as true Dramatist, in the old, 
 commonly accepted meaning of that word.
 
 STORIES OF THE DRAMAS 
 Chronologically Tabulated
 
 PRINCESS MALEINE 
 Poetical Drama in Five Acts, Twenty-four Scenes 
 
 Written in 1890 
 Cast 
 
 Hjalmar, Kinff of one part of Holland 
 
 Marcellus, King of another part of Holland 
 
 Prince Hjalmar, son of King Hjalmar 
 
 Little Allan, son of Queen Anne 
 
 Angus, friend of Prince Hjalmar 
 
 Stephano, Officer of Marcellus 
 
 Vanox, Another Officer 
 
 A Chamberlain 
 
 A Physician 
 
 A Madman 
 
 Three Poor Men 
 
 Two Old Peasants, A Cowherd 
 
 Lords, Officers, A Cook, A Cripple, Pilgrims, Peas- 
 ants, Servants, Beggars, Vagabonds, Children, 
 etc. 
 
 Anne, Queen of Jutland 
 
 Godeliva, wife of King Marcellus 
 
 Princess Maleine, daughter of Marcellus and Gode- 
 liva 
 
 Princess Uglyane, daughter of Queen Anne 
 
 Maleine's Nurse 
 
 Seven Nuns 
 
 173
 
 174 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 An Old Woman 
 
 Maids of Honor, Servants, Peasant-Women, etc. 
 Pluto, a Big Black Dog 
 
 The First Act is at Harlingen; the others at the Cas- 
 tle at Ysselmonde and its Neighborhood. 
 
 Act One, Scene One, Is the gardens of the Castle 
 at Harlingen. Two Sentries are discussing the 
 omens of the night, as seen in comets and shooting 
 stars. Princess Maleine is being betrothed to Prince 
 Hjalamar, and there are sounds of revelry from the 
 Palace. Suddenly the windows of the Palace are 
 smashed, and there is noise of combat. Princess 
 Maleine, "dishevelled and in tears" rushes forth and 
 across the garden. Then King Hjalmar appears from 
 the Castle accompanied by his Courtiers. They are 
 very angry, and exit vowing vengeance upon King 
 Marcellus and Queen Godeliva. Scene Two is an 
 apartment of the Castle, where Maleine and her 
 Mother and the Nurse (the latter inevitable to 
 Princesses, — at least in Fairy Plays) I are spinning 
 and singing a sad song. King Marcellus enters and 
 asks Maleine why she is sad, and if she still loves 
 Prince Hjalmar, and advises her to forget him as 
 unworthy of her. She admits her love and protests 
 her ability to forget him. King Marcellus in wrath 
 accuses the Queen of keeping awake the sentiment 
 of love for the Prince, and when she denies the fact, 
 he orders Godeliva and the Nurse forth from his 
 presence, and soundly berates the poor Maleine, 
 vowing to lock her in the Tower at the end of the 
 garden until she has purged her soul of this incon- 
 venient love ! Scene Three is laid in a forest. Prince
 
 Princess Maleine 175 
 
 Hjalmar and Angus come in, discussing the destruc- 
 tion which has just been brought upon the Palace and 
 City of King Marcellus, and the Prince is filled with 
 grief because reports have started that Princess Ma- 
 leine perished in the holocaust. Angus tries to con- 
 sole him with the thought that Princess Uglyane will 
 take the place left vacant by the death of the other. 
 Scene Four is laid in the Tower at Harlingen. Here 
 Maleine and her faithful Nurse have been sealed 
 up, and so have escaped the flames, and are quite 
 unaware of the events which have been occuring. 
 Their food is exhausted, and the Nurse is striving to 
 unloosen a stone in the wall so that they may escape. 
 Suddenly the stone falls out, and they gaze upon 
 the world, but cannot imagine what has occurred as 
 all the familiar land-marks have vanished. Then 
 they see that everything is blackened, and realize 
 that a fire has blotted out the town. 
 
 Act Two, Scene One, is in the forest again, and 
 discloses Maleine and her Nurse aimlessly wander- 
 ing in search of a refuge. They meet three vagranr 
 men who offer a shelter in their hovel, but Mn- 
 leine shrinks from their brazen leers and insists 
 that they will journey to Ysselmonde. In giving ths 
 women information concerning the way, the men vol- 
 unteer the news that Prince Hjalmar is about to b? 
 married. Scene Two is in the Castle at Ysselmonde. 
 The King is making love to Queen Anne, who has 
 come to dwell in his Kingdom, and to whose daugh- 
 ter, Uglyane, Prince Hjalmar has been betrothed. 
 Queen Anne takes the Prince's hands and begs him 
 to kiss her as if she were his mother. Scene Three 
 is in a street in the village. Maleine and th^ Nurse
 
 176 The Psychology of M aeterlinciz 
 
 have at last arrived at their destination, and their 
 personal appearance is being frankly discussed by 
 the citizens. Suddenly a brawl occurs in the neigh- 
 boring Tavern, caused by a discussion of the merits 
 of Maleine. Even Prince Hjalmar and Angus have 
 heard of the arrivals and come to gaze at them, but 
 the women conceal their faces with their cloaks. An- 
 gus suggests that Maleine will make a good maid for 
 Princess Uglyane. Scene Four is within the Castle. 
 Princess Maleine has now taken up the service of a 
 menial and is assisting Uglyane who is dressing pre- 
 paratory to a walk in the garden with Hjalmar. 
 Scene Five discovers Maleine knocking at Uglyane's 
 door and informing her that "The Prince has left the 
 Castle." Scene Six is in the Park where Prince 
 Hjalmar is awaiting Uglyane. In her stead comes 
 Maleine, and in the darkness the Prince mistakes her 
 for his betrothed. Suddenly the moon breaks forth 
 from the clouds and reveals Maleine, and the Prince 
 in joy exclaims, "What I escaped today!" 
 
 Act Three, Scene One, is an apartment within the 
 Castle. The Prince has come to tell his father that 
 Princess Maleine has returned, and that he cannot 
 now marry Uglyane. He suggests that Queen Anne 
 must hear the news gradually from the King, and the 
 King is filled with terror at the idea of telling her 
 such tidings. When the Queen unexpectedly ap- 
 pears, the Prince boldly rushes to break the news, but 
 she foils him cleverly, and the Prince in a frenzy of 
 emotion, rushes forth leaving the Queen alone, be- 
 wildered at his abrupt conduct. Scene Two is the 
 Banquetting Hall where King Hjalmar is celebrating 
 his own betrothal to Queen Anne. In the midst o^
 
 Princess Maleine 177 
 
 the festivities Princess Maleine, arrayed in bridal 
 robes, knocks at the door, and in fright at her un- 
 anticipated appearance, the old King swoons. Scene 
 Three is before the Castle. The King and Queen 
 are discussing the advisability of allowing Prince 
 Hjalmar to enjoy the society of Princess Maleine for 
 a short while longer. The two devoted ones, Maleine 
 and the Prince, enter in converse, and the Queen tells 
 Maleine that it is dangerous for her to stroll in the 
 night air. A Madman roams in and they casually 
 comment that nightly he busies himself digging 
 graves in the orchard. The Queen asks when the 
 wedding is to be, and says that she will remain in the 
 Palace until after it is over. Suddenly Seven Nuns 
 pass carrying linen for Maleine's trousseau. The 
 Nurse comments on Maleine's paleness and the Queen 
 exits with the sinister remark, "I should not be as- 
 tonished if she fell sick." Scene Four discovers the 
 physician discussing with himself the probable early 
 death of the King because of the unholy influence of 
 Queen Anne, and also deciding not to acquiesce in 
 supplying them with a poison to administer to Prin- 
 cess Maleine, and determining to substitute some 
 harmless drug to allay suspicion. Scene Five is in 
 the Courtyard of the Castle. The King is telling 
 Anne that he feels that some one is trying to poison 
 him. Princess Maleine and Prince Hjalmar, accom- 
 panied by Queen Anne's little son, Allan, enter, and 
 the King, unable to bear seeing Maleine, insists upon 
 leaving, but Queen Anne compels him to tarry, so as 
 to avoid suspicion. Allan volunteers that Uglyane, 
 too, is sick, so sick that she no longer leaves her 
 apartments. Maleine becomes sleepy, and the sight
 
 lyS The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 of her closed eyelids fill the two conspirators with 
 terror and remorse. A knocking suddenly comes at 
 the gate, — as in the murder scene of Macbeth, — and 
 after some hesitation. Prince Hjalmar opens the gate 
 and declares that there is no one there. The King is 
 still more disturbed in mind by this intelligence. 
 
 Act Four, Scene One, is laid in the gardens, and 
 here Hjalmar is discovered. Seeing the approach of 
 Queen Anne, he decides that he will leave the Palace 
 as soon as possible as he can no longer endure her per- 
 sistent presence. Queen Anne enters commenting to 
 herself upon Prince Hjalmar's coldness toward her. 
 She grows angry that the poison has worked so slow- 
 ly upon Maleine, and vows that she will administer a 
 stronger compound, and then, seeing the Nurse ap- 
 proaching, adds that she will rid herself of that wo- 
 man today. Queen Anne asks after the Princess, and 
 tells the Nurse that the Physician advises absolute 
 rest and total solitude for Maleine. Scene Two is 
 in the kitchen where the Nuns are working at the 
 trousseau. The sky is dark and sinister with portents 
 and omens of evil. The servants have been ordered 
 not to attend the Queen for the night, and to hurry 
 up with Master Allan's supper. Scene Three is the 
 bedchamber of Princess Maleine. She is alone, ex- 
 cept for her black dog, Pluto, and the darkness and 
 rumble of the thunder-storm fill her with wild ter- 
 ror, and especially when she discovers that she is 
 locked into the room. Scene Four is in the Corridor 
 just without Maleine's bedroom. The King and 
 Queen come down the corridor carrying a light which 
 flickers in the breeze. The Seven Nuns pass singing 
 the Litany. The King wants to postpone their er-
 
 Princess Maleine 179 
 
 rand, but the Queen insists upon the present. The 
 King searches in his garments for the key, and finally 
 finds it, hands it to the Queen who unlocks Maleine's 
 door. As they enter the black dog comes out. Scene 
 Five is within the chamber. The Queen approaches 
 Maleine and smoothes her brow with deceitful, ten- 
 der words, then suddenly ties a cord about the Prin- 
 cess's neck; but as she strives to draw it tight, Ma- 
 leine leaps from the bed. The Queen grasps her. 
 Maleine screams for help, and implores that they 
 give her a few more days to live, and not to kill her 
 now. The relentless Queen tightens the rope, and 
 the unfortunate child falls to the stones dying. She 
 suffers a violent contortion, and the Queen again 
 seizes the rope and urges the King to pull Maleine's 
 feet so as to more effectually choke her. The wind 
 bursts open the windows, a vase with a lily falls with 
 a crash to the floor, and the King thereupon removes 
 a second lily from the sill to prevent its being blown 
 from the ledge also. In confused mind he stands 
 shivering in the cold blast and holding in his hand the 
 potted lily. At this awful moment, the Madman 
 looks in at the window, and the King, drawing his 
 sword, slays him, and the body is heard splashing 
 into the waters of the moat beneath the window. The 
 dog scratches and whines without at the door. The 
 King goes mad with fear. The Nuns are heard pass- 
 ing down the corridor, still chanting the Litany. The 
 Nurse comes to the door crying wildly to Maleine. 
 Then Prince Hjalmar and Little Allan are heard ap- 
 proaching, and stopping to talk to the dog. Little 
 Allan is heard crying pitifully and prophetically de- 
 claring that "My mamma is lost!" Then he con-
 
 i8o The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 tentedly begins playing ball against the closed door. 
 In another moment the child has heard the heavy, 
 difficult breathing of the murderers, and declares that 
 "There is a little boy behind the door." At last the 
 three persons without depart, and the King strives to 
 open the door, altho the Queen urges that the cord 
 must be cut away from Maleine's throat in hopes to 
 mislead investigators. However, the King is too 
 overcome by terror to tarry, and flees the room. 
 
 Act Five, Scene One, is In the graveyard, and a 
 great crowd is cringing In terror becouse of the aw- 
 ful storm which Is raging. Scene Two Is in a recep- 
 tion-hall of the Palace, just without the Chapel of 
 the Castle. A group of Courtiers are huddled in ter- 
 ror, whilst from the Chapel come sounds of the Sev- 
 en Nuns singing. No one seems to know where is the 
 King or Queen. Just then his Majesty's approach is 
 announced. Prince Hjalmar goes to meet him, and 
 Is astonished to observe that his hair Is smeared with 
 blood; but the Queen, with ready presence of mind, 
 explains that the King has had a fall. There comes 
 a knocking, and one opening the door announces the 
 Nurse, who is denied admittance, altho she gets a 
 glimpse of the King sufficiently long to comment upon 
 the fact that his hair has turned white! The Prince 
 suggests that they all go in to the Services, but the 
 King replies, "I would rather not pray tonight." As 
 he sits he suddenly notices that the design of the 
 tapestry upon the wall facing him is The Slaughter 
 of the Innocents, and orders it removed, only to be 
 more shocked by the one hanging beneath, which is 
 The Last Judgment. A flight of swans Is seen 
 through the window and the Prince comments that
 
 Princess Maleine i8i 
 
 "There is one dead." The King is thrown into a 
 violent fit of passion, and says that some one has told 
 them the truth. Then he leaps up and exits. Scene 
 Three is in the corridor just without Maleine's room. 
 The black dog is still scratching and whining pitfully. 
 The Nurse comes down the hall with a light. In a 
 moment Prince Hjalmar joins her, and they knock 
 at the door. The tocsin sounds loudly as if from 
 the very room, and then they discover that the door 
 is unlocked. The Nurse enters, only to reappear im- 
 mediately declaring that something has happened, 
 and that Maleine has fallen upon the floor. Prince 
 Hjalmar runs down the corridor for a light and then 
 both enter and discover that Maleine is dead! Scene 
 Four is in the Bedroom. Their cries have attracted 
 the Courtiers and Servants, the King and the Queen. 
 The Queen declares that the King is mad, but he pro- 
 tests that he is not, and that it was the Queen who 
 slew the little Princess Maleine. In frenzy the Prince 
 stabs the Queen who dies. Then he turns the sword 
 upon himself and falls lifeless across Maleine's stif- 
 fening form. The King is now completely unbal- 
 anced and babbles of the murder, going into details of 
 the horror of it, then is anxious for his breakfast, and 
 thinks only of what he shall have to eat, and then 
 his mind wanders to his own loneliness in the coming 
 years. Day breaks, a Cock crows on the wall, the 
 Nuns chant the Miserere and begin to prepare the 
 bodies for burial
 
 THE BLIND 
 
 Drama in One Act and One Scene 
 Ascribed to Year 1890 
 
 Cast 
 
 The Priest 
 
 Three Men Who Were Born Blind 
 
 A Very Old Blind Man 
 
 Fifth Blind Man (also Deaf) 
 
 Sixth Blind Man (able to distinguish daylight and 
 
 dark) 
 Three Old Blind Women (constantly Praying) 
 An Exceedingly Old Blind Woman 
 A Young Blind Girl 
 A Blind Madwoman 
 An Infant Child (the Madwoman's) 
 A Dog 
 
 Place: — An ancient Norland Forest. 
 
 The scene discloses a virgin forest in twilight. In 
 the center sits a Priest his eyes open, staring, glazed 
 in death. On one side of him sit six blind men; op- 
 posite to them six blind women, three of whom are 
 murmuring prayers, and one of whom holds a tiny 
 infant on her lap; this woman is also bereft of men- 
 tal vision, — is mad. As the plot unfolds we discover 
 that these hapless individuals are inmates of an Asy- 
 lum watched over by the aged priest and three faith- 
 ful nuns; that in the early morning of late Fall they 
 
 182
 
 The Blind 183 
 
 had set out, much against their wishes, but at the ur- 
 gency of the old priest, to enjoy the warm rays of 
 the shortening sun; that they had been led hither, 
 and that the priest had started after a drink of water 
 to satisfy the thirst of one of the women, and that 
 they now are wearily and querulously awaiting his 
 return to them. They know not that it is night, nor 
 the way homeward, for all have come from various 
 parts of the country and are unfamiliar with the 
 Island where is situated the Asylum which they had 
 left earlier in the day. One of the men holds up the 
 infant in hopes that it may cry at the sight of the sun, 
 and so give them a sense of direction. The familiar 
 dog appears, and is gladly welcomed, for they believe 
 that the priest must soon return. But the dog directs 
 them toward the priest, and in horror they discover 
 that their guardian has died! The youngest of the 
 bhnd women insists that she hears approaching foot- 
 steps, but the others insist that it is nought but the 
 dead leaves dropping, and that they must linger here 
 and perish. At this point Maeterlinck leaves them, 
 victims of the negative Will which casts its balance 
 with the evil in that of three courses open, to move 
 and risk discovering the path homeward, or a dan- 
 gerous path leading into the sea, or the third alterna- 
 tive of remaining passive to eventually perish from 
 the chill of the night and famine. 
 
 This play has been extremely successful at An- 
 toine's Theatre Libre in Paris.
 
 THE INTRUDER 
 
 Drama in One Act and One Scene 
 
 Ascribed to Year 1890 
 
 Cast 
 
 The Blind Grandfather 
 The Father 
 The Uncle 
 
 The Three Daughters 
 The Sister of Charity 
 The Maid-Servant 
 
 Scene:— A Gloomy Room in an Old Chateau. The 
 
 Present Day. 
 
 This is another realistic play but so horrible that 
 few could sit through its performance. Still, it has 
 been successfully performed at Antoine's. 
 
 The story is simple. It is the living-room of a 
 chateau. Around the table sit the Father, the Uncle, 
 and three little girls. The oil-lamp shines brightly 
 upon their happy, peaceful circle. A little removed, 
 and in the shadow, sits the old, blind grandfather. In 
 an adjoining room lies the mother, sick unto death; 
 and in another room, alone, struggling in its feeble 
 little way, a new-born babe. The grandfather keeps 
 insisting that there is some one in their midst, and 
 keeps inquiring who it is. A door below opens, 
 steps are heard ascending, and then a knock. The 
 
 184
 
 The Intruder 185 
 
 Uncle opens the door and speaks with the maid-ser- 
 vant who has come concerning household matters. 
 She descends. The Grandfather again insists that 
 some one has entered. They again deny. The child 
 screams in terror, and a moment later, the door of 
 the mother's room opens softly, and the Sister of 
 Charity, who has been watching at her bedside, 
 stands in the doorway making the sign of the cross, 
 whereupon all the occupants enter the room, leaving 
 alone the old grandfather who alone heard the steps 
 of the invisible one, the unwelcome guest. Death. 
 
 Such is the plain plot. But what a world of mean- 
 ing lies veiled beneath ! What wonderful symbolism 
 one can read into the lines !
 
 THE SEVEN PRINCESSES 
 
 Drama in One Act and One Scene 
 
 Ascribed to Year 1891 
 
 Cast 
 The Old King 
 The Old Queen 
 The Prince 
 The Seven Princesses 
 A Messenger 
 Chorus of Sailors 
 
 Scene : — A Marble Hall in the Palace. 
 
 The stage is divided in twain by great glass doors, 
 on one side of which is a marble landing commanding 
 a view of the sea, and one into the marble hall within 
 the doors which are reached by a flight of broad, 
 marble steps, covered with velvet cushions upon 
 which are peacefully sleeping, their hands entwined, 
 the seven little sisters, the Princesses. A pale, sickly 
 flame of a lamp illumines the sleepers, whilst the sink- 
 ing sun lights the landing. On the terrace the aged 
 king and queen are watching the approach of a man- 
 of-war which is bearing the prince who is betrothed 
 to Ursula, the center one of the sleeping princesses. 
 The prince enters, and the king and queen reproach 
 him for his long time in coming, and tell him that the 
 princesses have grown sick in body waiting for him, 
 and now, worn and weary, exhausted by the damp- 
 ness and the grey of this strange part of the country, 
 
 186
 
 The Seven Princesses 187 
 
 have laid them, as is their custom, upon these steps 
 to sleep in the warmth of the few rays of the after- 
 noon sun. The prince looks through the glass, and 
 with difficulty makes out the sleeping sisters. Grad- 
 ually one sister becomes clearer, Ursula, and after 
 that he sees only her. A shadow and mist seem to 
 envelop the hall. The queen decides that it is time 
 to awaken the sleepers, and taps upon the windows; 
 the princesses do not stir. She raps more violently, 
 and importunes the king and prince to do the same; 
 but the task is futile; the girls sleep on. Rain falls, 
 and the voices of sailors can be heard singing on the 
 man-of-war which is preparing to leave the harbor. 
 The queen becomes more and more alarmed, and at 
 length, as the doors fail to open, the prince decides 
 to enter through the vault where lie buried his ances- 
 tors, including his dear mother. He descends, and 
 in a few moments, which seem an age to those wait- 
 ing upon the terrace, he reappears through a trap in 
 the floor of the marble hall. He approaches the 
 princesses. One by one they awaken and arise to 
 greet him, — all but Ursula. They turn to awaken her 
 and find, — alas, that she will never awaken again on 
 this earth! Tenderly they lift her form and begin 
 to ascend the seven marble steps toward the frantic 
 king and queen who are sobbing wildly upon the ter- 
 race without. Upon their frantic cries to those with- 
 in the hall of "Open! Open!" the curtain mercifully 
 descends.
 
 PELLEAS AND MELISANDE 
 
 Drama in Five Acts and Seventeen Scenes 
 
 Ascribed to Year 1892 
 
 Cast 
 
 Arkel, King of Allemonde 
 
 Genevieve, Mother of Pelleas and Golaud 
 
 Pelleas, Grandson of Arkel 
 
 Golaud, Another Grandson 
 
 Melisande 
 
 Little Yniold, Golaud's Son by a former marriage 
 
 A Physician 
 
 The Porter 
 
 Servants, Beggars, etc. 
 
 Place:— An Old Castle and its Environs. 
 
 Act First, Scene One, is at the gate of the Castle. 
 A number of maid-servants are quarreling with a 
 Porter, urging him to open the great gates so that 
 they may scrub clean the marble steps which are so 
 soiled by time that whiteness seems to be forever 
 banished. Scene Two, is a forest where Golaud finds 
 himself lost whilst out hunting. He comes upon 
 Melisande who is weeping and declaring that she, 
 too, is lost, and that she has just dropped her golden 
 crown into the shallow pool of water, but still she re- 
 fuses to allow Golaud to pull it out on pain of 
 
 188
 
 Pelleas and Melisande 189 
 
 plunging Into the depths herself. She then com- 
 plains of being cold, and Golaud undertakes to pilot 
 her to safety, altho he declares as they exit that he 
 does not know whither their feet are turned, for "1 
 am lost too !" Scene Three is a hall of the Castle 
 where the old Arkel and Genevieve, live. They are 
 pondering a letter from Golaud which announces his 
 desire to return to Court with Melisande, his wife. 
 His brother Pelleas enters weeping because his friend 
 Marcellus is sick unto death and is urgent that he 
 should come to him before he die. His relatives per- 
 suade him to await the return of Golaud. Scene Four 
 is without the Castle. Queen Genevieve and Meli- 
 sande enter seeking the last rays of the fading sun. 
 They watch the ship which brought Melisande dis- 
 appear into the thickening night. Pelleas joins them 
 on the terrace. Genevieve leaves them alone, and 
 Pelleas takes Melisande's hand and guides her back 
 to the Palace, telling her that he must depart tomor- 
 row. Melisande protests that he shall remain. 
 
 Act Two introduces us to the Gardens of the Pal- 
 ace where Pelleas and Melisande are talking. Meli- 
 sande persists in leaning over the brim of an ex- 
 ceedingly deep spring, and tossing her wedding-ring 
 into the air to see its rays reflected upon the spark- 
 ling waters. Suddenly the anticipated happens, and 
 the ring falls into the depths. Instantly she is filled 
 with terror and begins to wonder how to explain to 
 Golaud its absence from her finger. Pelleas candidly 
 advises, "Tell him the truth." Scene Two is laid in 
 Golaud's bedroom, with himself stretched upon the 
 bed, and Melisande attending him. He has been 
 thrown from his horse and suffered an injury. Sud-
 
 190 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 denly Melisande bursts into tears and declares that 
 she feels that she shall not live much longer. She 
 admits that there is something strange in the eyes of 
 Pelleas, but — Her husband interrupts her protests 
 by discovering that the ring is missing from her 
 hand. Instantly she begins to fabricate, and says 
 that the ring was dropped, she knows where, that 
 she went into a cave, and was driven out by the ris- 
 ing tide. Golaud imperatively orders her to go after 
 the ring, and in spite of her protests he causes her to 
 depart into the night, promising that Pelleas will ac- 
 company her if she is afraid to go alone. Scene 
 Three is before the grotto whither she has repaired 
 with Pelleas merely that she may know what the cav- 
 ern looks like where she told Golaud she had dropped 
 her wedding-ring. Three beggars are sleeping with- 
 in, so they depart without any attempt at entering. 
 Scene Four is very brief, a few sentences from King 
 Arkel urging Pelleas to consent, as he finally does, to 
 remain a few days longer at the Castle, for Marcel- 
 lus is dead and buried. 
 
 Act Three discloses Melisande working at her 
 distaff with Pelleas near to amuse her. Little Yniold, 
 Golaud's child by a former marriage, is present with 
 them, and keeps seeing strange sights at the win- 
 dow-pane. Suddenly he sees his father returning 
 home, and runs to the door to meet him. Golaud is 
 surprised that his wife and brother are sitting alone 
 in the deepening twilight. Scene Two is without a 
 tower of the Castle. Melisande is combing her hair 
 in the window. Pelleas comes past, stops to ad- 
 mire, her hair falls out the window and ensnares him. 
 Golaud enters and finds his brother enwrapped in
 
 Pelleas and Melisande 191 
 
 Melisande's hair, is irritated, but dismisses the affair 
 with a nervous laugh, calling them both "children." 
 Scene Three discovers Golaud and Pelleas exploring 
 the vaults beneath the Castle to discover the source 
 of a stench which pervades the Castle. They finally 
 attribute it to several stagnant pools. Scene Four is 
 just without the vaults, and Golaud warns Pelleas 
 to be less attentive to Melisande in future. Scene 
 Five is just without Melisande's Tower, and here Go- 
 laud is questioning his son, Yniold, as to how Pelleas 
 and Melisande deport themselves when he is away, 
 and learns nothing which is in any way incriminat- 
 ing. Maddened, Golaud raises Yniold and makes 
 him look in at Melisande's window and tell him 
 what is passing within. The two, Pelleas and Meli- 
 sande, are standing against the wall, not speaking. 
 The child cries in terror, and Golaud takes him 
 down and strides off to see what has occurred within 
 the room. 
 
 Act Four, Scene One, is a corridor of the Castle. 
 Pelleas and Melisande enter and agree upon a fare- 
 well meeting in the Park, at the spring where the wed- 
 ding-ring had been lost. Scene Two is an apartment 
 in the Castle. King Arkel promises Melisande that 
 now that they are all in good health again things will 
 be livelier, and that she will be happier. Melisande 
 says that she has not been unhappy. Just then Go- 
 laud enters seeking his sword, and rudely shakes off 
 the touch of Melisande who approaches him. Sud- 
 denly he turns, grasps Melisande by the hair, and 
 compels her to creep on her knees before him, whilst 
 he drives her about the apartment using her long 
 braids as reins. He leaves as abruptly as he had en-
 
 192 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 tered, and poor Arkel, raising the fainting Meli- 
 sande, says, "If I were God I would have pity on 
 men's hearts." Scene Three discovers little Yniold 
 striving to lift a heavy flag-stone to recover his lost 
 golden ball, and asking of a passing shepherd why 
 the sheep are crying so, to which the shepherd 
 makes reply, "Because it is no longer the road to the 
 stable." Scene Four is the fountain in the Park. 
 Pelleas comes to keep his tryst with Melisande and 
 to say Goodbye. Just as they indulge in an embrace 
 and a passionate kiss, the maddened Golaud rushes 
 in with drawn sword, slays Pelleas, casting his body 
 into the depths of the well, whilst poor Melisande 
 flees in terror. 
 
 Act Fifth, Scene One, is laid in the kitchen of the 
 Castle, with the servants discussing the affairs, in- 
 cluding the illness of Melisande, who has given birth 
 to a tiny babe. They decide that it is time to go 
 upstairs. Scene Two is the apartment where Meli- 
 sande lies ill. The Physician says that she is dying 
 from some injury greater than the visible wound 
 which she bears. She awakens and cries to have the 
 window thrown wide. Suddenly Golaud asks his 
 father and the physician to retire, and, left alone 
 with his wife, begins to question her and to beg her 
 forgiveness. He insists upon her telling the truth 
 concerning her relations with Pelleas. She is sur- 
 prised by his doubts, but before he can wring further 
 confession, the other two men re-enter. Suddenly 
 Arkel asks Melisande if she will see her child, and 
 she is surprised to know that she has a little one, and 
 manifests curious desire to see it. The baby is 
 brought in, and poor Melisande finds herself
 
 Pelleas and Melisande 193 
 
 too weak to even raise her arms to hold the tiny bur- 
 den of humanity. Unnoticed the servants enter the 
 room and line the walls. Golaud is angry at their 
 presence, but his words are silenced by the Phy- 
 sician. Melisande closes her eyes, and suddenly the 
 servants drop to their knees in prayer, and the Phy- 
 sician announces gravely, "They are right." The 
 bereaved husband bursts into sobs, and sadly King 
 Arkel exits with the little baby in his arms, shaking 
 his head and saying, "She must live now in her place. 
 It is the poor little one's turn." 
 
 This play is typical of the cycle of life. As one 
 lays down the burden, another must take it up and 
 begin the weary round of disappointment, sadness 
 and death.
 
 ALLADINE AND PALOMIDES 
 
 Drama in Five Acts and Ten Scenes 
 
 Ascribed to Year 1894 
 
 Cast 
 
 Ablamore 
 
 Astolaine, Daughter of Ablamore 
 
 Alladine 
 
 Palomides 
 
 The Sisters of Palomides 
 
 A Physician 
 
 Palace : — An Old Castle. 
 
 Act One is laid in the gardens of the Palace, with 
 King Ablamore bending over Alladine who is sleep- 
 ing on a marble bench, her pet lamb nestling upon 
 her bosom. Suddenly she awakens from a bad dream, 
 and declares that some one is approaching. Just then 
 Palomides enters leading his horse by the bridle. He 
 is betrothed to Princess Astolaine, and has arrived a 
 few days earlier than that appointed for the cere- 
 mony. The lamb frightens the horse. The three 
 enter the palace, which Alladine declares was never 
 intended for her, as she loses her way in Its many 
 rooms, and that it is as a labyrinth from which she 
 seems to find no way of escape. 
 
 Act Two discloses Alladine sadly gazing from a 
 window of the palace, wondering at the series of 
 
 194
 
 Alladine and Palomides 195 
 
 fountains which the King tells her he raised one by 
 one as each of his daughters died. Suddenly she be- 
 gins to cry, and, alarmed, the King runs to the rear 
 of the hall, throws open the doors, and discloses 
 Palomides seated just without with Alladine's pet 
 lamb beside him! Scene Two is a drawbridge over 
 the moat. Alladine and her lamb are crossing the 
 moat to meet Palomides. King Ablamore is leaning 
 from a window of the Castle watching them. Sud- 
 denly the lamb slips and falls into the rushing waters 
 of the moat and is swept from sight into an under- 
 ground passage beneath the castle. King Ablamore 
 rushes in and quickly draws Alladine from the dan- 
 gers of the bridge, where she is leaning over the rail 
 crying frantically after the disappearing lamb. Scene 
 Three discovers King Ablamore chiding Alladine for 
 undue interest in Palomides. The King grows vio- 
 lent, and wrenches her arm, striving to learn the 
 truth concerning her relations with Palomides; but 
 she endures the pain' and keeps her secret. Scene 
 Four is Astolaine's apartment. Palomides is break- 
 ing his engagement with his sweetheart, but still pro- 
 testing that he loves her more than Alladine whom 
 he is planning to wed! 
 
 Act Third, King Ablamore meets his daughter and 
 tells her that he understands her reason for sorrow. 
 Scene Two is a conversation between Alladine and 
 Palomides in which she is inquisitive to know how 
 Astolaine bore the news of his desire to wed herself, 
 and of his faithlessness to her. Scene Three is a cor- 
 ridor of the Castle. Astolaine and Palomides's Sis- 
 ters enter to seek Alladine and assist her to elope with 
 Palomides in order to escape the murderous intent of
 
 196 The Psychology of Maeterlinck. 
 
 old King Ablamore. Suddenly the King appears, 
 and they conceal themselves. He sits down, and in 
 utter weariness falls asleep on the bench. Astolaine 
 covers his face with a handkerchief. Palomides 
 joins them, takes the keys from the hands of the 
 sleeping King, and, unlocking the bedroom door, en- 
 ters, only to rush forth in terror. Just then the King 
 awakens, opens the closed shutters, and shows them 
 that Alladine was only asleep. Then he forces the 
 two lovers to kiss each other. With no further 
 words he closes the shutters once more. 
 
 Act Four takes us into the subterranean cellars of 
 the palace, and here we find Palomides and Alladine 
 bandaged and pinioned. With much effort they re- 
 lease themselves, and learn that they are in great 
 caverns, with beautiful blue walls, grown over with 
 lustrous flowers. Suddenly they find themselves on 
 the brink of a precipice with sparkling water beneath 
 them. Just then a noise of iron is heard, a stone is 
 detached from the wall, and the rays of the sun pene- 
 trate. In the light of day they realize that their 
 Fairy Cavern is but the loathsome, slimy cellars, and 
 that the beautiful pool is a sickly, stagnant vault, in 
 which the disintegrating remains of the poor lamb are 
 floating. They recoil, sick and frightened, and slip- 
 ping, roll into the slimy waters, just as Astolaine and 
 Palomides's Sisters enter. They rush to their rescue. 
 
 Act Five is a corridor with doors on either side in 
 perspective. Astolaine and the Sisters are talking to 
 the Physician, who holds out but little hope for the 
 recovery of the lovers who lie ill in rooms on oppo- 
 site sides of the hall. Alladine is heard calling weak- 
 ly to Palomides, and then he is heard answering. As
 
 Alladine and Palomides 197 
 
 they listen in anguish, the Nurse opens Palomides's 
 door and makes a sign that he is dead. The women 
 silently enter the chamber, closing the door after 
 them. There is a moment's pause, then the opposite 
 door opens, the Nurse steps out, makes a similar sign 
 of death, sees that the hall is empty, and quietly with- 
 draws into the room whence she had stepped, leaving 
 the door open behind her.
 
 HOME 
 
 Drama in One Act and One Scene 
 
 Ascribed to Year 1894 
 
 Cast 
 
 in the garden 
 
 The Old Man 
 
 The Stranger 
 
 Martha, The Old Man's Granddaughter 
 
 Mary, Another Granddaughter 
 
 A Peasant 
 
 The Crowd 
 
 IN THE HOUSE 
 
 Silent Characters — 
 The Father 
 The Mother 
 The Two Daughters 
 The Child 
 
 Scene: — An Old Garden outside of the Home. 
 Time : — The Present. 
 
 This is one of the most poignantly pathetic pic- 
 tures of the many that Maeterlinck has painted. The 
 
 198
 
 Home 199 
 
 single scene is a garden without the house. Through 
 the open windows can be seen a happy family gath- 
 ered about the cheerful rays of the lamp. There is 
 ihe father, the mother holding a tiny infant, and two 
 little girls. It is a beautiful picture of home in its 
 quiet, peaceful happiness, with no thought of the 
 dangers or griefs which may be lurking just without. 
 Into the garden comes a Stranger and an old man, a 
 friend of the family, who has hastened to break the 
 sad intelligence that one of the daughters has just 
 been discovered drowned in the river which she was 
 crossing on the way to spend the night at her grand- 
 mother's. They hesitate and discuss how best to 
 break the sad intelligence. Suddenly Mary comes in 
 and tells her grandfather that he must hurry, for the 
 villagers are approaching with the body. She sees 
 the picture at the happy hearth, and begs her grand- 
 father not to tell them at all that night, to wait until 
 the daylight. Martha enters and says that the bear- 
 ers are at hand, and that the news must be broken at 
 once. The two sisters, Mary and Martha, sit on a 
 bench, their backs to the window, and the grandfath- 
 er passes around to the door of the house. The crowd 
 presses into the garden, curious to see how the little 
 family will bear the news when it bursts upon them. 
 The grandfather is seen entering the room, is pressed 
 into his customary chair, hesitates, makes an effort, 
 fails to tell the news. Suddenly the mother seems to 
 realize, leaps up and rushes toward the front door, 
 the father striving to prevent. But she pushes him 
 aside, opens the doors, and the entire family exit in- 
 to the night, leaving the baby asleep in the arm-chair. 
 The crowd in the garden rush eagerly around the
 
 200 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 house to see the tragic scene, leaving alone in the gar- 
 den Mary and Martha, sobbing, and the Stranger 
 who quietly comments, "The child has not waked," 
 and then he, too, departs to join the mob at the front 
 of the house.
 
 THE DEATH OF TINTAGILES 
 
 Drama in Five Acts and Five Scenes 
 
 Ascribed to Year 1894 
 
 Cast 
 
 Tintagiles 
 
 Ygraine, Sister of Tintagiles 
 
 Bellangere, Another Sister 
 
 Aglovale 
 
 Three Maid-Servants of the Queen 
 
 Place: — An old Castle on an Island. 
 
 This is one of the most pathetic of all of Maeter- 
 linck's touching plays. Altho he claims that it was 
 not written to be acted, it was successfully produced 
 in London some years ago at a trial matinee, and 
 made a profound impression. More recently it has 
 been given in the Marionette Theatre at Munich, 
 Germany. 
 
 Tintagiles is a sunny-haired little boy who has 
 long been away from his devoted sisters, Ygraine and 
 Bellangere, who reside on an Island, where is a 
 mighty stone tower approached by many steps and 
 corridors, in the topmast chambers of which lives a 
 dreadful Queen to whom all must pay homage, and 
 who has never been seen by mortals. For some 
 strange reason Tintagiles is sent to his sisters on this 
 Island. 
 
 201
 
 202 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 In Act Two we find the child sleeping peacefully 
 unmindful of the danger which besets him, whilst at 
 his bedside his sisters are seated discussing what 
 can be done to foil the designing Queen whose pur- 
 port they feel sure is to kill the little brother. They 
 admit that she is deaf to pleas, and that her subjects, 
 whilst accusing her as unjust and cruel, will melt at 
 her sight and passively submit to her will; one sister 
 suggests that possibly tears and supplications may 
 win her and induce her to leave to them their little 
 brother. 
 
 In Act Three they are still watching, having ex- 
 amined and made fast the doors. Aglovale, an el- 
 derly male retainer has taken down his rusty sword, 
 and is examining it and meditating upon its possible 
 usefulness. Suddenly the enemy is heard at one 
 of the doors, and, as it slowly parts, Aglovale thrusts 
 into the seam his sword which snaps and falls use- 
 less. The sisters add their strength and all three 
 strive to push the door closed, but it continues to 
 open, and, to their astonishment, no one is visible 
 in the aperture. Suddenly the door closes abruptly. 
 They listen to hear if any one is prowling without, 
 and, hearing no one, turn and with glad, happy tears 
 kiss Tintagiles. 
 
 Act Four is the corridor just without the bedroom. 
 Three handmaids of this terrible Queen are discov- 
 ered listening at the door. One proclaims that the 
 watchers are sleeping, and enters to slay the child, 
 but returns with the information that Tintagiles is 
 sleeping between his sisters, his little hands clutch- 
 ing their hair, and that the others must come and 
 help her release him from their clasp. All three
 
 The Death of Tint agile s lo^ 
 
 enter the room, and a moment later reappear with 
 one of them carrying the child, who still grasps 
 bunches of his sister's hair. They flee down the cor- 
 ridor with Tintagiles shrieking in terror. The two 
 sisters rush forth in anguish and horror. Ygraine, 
 the more impetuous, starts pursuit down the corri- 
 dors where the child's screams still resound; the 
 weaker sister succumbs to her fright and faints upon 
 the steps leading from the chamber. 
 
 Act Five is at the end of the corridor at the very 
 top of the old tower. On one side is the faithful 
 Ygraine beating violently upon a great iron door 
 which shuts her out from Tintagiles, a lock of whose 
 yellow hair is waving, caught in the doorjamb. The 
 child protests that he can see his sister, altho she 
 can't see him because of the darkness on his side of 
 the door, and urges her to hurry and let him out, 
 for he can hear the wicked Queen approaching. In 
 one final, frantic effort, Ygraine strikes the door with 
 her fragile lamp of clay, and in that instant, in the 
 darkness which ensues, the old Queen approaches her 
 victim, places her cruel fingers upon his tiny neck, 
 and his little life is snuffed out, whilst poor Ygraine 
 screams and cries, and pounds upon the iron door 
 which has forever separated her from her darling 
 brother, the fair-haired Tintagiles!
 
 AGLAVAINE AND SELYSETTE 
 
 Drama in Five Acts and Sixteen Scenes 
 
 Ascribed to Year 1896 
 
 Cast 
 
 Meleander 
 
 Aglavaine 
 
 Selysette 
 
 Meligrane (Selysette's Grandmother) 
 
 Little Yssaline (Selysette's Sister) 
 
 Scene: — An old Castle on an Island. 
 
 Act One is laid in the Castle of Meleander, the 
 husband of Selysette. The old Grandmother, Meli- 
 grane, who is partially paralyzed, sleeps in a chair. 
 Meleander is reading to Selysette a letter just received 
 from Aglavaine, who writes to announce her accept- 
 ance of his kind invitation to make her home with 
 him and his wife, and that she will arrive soon after 
 the letter. We are informed that she is Meleander's 
 sister-in-law, the widow of Selysette's brother, and 
 that Meleander and she had met but once, at the 
 wedding. They were drawn to each other from the 
 first, and have kept up a correspondence ever since, 
 with the knowledge of Selysette, altho she has not 
 been sufficiently interested in the affair to trouble her- 
 self to read any of the letters passing between her 
 husband and Aglavaine. On the estate is a Castle, 
 
 204
 
 Aglavaine and Selysette 205 
 
 old and crumbled, whose top is a favorite resort for 
 Selysette, but, unfortunately, she lost the key, much 
 to the joy of her husband, as he regarded it a dan- 
 gerous place. However, a new one of gold has been 
 ordered, and Selysette's little sister, Yssaline, now 
 comes into the room carrying the bright new key. 
 Suddenly Aglavaine is announced, and enters radiant 
 in her traveling-dress. She kisses Selysette, then she 
 goes to Meleander and kisses him, and then turns to 
 kiss Grandmother, but she protests that she is para- 
 lysed, and that it hurts her to be touched by any one 
 except Selysette. Aglavaine says that she will learn 
 to assist Grandmother without hurting her. Agla- 
 vaine listens to the description of the crumbling old 
 Tower, and the making of the new key to take the 
 place of the lost one, and promises that they will visit 
 it together tomorrow. Then she kisses the husband 
 and his youthful wife, and all separate for the night. 
 Act Two, Scene One, is in the Park of the Castle. 
 Aglavaine and Meleander are walking and talking 
 about the joy of being together, altho they admit that 
 it is a dangerous joy, and that it may make Selysette 
 unhappy as she can't understand their platonic af- 
 fection, and their mutual affection for her. Sud- 
 denly, Selysette discovers them kissing, and utters a 
 sharp cry of pain. Meleander, quickened, rushes af- 
 ter her to explain all. Scene Two is in the Park, but 
 at another spot. Aglavaine has fallen asleep on a 
 marble bench. Selysette comes in, petted because of 
 the words they use when talking about her, and be- 
 cause they treat her as a child, and pity her. She 
 suspects that Meleander has ceased to love her. She 
 espies Aglavaine sleeping at the brink of the exceed-
 
 lo6 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 Ingly deep well, and saturated with rain which has 
 been falling. I'enderly she covers her with her own 
 cloak and veil, and then awakens her lest she should 
 turn and fall into the waters. Quite naturally the 
 women begin to talk of him who is in both of their 
 hearts, and Aglavaine strives to make Selysette un- 
 derstand the nature of love, and of the particular 
 sort of love which she has for Meleander, and of 
 the character that he has for her. Selysette seems to 
 understand, and, instead of allowing Aglavaine to 
 make an agreement never again to kiss Meleander, 
 says that she may kiss him whenever she likes, — even 
 when she is not present to witness ! Mutual under- 
 standing seems to come upon both women, and hap- 
 pily they arise, their arms entwined, and hasten to 
 find Meleander. Scene Three discovers Selysette 
 talking to her Grandmother, Meligrane, who accuses 
 her of sadness, and would comfort her by offering a 
 solution that one of the women must either die or 
 leave the Castle. Aglavaine, who has entered to hear 
 this sage advice, says that Grandma is right, that 
 Meleander does love Selysette, truly, and that she 
 herself will never again kiss him, and sends Selysette 
 to her husband. 
 
 Act Three discovers Selysette as she finds Melean- 
 der in the Park. She is telling him that Aglavaine is 
 going to leave them, but asks him if it wouldn't be bet- 
 ter if she herself went instead. He is astonished that 
 either woman should feel it necessary to leave him. 
 Then they go together to seek Aglavaine and see 
 whether she is sobbing in her sleep. Scene Two is a 
 room in the Castle. Meleander and Aglavaine are 
 talking, and wondering whither Selysette has gone.
 
 Aglavaine and Selysette 207 
 
 Aglavaine tells him that she sees now that the wife 
 is jealous, and so she will depart. Meleander pro- 
 tests that his love has outgrown Selysette. Aglavaine 
 is pained, and says that she did not realize that some 
 things were so impossible, or she would never have 
 come here to reside. She declares that she has come 
 to love Meleander, and that for that very reason she 
 must go away and leave him to be true to Selysette. 
 Scene Three is at the foot of the great Tower, and 
 hither have come Meleander and Aglavaine seeking 
 Selysette. Her voice is heard from above as she 
 comes down the winding-stair, and then she enters. 
 She is radiantly beautiful because a beautiful thought 
 has come to her at the top of the Tower. But the 
 thought is her secret, altho she says that soon they 
 both will love her more than ever before. Melean- 
 der leaves, and the two women sit down for a last 
 farewell chat. At the end, in mutual understanding 
 and fulness of love, they rapturously embrace. 
 
 Act Four, Scene One, is a terrace raised above the 
 sea, which is uneasily heaving in the morning's sun- 
 shine. Aglavaine is going, but Selysette protests 
 that she remain awhile longer, Aglavaine tells her 
 that it is hazardous to lean so far over the crumbling 
 parapet of the Tower for it might give way and cause 
 her to fall. Selysette laughs and says. No, and that 
 there is a strange green bird which has recently made 
 its appearance, and plays often about her head, and 
 has made its nest in the crannies of the rock. Agla- 
 vaine is suspicious, and asks for the golden key. 
 Selysette gives it to her, and continues on her way to 
 greet Meleander. Aglavaine says meaningly, "Good- 
 bye, Selysette;" then she tosses the golden key of
 
 2o8 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 the Tower into the midst of the sea. Scene Two is d 
 room in the Castle. Grandma sleeps, and Selysette 
 is conducting her little sister, Yssaline, to the Tower 
 where she has promised her a sight of the green 
 bird. They kiss Grandma who awakens. Selysette 
 tells her that they are going farther than usual, but 
 that Aglavaine will care for her when she is gone. 
 They exit hurriedly. Scene Three is in the corridor, 
 and Meleander meets them and is solicitous as to 
 whither they are hastening, but Selysette makes eva- 
 sive reply, bids him Farewell, and she and Yssaline 
 pursue their interrupted way. Scene Four is at the 
 Top of the Tower. Selysette is gazing in all direc- 
 tions and the beauty of nature raises an intense feel- 
 ing of realization of the beauty of life, and how hard 
 is the parting when we feel that it has come. Invol- 
 untary tears flow down her cheeks. Then she won- 
 ders whether she said Farewell to Grandma, whether 
 she was as tender at parting as she might have been, 
 and filled with solicitude lest she should pass from 
 this sphere leaving aught but the fondest memories, 
 rushes down to again see Grandma. Scene Five is in 
 Grandma's room. As the Sisters enter the old lady 
 awakens, and Selysette begins inquiry as to whether 
 she was gentle to her, and kind. Again Selysette 
 commends her to Aglavaine, and runs away, the old 
 lady striving to arise and prevent her abrupt depar- 
 ture. Scene Six is in the corridor again. Seeing 
 Aglavaine approaching, Selysette and Yssaline hide 
 in hopes that she may pass them unobserving. Agla- 
 vaine intercepts them and reproves that intent, kisses 
 Selysette tenderly. Then Selysette bids her adieu, 
 and recommends that she continue looking for Me-
 
 Aglavaine and Selysette 209 
 
 leander. Leading little Yssaline she exits with a 
 burst of song upon her lips. Scene Seven is again at 
 the top of the Tower, and Selysette speaks of some 
 flowers in the crevices beneath the parapet which she 
 promises to get for Yssaline, but she keeps repeating 
 that it is hazardous, and that a slip might prove fatal, 
 that the stones are aged, the mortar dried, and that 
 if a rock should loosen from its place, — it would all 
 be an accident. Nevertheless, as the twilight in- 
 creases, and just before the stars shine forth to take 
 away her burst of courage, Selysette reaches for the 
 flowers, and the inevitable happens, a stone moves, 
 her foot slips, she pitches head foremost from the 
 top, and leaves alone poor little sister, crying in ter- 
 ror. 
 
 Act Five is the corridor igain. Aglavaine and 
 Meleander enter. He has questioned and questioned 
 Selysette as to the reasons for her fall, but she per- 
 sists to her story told to Yssaline before the fatal 
 plunge. Aglavaine is not convinced, and the two en- 
 ter the bedchamber to try and discover the truth. 
 Scene Two is in Selysette's room; her broken body 
 lies upon the bed. Selysette opens her eyes and smiles 
 a faint smile of greeting as the couple enter. She ob- 
 serves the tears coursing down their cheeks, and is so- 
 licitous lest she has made them both unhappy. Agla- 
 vaine begins to blame herself, but Selysette stops her, 
 vows that she is telling the truth, that the fall was 
 accidental, purely accidental, and that no matter what 
 she may say when swept by agony, not to believe it, — 
 it was an accident. Aglavaine keeps protesting that 
 it was not; that it was because she sought to leave 
 her alone with Meleander. Selysette for a moment
 
 2IO The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 thinks that she is about to tell the facts, but she sup- 
 presses them, and with the fabrication upon her lips 
 dies, and, as the weak little flame extinguishes, the 
 man and the woman fall weeping at her bedside, and, 
 as Aglavaine says in the final scene, "I shall never 
 be happy again!"
 
 SISTER BEATRICE 
 
 Poetical Drama in Three Acts and Three Scenes 
 
 Ascribed to Year 1901 
 
 Cast 
 
 The Holy Virgin (in the likeness of Sister Beatrice) 
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 The Abbess 
 
 Sister Eglantine 
 
 Sister Clemency 
 
 Sister Felicity 
 
 Sister Balbine 
 
 Sister Regina 
 
 Sister Gisela 
 
 The Priest 
 
 Prince Bellidor 
 
 Little Allette 
 
 Beggars, Pilgrims, etc. 
 
 Time: — The Thirteenth Century. 
 
 Place: — A Convent in the neighborhood of Lou- 
 vain. 
 
 {Sister Beatrice was presented at the New Thea- 
 tre, New York City, March, 19 10, with Miss Edith 
 Wynne Matthison as Beatrice. Incidental music was 
 composed by Mr. Max Marschalck and was of deli- 
 cate beauty in exquisite rapport with this aesthetic 
 conception.) 
 
 It is said that this play was written for Mme. Sara 
 Bernhardt, but, altho she obtained permission to give 
 
 211
 
 212 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 it in French in the United States during her tour in 
 19 10, it was first made known to this country by the 
 New Theatre with Miss Edith Wynne Matthison in 
 the title role. 
 
 The scene is a corridor in a Convent near Louvain. 
 On one side of the great doors which lead into the 
 world, is a statue of the Blessed Virgin, in face like 
 to Sister Beatrice who is praying at the foot of the 
 statue. Her prayer is interrupted by the arrival of 
 horsemen, and a knocking at the doors. Sister Bea- 
 trice opens the doors to admit her cavalier, the re- 
 splendent Bellidor, who has come to carry her away 
 as his bride. She hesitates, but he arrays her in glori- 
 ous robes of royal splendor. She lingers, undecided; 
 the bell tolls three, and, with a shudder. Sister Bea- 
 trice lays her robes of poverty and her veil before 
 the image of the Virgin, and departs with Prince 
 Bellidor. 
 
 As the curtain rises on Act Two, the last strokes of 
 the Matin Bell are pealing. Slowly the statue of the 
 Virgin begins to awaken, and then slowly descends 
 the steps, singing a heavenly hymn, arrays herself in 
 the robes of Sister Beatrice, throws open the great 
 doors admitting a poor little waif who is astonished 
 at seeing her, and tells her of hearing horses in the 
 night, and that it was whispered in the Village that 
 Sister Beatrice had flown from the Convent. During 
 this recital others approach, the poor, the halt, the 
 maimed, and Sister Beatrice (the Virgin) distributes 
 to them clothing from a basket which keeps miracu- 
 lously filling. The bell tolls again, warning of the 
 approach of the Nuns. The Virgin dismisses the 
 praying crowd and closes the doors, just as the Ab-
 
 Sister Beatrice 213 
 
 bess enters followed in solemn procession by the 
 household. The Abbess reproaches Sister Beatrice 
 for tardiness in sounding the Matin Bell, which the 
 Sister acknowledges in silence, and meekly submits 
 to the discipline commanded as a penance. The pro- 
 cession resumes its march toward the chapel. As 
 the Abbess reaches the image of the Virgin, she is as- 
 tounded to find the niche vacant, the statue gone ! 
 They accuse Sister Beatrice of being accessory to the 
 theft, as she it was whose duty was to guard the im- 
 age. Silence is the only reply. The Abbess feels of 
 Beatrice's garments, and in horror discovers that she 
 is wearing those which had bedecked the image of 
 the Virgin. At this moment the Priest appears in the 
 doorway of the chapel, and he orders that the gor- 
 geous vestments shall be stripped off and Sister Bea- 
 trice beaten before the altar. She is dragged within, 
 the Priest remaining without in prayer. Suddenly 
 the Canticle of the Virgin rises in mighty, swelling 
 tones from the Chapel, the doors burst open, and 
 the Nuns surge forth swaying branches of blossoms 
 and amidst a swirling of petals which retard their 
 progress. They proclaim that a miracle has been 
 performed and that Sister Beatrice is innocent. As 
 their story fails, Sister Beatrice herself, meekly clad, 
 comes from the Chapel, crosses to the great doors, 
 admits three old beggars, and with holy water, from 
 the font before the empty niche of the Virgin, sprin- 
 kles and blesses them. 
 
 Act Three is some twenty years later, night. On 
 the pedestal stands the statue of the Virgin as at first. 
 It is winter. As the last stroke of the Matin Bell 
 dies away, the great doors slowly part, and Sister
 
 214 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 Beatrice, ragged, cold, shrivelled and withered, 
 creeps timidly in, and throws herself with a flood of 
 penitential tears, before the altar of the Virgin. As 
 she prays, confessing her sins, and remorseful be- 
 cause of the life which she has lead since she left the 
 Convent, her eyes see her own old garments resting 
 on the rail before her. Timidly, to cover her naked- 
 ness, she picks them up and puts them on, and then 
 falls fainting as the bell again tolls, and the proces- 
 sion of Nuns enters headed by the Abbess, who is 
 now bent with age, and walks feebly. They rush to 
 Sister Beatrice, and raise her head. The Abbess sud- 
 denly discovers that the image of the Virgin has re- 
 turned to its pedestal, and all exclaim over the mira- 
 cle. Sister Beatrice is tenderly laid on clean linen 
 sheets, and a pillow is placed beneath her head. She 
 begins to tell the story of her life in the world and to 
 protest against such tender treatment, but all believe 
 that she is delirious, and refuse to listen, for they 
 know the good life which she has led in their midst. 
 At last, exhausted, Sister Beatrice lapses into silence, 
 and, as her eyes close, the Nuns sink to their knees in 
 prayer.
 
 ARDIANE AND BLUE BEARD 
 
 Operatic Libretto in Three Acts and Three S(ene> 
 
 Ascribed to Year 1901 
 
 Cast 
 
 Ardiane 
 
 Selysette "^ 
 
 Mellsande j 
 
 Ygraine y The Imprisoned Wives 
 
 Bellangere j 
 
 AUadine j 
 
 A Nurse (Foster- Mother to Ardiane) 
 
 Blue Beard 
 
 Servants, Peasants, Crowd 
 
 Scene: — An ancient Castle. 
 
 Blue Beard (or Barbe Bleue) is, like the fairy- 
 tale with which all are familiar, a man of much-mar- 
 rying, and with the same rapacity for the suppres- 
 sion of his wives, altho, from a certain point of view, 
 a trifle more humane, as this man only incarcerates 
 them in a deep, cold dungeon to drag out a miserable 
 existence. 
 
 The stage represents a glorious hallway of Blue 
 Beard's Castle. In the center is an arch with double 
 doors, and on either side of this central door are 
 three smaller doors, with balconies and Gothic win- 
 dows above. As the curtain rises, voices of peasants 
 
 215
 
 2i6 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 are heard protesting against the reception of another, 
 a sixth wife. In a moment Ardiane enters accom- 
 panied by her faithful Nurse. In her hands she car- 
 ries a bunch of keys, and repeats the instructions giv- 
 en her by Blue Beard, to open the chests and array 
 herself in what raiment she would. The Nurse is 
 anxious to examine everything, but Ardiane says that 
 she wishes to open only the one door which has been 
 forbidden her. The Nurse, however, unlocks the 
 first door, and is greeted with a shower of gems and 
 jewels, amethysts beings particularly plentiful. They 
 hasten to the second door, and this opens showering 
 them with sapphires. The opening of the third door 
 brings a rain of pearls, the fourth emeralds, the fifth 
 rubies, and the last diamonds. The Nurse would 
 take what she could and flee, but Ardiane insists up- 
 on unlocking the one remaining door, the center. As 
 it rolls open, nothing is disclosed but a cavern of inky 
 darkness, tho far away is heard the voice of plaintive 
 singing. In terror the Nurse urges her to close the 
 doors. She and Ardiane strive to shut all the doors, 
 but in vain, and on their wild efforts enters Blue 
 Beard himself, who reproaches her for insisting up- 
 on doing the one thing which he had forbade, and 
 tells her how long each of her predecessors had fore- 
 gone curiosity, but that none had succumbed imme- 
 diately upon entering the Castle. He ends by drag- 
 ging the hapless Ardiane toward the door of the hol- 
 low darkness. The peasants are heard storming at 
 the gates, and the Nurse runs to admit them. The 
 doors are burst and the mob pours in. Blue Beard 
 draws his sword to withstand them, but Ardiane 
 steps between and silences the mob, declaring "He
 
 Ardiane and Blue Beard 217 
 
 has not done me any ill." 
 
 Act Two discloses the subterranean chamber where 
 are the predecessors of Ardiane huddled in a misera- 
 ble group. Slowly comes the courageous one down 
 the staircase, her faithful Nurse tottering after. She 
 advances boldly with her lamp, seeks the terrified 
 women, consoles them, and begins looking for a 
 means of escape, ending by discovering a ray of light, 
 then some doors, and at length she forces them open, 
 admitting the glorious light of day, and courageously 
 steps forth unto the outside of the Castle, leading 
 after her the five trembling women. 
 
 Act Three discloses the interior of the Castle as at 
 first. Blue Beard has been away, and all are fear- 
 fully awaiting his return, and are engaged in bedeck- 
 ing themselves in the choicest apparel and jewels. But 
 Ardiane shows them that it is not this adornment 
 that Blue Beard craves, but the beauty of their own 
 fair selves, and arranges their draperies to display 
 their charms to greater advantage. Suddenly Blue 
 Beard, wounded, enters the Hall. He has been set 
 upon by the indignant peasants, and has taken refuge 
 within his stronghold. The peasants crowd through 
 the portals. The five women cower in a corner at 
 the far end of the Hall, but the fearless Ardiane 
 steps forward, dimisses the peasants with thanks for 
 bringing to her Blue Beard in this bound, pitiable 
 condition, and closes the doors shutting them out. 
 The women gather about him in sympathy and bind 
 his wounds, severing the thongs which confine his 
 limbs. As he recovers Ardiane kisses him in fare- 
 well, and starts for the door. The women rush to 
 her imploringly. She pauses, invites them to join
 
 2i8 The PsychcLGgy oj Maeterlinck 
 
 her in her departure, but one by one they decline, and 
 turn with loving ministrations to Blue Beard, whilst 
 their deliverer, the fearless Ardiane, accompanied 
 by her Nurse, departs into the world whence she had 
 come, leaving the wives to atone by faithfulness for 
 their lack of trust.
 
 MONNA VANNA 
 
 Drama in Three Acts and Three Scenes 
 
 Ascribed to Year 1902 
 
 Cast 
 
 Guido Colonna, Commander of the Garrison at Pisa 
 
 Marco Colonna, Guido's Father 
 
 Prinzivalle, General in the Pay of Florence 
 
 Trivulzio, Commissioner of the Florentine Republic 
 
 Torello, Guido's Lieutenant 
 
 Borso, Another Lieutenant 
 
 Vedio, Secretary to Prinzivalle 
 
 Giovanna (Monna Vanna), Guido's Wife. 
 
 Period: — The end of the Fifteenth Century. 
 
 Place : — In and around Pisa. 
 
 {Monna Vanna was presented at the Manhattan 
 Theatre, New York City, October 23, 1905, with 
 Mme. Bertha Kalich as Monna Vanna.) 
 
 Act One is laid in the Palace of Guido Colonna at 
 Pisa. The Town has been besieged by the troops of 
 Florence for a long time, and now is reduced to point 
 of surrender. Guido has sent his aged father to the 
 General of the besiegers to ask terms of surrender. 
 The Father returns, and, after some preamble, tells 
 him that Prinzivalle, the other General, is a fine fel- 
 low, educated, noble, but will make only one condi- 
 
 219
 
 2 20 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 tion, I. e., — that Monna Vanna, the wife of Guido, 
 shall make sacrifice of her virtue to him, and in re- 
 turn Prinzivalle will send the Pisans supplies and 
 ammunition to withstand further attack. Guido is 
 angry, but Monna Vanna entering takes the situation 
 into her own hands and says that she will go. 
 
 Act Two is laid in Prinzivalle's tent without the 
 walls. Monna Vanna comes to him. He has been 
 wounded by a traitor who is striving to betray him 
 to the Florentines, so she does not recognize him at 
 once. But in rebinding the wound, she recalls his 
 features. As a boy he had come to her home with 
 his father, and they had played together once, and 
 from that hour he had longed for her. However, he 
 was poor, and whilst he was in Africa seeking a for- 
 tune, she had married. And now Prinzivalle had 
 taken this one desperate measure for seeing and talk- 
 ing with her again. He sends the supply-train to 
 Pisa, and they sit and talk the long night through. 
 She learns that Prinzivalle has played a losing stake 
 and that his head is the forfeit, so she insists upon 
 bringing him back with her to Pisa. 
 
 Act Three finds Guido awaiting Monna Vanna's 
 return. He is vowing death to Prinzivalle. Sud- 
 denly Monna Vanna and Prinzivalle appear in the 
 distance and approach through the crowd. Guido is 
 beside himself with jealousy. He orders all out 
 whilst he meets his wife alone. He learns the identity 
 of her companion and would slay him, but she pre- 
 vents. She explains his goodness, her own purity, 
 but Guido will not believe. He insists that it is not 
 true. Finally, in desperation, she swears that she has 
 lied and that to her alone shall be committed the
 
 Monna Vanna 221 
 
 punishment of her dishonor. Prinzivalle is led away, 
 Monna whispering that she will save him. She faints 
 in the arms of her Father who alone recognizes that 
 she told the truth at first, and now is only endeavor- 
 ing to save the better man. She cautions her father 
 to look to Prinzivalle's welfare, and faints. Guido 
 takes her in his arms, and as she opens her eyes pro- 
 tests to her, "It was all a bad dream." But she in- 
 sists that it is real, and for him to give her the keys 
 to Prinzivalle's prison so that she may torture him. 
 As Guido surrenders to her desire, she exclaims, "It 
 has been a bad dream — but the beautiful one will be- 
 
 gin!" 
 
 The unusual feature of this play is that it is a 
 modern play laid in a Fifteenth Century environ- 
 ment, and is given a typically Twentieth Century so- 
 lution !
 
 JOYZELLE 
 
 Drama in Five Acts and Seven Scenes 
 
 Ascribed to Year 1903 
 
 Cast 
 
 Merlin 
 
 Lanceor, Merlin's Son 
 Joyzelle 
 
 Arielle, Merlin's Self (Genius) ; rarely visible to 
 Others 
 Scene:— An Ancient Castle on an Island owned by 
 Merlin. 
 
 On an Island lives a lonely man passed middle 
 age, Merlin, by name. For some unexplained rea- 
 son he has lived alone for many years, communing 
 only with his Self, Arielle, his Genius, but, strangely 
 enough, of the opposite sex ! 
 
 The setting of Act One is a Gallery in Merlin's 
 Palace. The owner is communing with his other 
 self, Arielle, who is sleeping on the marble steps. It 
 appears that Merlin has somewhere, somehow, seen 
 Joyzelle and selected her as wife for his son, and 
 that both those persons have been brought to this 
 Island to be under the supervision of Merlin, who 
 wishes to try their suitability for each other. Foot- 
 steps are heard, and Merlin and Arielle withdraw, 
 just as Lanceor, the son, and Joyzelle, his destiny, 
 
 222
 
 Joyzelle 223 
 
 enter from opposite directions. It is wiiat we pop- 
 ularly term "love at first sight." They are astonished 
 at the mystery of their arrivals upon the Island. 
 Lanceor had left his ship, fallen asleep in a cave, and 
 awakened to find himself abandoned. Then he had 
 wandered into the Palace. Joyzelle had come in a 
 more conventional manner; she had been bound for 
 some unknown place to meet a mysterious person to 
 whom she was betrothed, and the ship had been 
 wrecked during a storm, and Merlin had taken her 
 into the Palace and had shown her every considera- 
 tion and courtesy. Lanceor at once feels that Mer- 
 lin is his rival, and begrudges him even the past pleas- 
 ure of rescuing the fair Joyzelle from the cruel waves. 
 Suddenly Merlin enters, threateningly advances upon 
 Lanceor, forbids his further seeing Joyzelle, and or- 
 ders him to the apartments reserved for him, where 
 he will be held a captive. Lanceor defiantly with- 
 draws vowing that he will see Joyzelle soon again. 
 Merlin assures him that he will see her at risk of 
 her death, and so he quietly acquiesces to the sen- 
 tence. But Joyzelle insists that no such threat will 
 deter her from seeing Lanceor again. 
 
 Act Two is laid in a wild garden overrun with 
 weeds. To Joyzelle in the garden comes Lanceor 
 with protestations of love. Suddenly the weeds grow 
 into enormous plants which almost suffocate the two 
 hapless beings, and at this instant Merlin returns, 
 and in haste Lanceor hides behind a weed. Merlin 
 accuses Joyzelle of having seen and talked with 
 Lanceor; she remains motionless. But Lanceor cries 
 in pain and she rushes to him, to discover in horror 
 that he has been bitten by a noxious reptile. Merlin
 
 2 24 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 triumphantly announces that Lanceor will die, altho 
 in his power rests the ability to give him life. In 
 sadness Joyzelle leaves. Merlin dresses his son's 
 wound, and kisses him tenderly. Arielle, the other 
 self, prepares another trap as a test. She seats her- 
 self on the rim of the basin of the fountain, and as 
 Lanceor awakens he is bewitched, and in a sudden 
 sweep of passion kisses Arielle. Joyzelle is heard to 
 cry in distress. Arielle vanishes into the air, and 
 Lanceor tries to explain the situation to Joyzelle who 
 has seen all; but she goes out weeping, leaving him 
 to ponder on his pitiable condition. 
 
 Act Three, Scene One, reveals Lanceor before a 
 mirror in the Palace, gazing in horror upon his aged 
 appearance, due to the poison in his veins. Joyzelle 
 enters and tries to comfort him by saying that the 
 mirror is not accurate in its reflection; but he knows 
 better. She claims that she loves his soul, and that 
 no matter what his outer transformation, that she 
 will always be true. They embrace passionately. 
 Scene Two is a Grove with Joyzelle sleeping on a 
 marble bench. Merlin, led by Arielle, comes in 
 dressed like his son, stands in the shadow of a box- 
 hedge, and calls to Joyzelle; then kneels and kisses 
 her. She awakens, and for a moment believes him 
 to be Lanceor, but as Merlin embraces her she shrinks 
 from him, and launches a terrible tirade for his cruel 
 conduct. Merlin tells her that she alone can save 
 Lanceor, and departs leaving her to solitary reflec- 
 tion. 
 
 Act Four is a room where Lanceor, lifeless, lies 
 upon a carved bed of marble. Joyzelle is weeping 
 over him. Merlin enters and says that it is still pos-
 
 Joyzelle 225 
 
 sible to save him by giving a part of his own life, but 
 as a condition Joyzelle, at the moment of her own 
 s^upreme happiness, must surrender to him. Merlin, 
 her own purity of womanhood. She hesitates, then, 
 carried by the force of her great love, agrees. Mer- 
 lin breathes life into Lanceor, and leaves the lovers 
 together. 
 
 Act Five, Scene One, is the same gallery as first 
 seen, (Act One), and reveals Lanceor and Merlin in 
 converse, the father revealing his identity to his son 
 and confiding to him that Joyzelle has long been 
 chosen as his wife if she can bear the tests inflicted 
 upon her to discover her worthiness, but that one 
 more, and supreme test, remains. They separate. 
 Scene Two is the bedchamber once more. Merlin is 
 seated on the marble bed with Arielle kneeling at his 
 head, anxiously begging him to give up this last test. 
 Merlin refuses, and stretches himself for sleep. Joy- 
 zelle enters, timid, hesitating, and approaches him. 
 She sets down her lamp, pulls forth a dagger, and is 
 about to stab the sleeping Merlin, but his unseen, 
 ever-wakeful self (the subconscious, or subjective) 
 grasDS her hand and restrains the fatal blov/. Mer- 
 lin awakens, takes her tenderly in his arms, tells her 
 that she has made him very happy, and that she is 
 the right woman for his son. Lanceor suddenly ap- 
 pears, takes Joyzelle in his arms and kisses her; then 
 both turn to the Father gratefully.
 
 THE BLUE BIRD 
 
 A Poetical Drama in Five Acts and Ten Scenes 
 
 Ascribed to Year 1908 
 Cast 
 
 1 
 
 J-Dead 
 
 Tyltyl 
 
 Mytyl 
 
 Light 
 
 The Fairy Berylune 
 
 Neighbor Berlingot 
 
 Daddy Tyl 
 
 Mummy Tyl 
 
 Gaffer Tyl 
 
 Granny Tyl 
 
 Tyltyl's Brothers and ■ 
 
 Sisters J 
 
 Time 
 Night 
 Neighbor Berlingot's Little 
 
 Daughter 
 Tylo, the Dog 
 Tylette 
 Bread 
 Sugar 
 Fire 
 Water 
 Milk 
 
 Stars, Sicknesses, Shades, etc. 
 
 226 
 
 The Wolf 
 
 The Pig 
 
 The Ox 
 
 The Cow 
 
 The Bull 
 
 The Sheep 
 
 The Cock 
 
 The Rabbit 
 The Horse 
 The Ass 
 The Oak 
 
 The Elm 
 The Beech 
 
 The Lime-Tree 
 
 The Fir-Tree 
 
 The Cypress 
 
 The Birch 
 
 The Chestnut-Tree 
 
 The Ivy 
 
 The Poplar 
 
 The Willow
 
 The Blue Bird 
 
 ii'] 
 
 Place: — A J-Voodaitter's Cottage and Beyond the 
 Vale. 
 
 Time : — The Present. 
 
 ( The Blue Bird was presented at the New Thea- 
 tre, New York. City, October i, 19 lo, with Miss 
 Gladys Hulette as Tyltyl. It has also been played in 
 London.) 
 
 Act One, Scene One, is within the Woodcutter's 
 Cottage, and his two children, Mytyl and Tyltyl, 
 are sleeping with Mummy Tyl bending over them 
 and motioning to Daddy Tyl to be quiet and not 
 awaken them. As the parents withdraw, the chil- 
 dren seem to awaken, and sit up in bed. They begin 
 talking of Christmas and lament that Mummy Tyl 
 couldn't get to the town to purchase them any gifts, 
 but that in another year they will be remiembered. 
 They suddenly notice a brightness shining through 
 the shutters, and run to peek out at the Christmas 
 Tree of the rich children opposite, who are giving a 
 Christmas Eve Party. In the midst of their joy in 
 beholding what is happening in the house opposite, 
 there comes a knock at the door which terrifies, but 
 after a moment the door opens and a little old 
 Fairy enters. She is seeking "grass that sings and a 
 bird that is blue." She examines the bird which Tyl- 
 tyl owns, but declines it as not sufficiently blue. The 
 Fairy goes on to explain that she wants such a bird 
 for her own little girl who is 111 with a strange dis- 
 ease, an intense desire to be happy! Then she tells 
 the sympathetic children that they must voyage alone 
 in quest of this bird, and that it lies beyond the King- 
 dom of the Land of Memory, and that there they
 
 2 28 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 will see their dead grandparents and little brothers 
 and sisters. She gives them a little green hat with a 
 shining diamond which will make them see things as 
 they are, and even to look into people's very souls. 
 Tyltyl tries the hat on and the Fairy, the house, the 
 furnishings become wonderfully beautiful, and the 
 works of the clock, the hours, come forth from the 
 case. Bread and Fire materialize. The Dog and 
 Cat become endowed with human attributes and walk 
 erect. Water and Fire begin to fight to extinguish 
 each other. The milk spills, breaking the jug. Sugar 
 becomes a beautiful lady in flowing white. There 
 comes a knocking, and instantly Tyltyl turns the dia- 
 mond and the wakened souls reseek their customary 
 habitations, tho Bread has grown too large to occupy 
 the pan. The knocking continues, and the Fairy 
 hastily leads the children out by the window. The 
 room becomes as at first, quiet, steeped in darkness. 
 The door opens and Daddy and Mummy Tyl peek 
 in and pronounce the children as quietly sleeping in 
 their bed. 
 
 Act Two, Scene One, is the gorgeous entrance- 
 hall of Fairy-Berylune's Palace. Out from the 
 Fairy's wardrobe come trooping in gorgeous attire 
 the Cat, Sugar, and Fire, then the Dog and Water, 
 and later Bread, and after another while the Fairy 
 as the old woman we first saw, accompanied by Light, 
 and Tyltyl and Mytyl. The children are being in- 
 structed previous to resuming their journey on the 
 morrow. To Bread is entrusted the empty cage 
 which is to harbor the Blue Bird of Happiness. 
 Bread and Sugar are to furnish nourishment for the 
 way, and these give an exhibition of their magic pow-
 
 The Blue Bird 229 
 
 ers of slicing off portions of their anatomy for suste- 
 nance. The Fairy points the way toward the Land 
 of Memory, and warns them to be back at a quarter 
 of nine. The children go in the one direction, and 
 the Fairy conducts the Dog, Cat, and other members 
 of the incongruous company in the opposite. Scene 
 Two is in the Land of Memory. It seems a forest, 
 shrouded in obscurity; but, in a few minutes after 
 the children appear, the misty veil lifts, and we see 
 an attractive cottage with peaceful surroundings, and 
 on a bench sit Granny and Gaffer Tyl, who awaken 
 from their sleep and affectionately greet their two 
 grandchildren. At the door the children discover 
 their own blackbird which had long since died, but 
 as they look at it, it begins to sing, and then turns 
 quite blue, and the excited children beg for him. The 
 grandparents consenting, the children bring the silver 
 cage and put the bird within, tho they are admon- 
 ished that the bird may fly back again at the first op- 
 portunity. Then the seven dead brothers and sisters 
 come from the house each playing Pan-pipes. Kiki, 
 a little dog, is also there. Then the clock strikes 
 eight, much to the astonishment of all, for this is the 
 Land of Death where all is silence. The Grandpar- 
 ents give each of the children a bowl of soup, and all 
 sit happily about the table. The clock strikes the 
 half hour, and the children realize that they must 
 hurry if they would be back at the requisite time. 
 Granny Tyl begs them to return every day, kisses 
 them goodbye, and the radiant children take up the 
 cage with the precious Blue Bird and start their jour- 
 ney back to the Land of Reality. Slowly the scene 
 changes to the quiet which first reigned; the mists
 
 230 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 thicken, and soon all is blotted out, except the two 
 children in the foreground. However, they have the 
 bird safely; but, looking to be assured that it is still 
 safe, they find that it is only the poor, dead blackbird 
 of long ago I 
 
 Act Three is in the radiant Palace of Night. Night 
 herself sits on the basaltic steps, with a child asleep 
 at either knee, one veiled, the other quite innocent of 
 clothing. The Cat sneaks in, and is reproved for 
 night-prowling. The Cat urges Mother Night to 
 aid in keeping the children from getting into the 
 chamber where lies the Blue Bird. In a moment Dog 
 comes in with the hosts, conducting Tyltyl, who asks 
 for the keys to open the doors. Mother Night de- 
 clines, and is quite angry when she learns that it 
 Avas Light who had instructed him to demand the 
 keys. But he turns the diamond in his hat, and 
 Night delivers the keys, altho she abjures responsi- 
 bility for what may befall if the doors be unlocked. 
 The undaunted child opens the doors and some ghosts 
 rush out; then other doors, the doors of the rooms 
 of the Diseases, from which moans and groans issue 
 forth, but no person, as they are all too ill to walk. 
 However, the mildest, Cold-in-the-Head, does ven- 
 ture to the door, and runs quickly back. Then the 
 door of the Wars is tried, and these strive to burst 
 forth in roaring fury, but Tyltyl and his friends push 
 with all their strength and force to the door. Then 
 come the Shades and Terrors, a sickly lot; the Mys- 
 teries are peeked at, lying in their darksome cham- 
 ber; then Silence, awful Monster; then the Will-o'- 
 the- Wisps, Glow-worms, Fireflies, Dew, Song of the 
 Nightingales, and the Stars. At length, the boy ap-
 
 The Blue Bird 231 
 
 proaches the final doorway, that at the very back, and, 
 whilst all but the Dog desert him, throws open the 
 brazen doors, and discloses a garden in the sky, filled 
 with thousands of glorious Blue Birds. As he cries 
 with rapture and delight, Mytyl comes in and the 
 children and their allies strive to catch the birds. 
 They exit with their hands filled with the birds, but 
 as the scene closes in the children discover that the 
 birds are all lifeless, and the tired little Tyltyl bursts 
 into heart-rending sobs of disappointment. Scene 
 Two is in the Forest, and here the Cat comes to con- 
 spire with the Trees against Tyltyl, whose father, the 
 woodcutter, has done them much harm in times past. 
 When Tyltyl enters the Cat runs fawningly to meet 
 him, by solicitous words and false purring striving 
 to conceal his own duplicity. However, the faithful 
 Dog is along, and Cat suggests that "his presence is 
 odious" and to dismiss him. This Tyltyl proceeds 
 to do, tho it is necessary to resort to blows to force 
 this faithful friend to depart, and, in spite of all, the 
 poor Dog insists upon kissing his strange, inexplica- 
 ble little master, and when Mytyl enters almost top- 
 ples her over with the exuberance of his ecstacy. Tyl- 
 tyl turns the diamond, and the trees assume human 
 semblance and stretch themselves to rest their limbs, 
 stiffened from so long confinement in the tight bark. 
 All the trees comment upon the children. The Oak 
 at length comes, crippled and ancient, the Blue Bird 
 perched upon his venerable shoulder. At once the 
 children run toward the Blue Bird. The Cat bids 
 them recollect their manners and orders Tyltyl to 
 remove his hat to this worthy sir. He obeys and po- 
 litely explains who he is, whence and wherefore he
 
 232 The Psychology of Maeterlinck. 
 
 has come. The Oak rephes that all the animals must 
 be consulted before the precious Blue Bird can be 
 surrendered. At once are heard sounds of their ap- 
 proach, and entering the animals group themselves 
 about the feet of the Trees. The Oak explains the 
 situation and advises that for their own future safety 
 and to avenge past wrongs, that they shall unitedly 
 destroy Tyltyl. The Dog growls in displeasure, and 
 shows his teeth to the villainous Oak. Tyltyl, at the 
 suggestion of the Cat, again tries to dismiss the Dog, 
 and Cat adds that he be chained. Search discloses 
 that the leash has been lost, so Ivy is requisitioned, 
 and timorously approaches. Poor Tylo lies down 
 obediently and Ivy is entwined about his neck. Then 
 Ivy and Poplar carry Tylo bound and lay him behind 
 the Oak. The conference continues, and Tyltyl be- 
 comes uneasy, but Cat consoles. After some further 
 deliberation, the Oak starts menacingly toward Tyl- 
 tyl who realizes the import, draws his knife, and pre- 
 pares to withstand the attack. Poor Oak retires by 
 the advice of the other Trees, who decide that it 
 would be wiser to leave the destruction of the chil- 
 dren to the animals present. Mytyl begins to shriek, 
 but brave Tyltyl places her behind him, and wields 
 his little knife like some Knight of Old in defence of 
 Lady Fair. Each animal advances threateningly, 
 but all fear the knife; then comes the slinking, cow- 
 ardly wolf who makes attack from behind. In dis- 
 tress, as the Trees are now closing in upon them, the 
 valiant lad calls to Tylo, then for Tylette, who makes 
 excuse of a sprained paw for not assisting. But Tylo 
 is true, and, bursting his bonds, works his way to his 
 master's side. The battle rages fiercely and bids fair
 
 The Blue Bird 233 
 
 to see the two youngsters vanquished, when their true 
 friend, Light, enters and bids him turn the Diamond 
 and so compel the Trees and Animals to resume 
 their customary shapes. He obeys, and the assailants 
 vanish whence they came. When the fray is o'er, the 
 Janus-Faced Cat appears with a gross fabrication 
 that the Ox had injured him, and straightway receives 
 the solicitudes of kindhearted Mytyl. The Dog 
 growls a threat of future punishment awaiting the 
 Cat, and Cat straightway whimpers complaint to 
 Mytyl, who only coddles the Cat the more, and 
 brushes aside the faithful Dog who is left alone in 
 his miseries by the others who go away. 
 
 Act Four, Scene One, takes place before the Cur- 
 tain. The children and their allies come out. Light 
 has received a letter from the Fairy, telling her that 
 the Blue Bird may be lurking in the graveyard, but 
 that one of the dead is still hiding there, and that they 
 shall have to discover him. Faithful Dog would re- 
 main to guard and protect, but this is not permitted 
 by the Fairy, and as some of the other companions 
 bear the dead a grudge, they too are forced to with- 
 draw, and the two children stand alone in the middle 
 of the stage as the curtain rises disclosing, — Scene 
 Two, the Graveyard at Midnight. The clock strikes 
 the hour from a distant tower, the graves open, ten- 
 der, glowing vapors rise upward, flowers begin to 
 bloom as the Dawn approaches, the birds sing, the 
 bees hum, and all is beautiful and serene in the burst- 
 ing blaze of morning light. Then comes one of the 
 most beautiful of all the many beautiful utterances to 
 be found in this play. Mytyl peers into the empty 
 graves and comments upon the fact that the graves
 
 234 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 are empty. Tyltyl, wise beyond his years, replies, 
 "There are no dead!" Scene Three is the beautiful 
 Kingdom of the Future. It is a glorious Azure Hall, 
 peopled by darling children, working on occupations 
 which will be theirs when born. Every type and tem- 
 perament is here represented. Light alone guides 
 the two children into this mysterious world of chil- 
 dren waiting to be born. Many of the children stop 
 in their occupations to look curiously at Tyltyl and 
 Mytyl, for they are not yet familiar with the appear- 
 ance of earth-children. In the midst of the reception, 
 there comes a sound from without the opal doors, 
 and a glowing light. The babes lay down their tasks 
 and draw nearer to the great doors. Slowly the 
 doors unfold, and Father Time in his typical cos- 
 tume comes in. Behind him, as the doors continue 
 to unfold, is seen a boat with white and gold sails. 
 Toward it rush the children, and Father Time as- 
 sorts them, allowing some to freight the frigate, and 
 turning back others. Some children go gladly, some 
 are loath to leave their lovely home and companions. 
 At length the boat is laden with its precious cargo, 
 and begins to move toward earth. The cries of joy 
 of the children as earth comes in sight are heard 
 from the distance, as Time closes the doors. For 
 the first he discovers Tyltyl and Mytyl and demands 
 where they appeared from, but Light cautions them 
 to heed him not, and to follow her for she has found 
 the Blue Bird, and has it safely hidden beneath the 
 folds of her cloak! 
 
 Act Five, Scene One, depicts a red wall with a 
 small green door. Before it stand the children and 
 their companions of the eventful voyage of discov-
 
 The Blue Bird 235 
 
 ery. Light is surprised that the children do not rec- 
 ognize the door, and finally tells them that it is 
 "home," which they had left the year before. The 
 children examine the door with keen interest and rec- 
 ognize its familiar aspect, and are impatient to pull 
 the latch-string and enter, but Light tells them not 
 yet. Poor Tyltyl says sadly that he has not brought 
 the Blue Bird after all, for each vanished or changed 
 ^s he possessed himself of it. Light comforts him, 
 and then one by one their companions begin to take 
 their farewell, kissing them tenderly. Just then the 
 Cat comes in pursued by the Dog. Poor Cat is bitten 
 and scratched, and her clothing is in veritable shreds. 
 By force the children separate the combatants, and 
 the Cat whimpers of her abuse, and Dog mutters 
 that she has had enough for one time. Light tells them 
 that they are about to resume their natural shapes, 
 and that no more will they be able to talk with their 
 little friends, and sorrow seizes them. Even Light 
 must leave them now, for she never enters this little 
 green door. With a touchingly beautiful speech. Light 
 tells them that she will always be visible to them in 
 the rays of the sun, in the moonbeams, the stars, and 
 as the clock begins to strike the hour of eight. Light 
 gently pushes the little ones through the small door- 
 way, and, as the door closes behind Tyltyl and Mytyl, 
 one loud lamentation is heard arising from their 
 companions of the year. 
 
 Scene Two is the same as that first disclosed in 
 Act One. Only the home seems more homelike, more 
 beautiful. The children are sleeping peacefully; the 
 Dog and Cat are lying upon their accustomed mats. 
 Mummy Tyl comes in scolding the children for being
 
 236 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 so tardy in arising. Tyltyl awakens, and, half-asleep, 
 cries for Light. Mummy Tyl throws open the win- 
 dows admitting the warm sunshine. Mytyl awakens, 
 and the two children begin talking of the things 
 which they have seen, and asking about the present. 
 Mummy Tyl, mystified, thinks that the children must 
 have discovered the father's Brandy and been partak- 
 ing of it. She makes them walk across the room to 
 demonstrate that they are not affected by the drink. 
 Daddy Tyl is called and enters with his axe. The 
 children kiss him joyfully, and he asks what is wrong. 
 Mummy Tyl weepingly says that they are ill and that 
 God will take these children as He did the others, 
 and, as Tyltyl and Mytyl continue prattling she bids 
 Daddy go for a Doctor. Neighbor Berlinger knocks 
 and is admitted, wishing them a Merry Christmas. 
 Tyltyl, supposing her the Fairy, addresses her as 
 such and plaintively says, "I could not find the Blue 
 Bird." The Neighbor laughs, and says that her own 
 child is still very ill, but has been pleading for a 
 strange thing, no less than the children's bird! Tyltyl 
 goes to get it, sees the cage is the same, but that the 
 bird is only a turtle-dove, but, wonder of wonders, 
 it is blue ! He climbs on a chair, unhooks the cage, 
 and gives it gladly to the Neighbor, who, astonished 
 at the child's liberality, takes it, kisses him and has- 
 tens with this Christmas happiness to her sick daugh- 
 ter. 
 
 The children go into raptures over the fresh, 
 pleasing appearance of the room, of the stretch of 
 forest just outside the window, of everything. And 
 Daddy Tyl says, to Mummy Tyl, "Don't worry, 
 they are simply playing at being happy." Then comes
 
 The Blue Bird 237 
 
 the Neighbor with her little sick girl clutching close 
 the dove, and the children stare at her in astonish- 
 ment for to them she looks so much like the own dear 
 friend, Light, — only smaller. The Neighbor pushes 
 the little girl toward Tyltyl for him to kiss her, and 
 the bird is released, and flies away through the door, 
 causing the little girl to burst into tears, but manly 
 Tyltyl exclaims, "I will catch him again!" Then in 
 a few words of epilogue he addresses the audience 
 and begs that if any one find the Blue Bird to bring 
 him back, for he may be needed "for our happiness 
 later on." And does not this line suggest to us the 
 possibility of betrothal in later years of this tiny 
 neighbor and our fascinating friend, Tyltyl?
 
 MARY MAGDALENE 
 
 Religious Drama in Three Acts and Three Scenes 
 Ascribed to Year 19 lo 
 
 Cast 
 
 Annoeus Silanus, a Philosopher 
 Lucius Verus, a Captain 
 Appius 
 Coelius 
 Lazarus 
 Nicodemus 
 Joseph of Arimathea 
 Martha 
 
 Mary Magdalene 
 Levi the Publican 
 Simon the Leper 
 Cleophas 
 Zaccheus 
 
 The Man born Blind 
 Bartimaeus, the Blind Man of Jericho 
 The Man of Gerasa, Possessed of a Devil 
 The Impotent Man of Bethesda 
 The Man Healed of a Dropsy 
 The Man Whose Hand was Withered 
 Simon Peter's Mother-in-Law, Mary Cleophas 
 Salome, the Wife of Zebedee 
 Susanna 
 
 Several nameless Men and Women cured by Mira- 
 cles 
 
 238
 
 Mary Magdalene 239 
 
 Several Hunchback, Halt, Blind, Lepers, Palsied, 
 
 Waiting to be healed. 
 Several Harlots, Some Beggars, etc. 
 
 Place: — Bethany and Jerusalem. 
 
 The Time of Christ's Passion. 
 
 {Mary Magdalene, translation made by Mr. 
 Alexander Teixeira de Mattos, was presented at the 
 New Theatre, New York City, Dec. 5th, 19 10, with 
 Miss Olga Nethersole as the Magdalen.) 
 
 Act One is in the Palace of Annoeus Silanus at 
 Bethany. He enters with Lucius Verus, one of his 
 former pupils. In a few moments Mary Magdalene, 
 resplendent in attire, comes in from her villa, which 
 is on the other side of the hill. She is complaining of 
 the theft during the night of rubies, and some pearls, 
 of a precious peacock, and some fish. She blames the 
 followers of the Nazarene who are gathered in the 
 vicinity. Silanus protests that Jews may be crafty, 
 but that they do not steal. Verus offers to have them 
 apprehended. Then he turns to Magdalene and 
 makes protestations of his continuing love, and ex- 
 presses joy at again seeing her. Appius enters with Sil- 
 anus, and this puts an end to their conversation. The 
 talk turns to a discussion of the Nazarene and His 
 miracles, and Silanus tells them that He is the guest 
 of Simon in the house at the back of his own garden. 
 Just then some of the sick poor enter the garden and 
 are driven out by Silanus's servants. A commotion 
 starts without, and they see sick and halt being 
 brought for cure. Carried away with desire, Mary 
 Magdalene goes to the end of the garden, and steps 
 through the separating hedge, enraptured by the.
 
 240 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 words of the Beatitudes which are falling from the 
 Teacher's lips. But the crowd suddenly become aware 
 of her contaminating presence, and raise stones 
 against her. She rushes back into the garden whence 
 she had come, but stands motionless as she hears the 
 voice of the Teacher commanding that only those 
 shall cast stones who are themselves without sin. In 
 the distance there is heard the sound of falling stones. 
 Act Two is in the Magdalene's Villa at Bethany. 
 Verus enters and is greeted cordially by her. He is 
 surprised at her cordial welcoming. But Mary says 
 that she is a changed woman, due to her experience 
 in the garden of Silanus. The topic is distasteful to 
 the lover, and he says that that man will soon be out 
 of their way, in fact that this very evening He will 
 be arrested. She pleads for the life of the Teacher, 
 and Verus misunderstands the sentiment provocative 
 of the plea. Silanus and Appius enter, filled with 
 amazement at the miracle just witnessed, the Raising 
 of Lazarus. Just then a crowd appears in the dis- 
 tance approaching toward the house. Slaves strive 
 to bar the way to the foremost who are pushing into 
 the courtyard, but Lazarus walks past, and approach- 
 ing Mary announces "The Master calls you." Verus 
 steps forward and attempts to prevent her from fol- 
 lowing Lazarus, but Mary waves him aside, and, as 
 he still persists in preventing her from following, she 
 throws herself weeping into his arms, and he pas- 
 sionately clasps her to his breast. With harsh voice 
 he dismisses Lazarus. At the raucous sound she is 
 filled with remorse, and struggles with her better-self, 
 irresistibly drawn by the command, yet striving to 
 withstand the call. Verus, in wrathful indignation
 
 Mary Magdalene 241 
 
 casts her off and bids her go, if she will, and adds a 
 sinister threat. Dazed, Mary arises, and as one in 
 a dream, majestically follows Lazarus from the build- 
 ing, leaving Appius and Silanus in amazement at this 
 strange event which they proclaim as a veritable mir- 
 acle. 
 
 Act Three is laid in the supper-room of the house 
 of Joseph of Arimathea. Here is assembled a mot- 
 ley throng of lame, halt, blind persons desiring to be 
 cured, and persons upon whom miracles of healing 
 have already been wrought. Mary Magdalene sud- 
 denly appears, dishevelled, torn and bleeding, dis- 
 tracted in mind. The Christ has been arrested, they 
 must rescue Him if Verus does not keep to his prom- 
 ise to free Him. The assemblage is weak in faith, 
 and she rallies them as best she can, spurs them to 
 make effort at rescue. Disgusted with their incon- 
 sistency and instability, she is about to leave, but they 
 prevent, and just then come steps without and a 
 knocking, and Verus is soon brought up-stairs to 
 them. She rushes in joy to him, but he thrusts her 
 aside in disgust as he sees the miserable wretches who 
 surround her, when she had led him to expect to see 
 a troop of soldiery. Mary asks them all to leave her, 
 and she begins an exhortation to Verus not to aban- 
 don her and Him at this awful hour. He replies 
 that he has been impressed, and that it will still be 
 possible to release the Captive, but that she must pay 
 the price demanded. Mary answers that she has 
 given all that she had to the poor, and is now one 
 like unto them, for she has left no more of worldly 
 goods. Then Verus suddenly shows that he is ruled 
 by jealousy, and that he feels that Mary's love for
 
 242 The Psychology of Maeterlinck 
 
 him is divided and not single. She suddenly realizes 
 that she cannot save the Redeemer except at the ex- 
 pense of her own soul, and that such sacrifice would 
 be but to give Him a second and symbolical death 
 far worse than any physical disintegration. Verus is 
 maddened with her beauty, and seizes Mary in his 
 passionate embrace, but she breaks loose, and he 
 rushes to the door and bids the rabble enter and see 
 Mary sacrifice their God by rejecting him, Verus. 
 With accusation of blame laid upon her shoulders 
 he strides from the room. 
 
 The motley horde demand to know the price which 
 she accepted to permit of the death of their Saviour, 
 — how much money, for they can't realize that there 
 are prices far too great for money to encompass. 
 Suddenly a crowd is heard below, the lights are ex- 
 tinguished, and all crouch in terror lest they be seen 
 in the window-openings, and themselves be taken into 
 custody. The procession to Golgotha is passing in 
 the street below, and once more Verus comes to the 
 threshold for a last time to seek the Magdalene's 
 decision; and she, standing erect, transfixed with 
 ecstacy, transformed by the glorifying Light which is 
 not of this world, dismisses him forever!
 
 INDEX 
 
 Abbey of St. Wandrille, 20, 
 
 III, 112 
 Absalom and Achitophel, 47 
 Abstract Impressions, 82, 83 
 Abstract Thought, 83 
 Admiration, 150 
 Adolescence, 54, 72, 79, 86, 
 
 90, 147 
 Adumbration, 152 
 Aesthetic Emotion, 17, 26, 
 
 47, 97, 99, 109, III, 
 
 118, 142, 151 
 Affection, 150 
 Affinities, 38, 50, 80, 89 
 Aglovaine and Selysette, 17, 
 
 86, 151, 163, 204 
 Aglovale, 132 
 Agnosticism, 153 
 Air-drawn-dagger, 26 
 Alladine and Palomides, 17, 
 
 120, 148, 161, 169, 194 
 Anger, 46, 109 
 Animal Instinct, 42, 55 
 Animal Intelligence, 78 
 Anti-Christian, 15, 141 
 Antoine, 18, 160, 162, 165, 
 
 183, 184 
 Antwerp, 16 
 Apostle, 21 
 Apperception, 82 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue, 
 
 17, 107, 149, 165, 215 
 Arielle, 113 
 Arkel, 44 
 Arnold, 53 
 
 Arsene Lupin, 21 
 Art, 37 
 
 Asphodel, 117, 124 
 Astolaine, 148 
 Atheism, 153 
 Austria, 21, 166 
 
 B 
 
 Ballad of a Nun, ICX) 
 
 Balliol, 64 
 
 Baby, 44, 50, 55 
 
 Barrie, 18 
 
 Bard-of-Avon, 17, 142 
 
 Beatitudes, 89 
 
 Becket, 30 
 
 Belgium, 16 
 
 Belgian Shakespeare, 16, 25 
 
 Bells, 30, 98, 99 
 
 Bellangere, 130 
 
 Bennett, 88, 95 
 
 Bernhardt, 21 1 
 
 Better-self, 114 
 
 Bergson, 23, 25, 46, 56, 153 
 
 Bianconi, 20 
 
 Biography, 15 
 
 Biology, 113 
 
 Bioplasm, 49 
 
 Blind, 17, 18, 48, 55, 124, 
 
 153, 159, 169, 182 
 Blue Bird, 18, 58, 67, 153 
 
 163, 167, 168, 226 
 Boehme, 16 
 Boileau, 13 
 Botany, 77 
 
 Boulevard St. Martin, 18 
 Brain and Personality, 25 
 
 243
 
 244 
 
 Index 
 
 Bruges, i6, 112, 158 
 Brussels, 16 
 Buried Temple, 19 
 Burns, 60 
 
 Calve, 21 
 
 Campbell, 39, 161 
 
 Carlyle, 16 
 
 Carr, 21 
 
 Cardinal Wolsey, 136 
 
 Censor, 18 
 
 Character, 27, 147, 150 
 
 Charron, 32 
 
 Charybdis, 159 
 
 Chemistry, 28, 48, 50, 113 
 
 Cheyne - Stokes Breathing, 
 
 140 
 Child Reflects Ages, 136 
 Chinese Drama, 158 
 Chinese Philosopher, 66 
 Chinvad Bridge, 95 
 Christian, 19, 131 
 Christian Science, 114 
 Clairaudience, 131 
 Clairvoyance, 48 
 Code for Wives, 21 
 Comedy Relief, 59 
 Communion of Souls, 75 
 Complex Emotions, 98 
 Confrontations, 32 
 Conscience, 44 
 Consciousness, 26, 70 
 Contagious Emotion, 52, 60. 
 
 70, 137 
 Continental Dramatists, 160, 
 
 164 
 Contradictory Tendencies, 
 
 91 
 Conversion, 90 
 Cordelia, 34 
 Cosmopolitan Magazine. 20 
 
 Coyness, 86 
 Craig, 27, 163 
 Cranford, 21 
 Creative Evolution, 56 
 Crematory, 58 
 Curiosity, 47, 65, 66, 153 
 Cutting of an Agate, 3 
 Crystal Gazer, 21 
 Cyrano de Bergerac, 104 
 
 D 
 
 Daddy Tyl, 77 
 
 Dante, 141 
 
 Darwin, 98 
 
 Davidson, lOO 
 
 Death, 19, 122 
 
 Death, Approach, 37, 48, 53, 
 
 55, 56, 57, 62, 79, 117, 
 
 125, 126, 129, 140 
 Death of Tintagiles, 17, 26, 
 
 48, 113, 128, 152, 162, 
 
 169, 201 
 Deceit, 1 18 
 Degenerate, 1 18 
 De la Sagesses, 32 
 De Mattos, 7, 239 
 Dependence, 73 
 De Rennes, 21 
 Debussy, 21, 38 
 Descent of Man, 98 
 Desire, 26 
 Desire to See, 120 
 Destiny, 26 
 Determinism, 153, 154 
 Diseases of Personality, 82, 
 
 91 
 
 Disintegration of Personal- 
 ity, 102, 125 
 
 Divorce, 17 
 
 Double Garden, 19 
 
 Double Personality, 114 
 
 Doubt, 124, 153
 
 Index 
 
 245 
 
 Douglas, 16 
 Drama-Novel, 157 
 Dramatist, 27, 157, 169 
 Dreams, 26, 67, 82 
 Dryden, 47, 62, 106 
 Dublin Review, 73 
 
 Fiske, 27 
 Fitch, 1 1 4 
 Forbes-Robertson, 39 
 Frank, 49, 51 
 Freedom of Will, 45, 154 
 
 East Flanders, 16 
 
 Ego, 91 
 
 Einsame Menschen, 149 
 
 Eleanora, 62 
 
 Eliot, 28 
 
 Elizabethan Drama, 158 
 
 Elopment, 166 
 
 Elysian Fields, 134 
 
 Emerson, 16, 21, 72,167 
 
 Emotion, 27, 38, 150. 
 
 Empiricism, 28 
 
 English Censor, 18 
 
 English Novelists, 28 
 
 Enoch Arden, 64 
 
 Essayist, 17, 170 
 
 Essay on Man, 32 
 
 Evans, 51, 54, 78, 79, 81, 89. 
 90, 92, 96, 100, 126 
 
 Evolutional Ethics and Ani- 
 mal Psy., 51, 54, 78, 8i, 
 89, 90, 92, 96, TOO, 126 
 
 Evolutionary Psy. of Feeling, 
 38, II, 159 
 
 Fairy Berylune, 70 
 Faith, 153, 154 
 Fate, 122, 124 
 Father-Love, 114, 150 
 Fear, 60, 71, 98, 109,120, 
 
 124, 130, 138, 152 
 Figaro, 16 
 Filial-Love, 147, 150 
 
 Germany, 21, 166, 169 
 Gesture, 27, 29, 103 
 Ghent, 15, 16, 17, 60, 112, 
 
 158 
 Ghost of Banquo, 26, 63 
 Ghosts, 50 
 Goethe, 169 
 Golaud, 44, 149 
 Golden Rule, 136 
 Gratitude, 97 
 Graveyard, 79 
 Green, 44 
 
 Green Bird, 86, 119 
 Grief, 46 
 Guido, 95, 151, 167 
 
 H 
 
 ^L^bbakuk, 80 
 
 Hall, 54, 72, 89, 90 
 
 Hamlet, 16, 34, 75, 93, 98 
 
 Hanneles Himmelfahrt, 68 
 
 Happiness, 84, 153, 164 
 
 Haiiptm?nn, 68, 149, 169 
 
 Hebrrws, 153 
 
 Medley, 73 
 
 Heart-Disease, 140 
 
 Heller, 58 
 
 Hermeneutics, 25 
 
 Hesitate, 40 
 
 Hilda Lessways, 88, 95 
 
 Hjalmar, 34, 148 
 
 Home, 17, 64, 152 169, 198 
 
 Homer, 28 
 
 Hope, 97
 
 246 
 
 Index 
 
 Horror, 130, 131 
 Hovey, 7, 32, 64 
 Ho'-ticulture, 117 
 Hudson, 53, 71, 115, 117- 
 
 127 
 Hugo, 69 
 Hulette, 227 
 Huneker, 64 
 Hunger, 76 
 
 Hypnotism, 30, 58, 103 
 Hypocrisy, 78 
 Hysteria, 1 02 
 
 I 
 
 Ibsen, 88 
 
 Iconoclasts 64 
 
 Ideal for Philosophy, 23 
 
 Idealism, 97, 160 
 
 Idealistic Poet, 16 
 
 Ignorance, 154 
 
 Imitation of Horace, 106 
 
 Immortality, 57, 140 
 
 Impulse, 54 
 
 Infantile Paralysis, 135 
 
 Influence of the Drama, 27, 
 
 157, 166 
 Ingersoll Lectures, 140 
 Inhibited Emotion, 39, 149 
 Insanity, 147 
 Inscription at Passy, 19 
 Instinct, 27, 34, 35, 55, 94, 
 
 96, 103, 126 
 Intellectual Actresses, 27 
 Intellectual Sentiment, 153 
 Intelligence of the Flower^, 
 
 19 
 Intimate Theatres, 162 
 Introduction to Metaphysics, 
 
 25 
 
 Intruder, 17, 48, 53, 153, 
 
 160, 169, 184 
 Intuition, 41 
 Irving, 30 
 
 James, 28, 35> 50, 67 
 James-Lange Theory, 29, 82 
 Jastrow, 67, 74, 103 
 Jealousy, 43, 45, 87, 119, 
 
 164 
 Jeanne d'Arc, 107 
 Jesuits, 15 
 Joy, 58, 109, 154 
 Joy and Love, 21 
 Jowett, 64 
 Joyzelle, 18, 21, 113, 150, 
 
 167, 169, 222 
 
 K 
 
 Kalich, 219 
 
 Kant, 58 
 
 Kindergarten, 32 
 
 Kingdom of the Future, 80 
 
 Kingdom of Night, 75 
 
 King Lear, 34 
 
 King Marcellus, 33, 148 
 
 Kipling, 33 
 
 Kirschmann, 59 
 
 Knowledge, 76, 154 
 
 Lanceor, 150 
 
 Land of Memory, 74 
 
 Language of Animals, 78 
 
 Lao-tsze, 66 
 
 La Princesse Maleine, 16, 
 
 148, 159, 169, 173 
 Lapse of Personality, 103 
 L'Art Poetique, 13 
 Laughter, 137 
 Law of Psychic Phenomena, 
 
 53, 71. 115, 117, 127 
 Le Blanc, 20, 114 
 Les Miserables, 69
 
 Index 
 
 247 
 
 Life of the Bee, 16, 19 
 
 Light, 68, 75, 154 
 
 Light of Asia, 53 
 
 Lindsay, 27, 67, 84 
 
 Little Allan, 37 
 
 London Stage Society, 163 
 
 Loti, 58 
 
 Love at Sight, 41 
 
 Love of Mother, Father, 69, 
 
 88, 114, 154 
 Love, Adolescent, 150 
 Lyrical Drama, 165 
 
 M 
 
 Macbeth, 16, 26, 43, 60 
 
 Mme. Maeterlinck, 20, 39, 
 161 
 
 Maeterlinck, Birth, 15; 
 Comment on Monna 
 Vanna, 94; Commer^t 
 on Joyzelle, 114; Edu- 
 cation, 15 ; Personal Ap- 
 pearance, 19; Personal- 
 ity shown in, in, 112, 
 117 
 
 Mallarme, Forev^^ord 
 
 Manhattan Theatre, 219 
 
 Marcellus, 62 
 
 Marionettes, 142, 163, 169, 
 201 
 
 Marschalk, 211 
 
 Mary Magdalene, 19, 89, 
 151, 168, 238 
 
 Massenet, 20 
 
 Maternal Love, 91 
 
 Material, 53, 85, 94 
 
 Matter and Memory, 46 
 
 Matthison, 211 
 
 Maturity, 44 
 
 McDougall, 19, 25, 27, 30, 
 
 45, 46 
 Meleander, 87 
 Mechanical Forces, 54 
 
 iVltntal Forces, 54 
 
 Meltzer, 21 
 
 Merlin, 113, 150 
 
 Metamorphosis, 54 
 
 Metemphysics, 54 
 
 Miall, 7 
 
 Mind of the Child, 50 
 
 Mirbeau, 17, 32 
 
 Modern Light on Immor- 
 tality, 49, 51 
 
 Modern School, 59 
 
 Modern Symbolism, 32 
 
 Monatsheftes, 113 
 
 Monna Vanna, 18, 21, 27, 
 93, 151, 168, 219 
 
 Monogamy, 87 
 
 Moral Shock, 90 
 
 Morbid Plays, 48 
 
 Morbidness, 116 
 
 Mother- Love, 91, 114, 150 
 
 Motor Tendencies, 28 
 
 Motion, 54 
 
 Mount Olympus, 122 
 
 Mummy Tyl, 82 
 
 Munich, 113, 163, 201 
 
 Myers, 52 
 
 Mysticism, 64, 124, 131 
 
 Mystics, 50, 153 
 
 N 
 
 Naturalistic Theatre Libre, 
 
 18 
 Naturalism, 59 
 Nature's Cathedral, 125 
 Nazimova, 27 
 Necromancy, 62 
 Negative Character, 34, 44 
 Negative Self-feeling, 47, 88 
 Nethersole, 239 
 New Testament, 93 
 New Testament Character, 
 
 19 
 New Theatre, 211, 227, 239
 
 248 
 
 Index 
 
 Night, 68 
 
 Night Thoughts, 6i 
 Nirvana, 121 
 Nobel Prize, 169 
 Normal Death, 126 
 Normandy, 1 1 1 
 
 o 
 
 Obedience, 69 
 
 Objective, 29, 31, 7 1, 124 
 
 Observation, 77, 137 
 
 Occultist, 21 
 
 Odors, 48 
 
 Omar Khayyam, 127, 141 
 
 On the Art of the Theatre:*, 
 
 ^ 27, 163 
 Opera Comique, 20 
 Oriental 158 
 Orientation, 45 
 Orbits, 154 
 Osier, 140 
 
 Pain, 120, 121, 135 
 Parental Instinct, 66 
 Parable of the Virgins, 62 
 Pagan, 14, 57, 80, 90, 131, 
 
 135 
 Parental Love, 147 
 Parnielee, 34, 35, 39 
 Parsi, 95 
 Pascal, 32, 92 
 Passion, 147, 152 
 Past and Present, 31 
 Pelleas and Melisande, 17, 
 
 21, 38, 149, 161, 169, 
 
 188 
 Perception, 25, 82 
 Personal Appearance, 19 
 Personality, 27, 77, iii, 117, 
 
 118, 134 
 Personification, 72, 77 
 Peter Pan, 18 
 
 Philosophy of Bergson, 26, 
 
 67,84 
 Phobia of Darkness, 60 
 Physical Forces, 54 
 Pity, 46, 105, 134, 150 
 Plato, 16, 84 
 Pleasure, 70 
 
 Pleasure-Pain, 33, 58, 76 
 Plotinus, 16 
 Poe, 167 
 
 Polish Drama, 31 
 Polygamy, 87 
 Pope, 32 
 Preface, 5 
 Preyer, 50 
 Predestination, 69, 81, 113, 
 
 154 
 Prince Bellidor, 104 
 
 Principles of Psychology, 20, 
 
 67 
 Princess Maleme, 16, 32, 
 
 148, 159, 169, 173 
 Prinzivalle, 95, 151, 165 
 Prologomena to Ethics, 44 
 Proserpina, 131 
 Pseudo-Sallust, 145 
 Psychical Forces, 54 
 Psychology of Beauty, 32, 
 
 36, 59, 109 
 Psychology of Emotions, 85, 
 
 90, 102, 103, 117, 150 
 Psycho-Physical, 30 
 Psychological Strain, 31 
 Puffer, 32, 36, 59, 109 
 Puppets, 113, 142, 169 
 Puritan, 19 
 
 Q 
 
 Queene Anne, 35, 148 
 Queen Mab, 108 
 
 R 
 
 Rage, 47 
 Raven, 167
 
 Index 
 
 249 
 
 Realism, 58, 1 1 2, 158, 160, 
 
 162 
 Reality, 58 
 Reflection, 133 
 Reincarnation, 114 
 Religion, 66, 95, I33, I53 
 Religious Emotion, 90, 91, 
 
 96, 103, 132 
 Religion and Medicine, 43, 
 
 66, 71, 75, 85, 122 
 Rembrandt, 58 
 Repentance, 152 
 Repertory, 30 
 Resentment, 46 
 Revenge, 45 
 Reverence, 73 
 Ribot, 82, 85, 89, 90, 91, 
 
 102, 103, 117, 150 
 Richard III, 25 
 Rimbaud, 15 
 Romans, 34 
 Rostand, 104 
 Rubaiyat, 127, 141 
 
 S 
 
 St. Barbe, 15 
 
 St. Cyr, 19 
 
 St. Peter's Tomb, 73 
 
 Saleeby, 126 
 
 Sapho, 20 
 
 School of Anatomy, 58 
 
 Schopenhauer, 148 
 
 Science, 153 
 
 Science of Yoga, 21 
 
 Scorn, 91 
 
 Scylla, 159 
 
 Science of Human Behavior, 
 
 35, 39 
 Second Childhood, 49 
 Second-sight, 48 
 Self-preservation, 138 
 Self-regarding Sentiment, 34, 
 
 46, 47, 88, 103 
 
 Senility, 33, 49, 65 
 Sentiment of Motherhooo, 
 
 43, 91, 104 
 Serres Chaudes, 16 
 Seven Princesses, 17, 48, 57, 
 
 150, 160, 169, 186 
 Sexual Emotion, 41, 43, 47, 
 
 96, 97, 120, 149, 151, 
 
 152 
 Sex Passion, 33, 38, 95, H^, 
 
 149 
 Shakespeare, 17, 26, 34, 42, 
 
 60, 75, 93, 98, 142, 1 5''^ 
 Shaw, 5 
 
 Shelley, 75, 108 
 Shocks, 36, 90, 103, 121 
 Sin, 72, 103 
 Silanus, 95 
 Sister Beatrice, 17, 63, 97, 
 
 152, 164, 168, 211 
 Sleep, 82, 134 
 Smile, 137 
 Sophocles, 28 
 Sorrow^, 46, 105, 106 
 Soul, 49 
 
 Spinoza, 79, 84, 85 
 Spiritual, 53 
 Spiritualism, 131 
 Stanley, 38, iii, 159 
 Stiginata, 102 
 Stock Companies, 30 
 Stoics, 85 
 
 Stories of the Dramas, 171 
 Stranger, 66 
 Studies in Modern German 
 
 Literature, 58 
 Sturgis, 27, 157, 166 
 Subconscious, 25, 30, 31, 41, 
 
 67, 74, 103, 122, 148 
 Subjective Emotions, 31 
 Subjective-Self, 29, 115, 122 
 Sudermann, 20 
 Suicide, 46, 88
 
 150 
 
 Index 
 
 Superstitions, 78, 153 
 
 Sutro, 7 
 
 Symbolism, 32, 40, 42, 57, 
 79, 87, 105, 118, 119, 
 120, 123, 124, 127, 134 
 
 Symbolist, 18 
 
 Sympathetic Pain, 46 
 
 Systemes des Philosophes, 32 
 
 System of Ethics, 44 
 
 T 
 
 Telepathy, 51, 53i 5^, 71. 
 
 "5, 153 
 Temperament, 19 
 Tender Emotion, 46, 70 
 Tender Passion, 43 
 Tennyson, 30, 64, 96 
 Terror, 66 
 Theatre Magazine, 16, 19, 
 
 20, 21, 94, 114, "5 
 Theology, 75 
 Thomas, 21 
 Thomson, 25 
 Thorndike, 78 
 Thought, 51, 52 
 Thoughts, 92 
 Thought - Transference, 52, 
 
 53 
 To a Skylark, 75 
 
 To J. S., 96 
 
 Transition Period, 114, 163 
 Transmigration of Souls, 54 
 Transmutation of Species, 
 
 54 
 Treasure of the Humble, 17 
 
 Triangle-Plays, 88, 89, 93, 
 
 164 
 
 Triumph of Death, 21, 115 
 
 Tyltyl, 73 
 
 U 
 
 Uglyane, 34, uS 
 
 Umbras, 50 
 
 United States, 21, 166 
 
 University of Toronto Stud- 
 ies, 59 
 Ursula, 61, 150 
 
 V 
 
 Vampire, 33 
 
 Vedanta Philosophy, 21 
 
 Venice of the North, 60 
 
 Verhaeren, Foreword 
 
 Vengeful Emotion, 34, 46 
 
 Verus, 91, 152 
 
 Veridical Apparitions, 51, 
 
 153 
 
 Virgil, 28 
 Visualization, 168 
 Vital Force, 54 
 Vivisection, 58 
 
 w 
 
 Wages of Sin, 33 
 Weak Emotion, 39, 106 
 Wenzel, 78 
 Wild Duck, 88 
 Will, 44, 94, 106, 113 
 Will to Believe, 35, 50, 52 
 Wisdom and Destiny, 17 
 Woman of the Seven Devils. 
 
 Woman's Intuition, 41 
 Women, Deceitful, 118 
 Worcester, McComb, Coriat, 
 
 43, 66, 71, 75, 85, 122 
 Worry, 1 26 
 
 Y 
 
 Yajnavalkyad-harma- Sastra, 
 
 95 
 Yeats, Forevi^ord, 3 
 Ygraine, 129 
 Yniold, 39 
 Young, 61 
 
 Z 
 
 Zoopsychology, 78
 
 NOTES. 
 
 P. 1 6, Line 8 — Katherine Douglas in Theatre Maga- 
 zine, 1907, p. 56. 
 " 28 — Octave Mirbeau, Paris Figaro, Aug. 
 24, 1890. 
 
 P. 18, " 21 — Theatre Magazine, 1903, p. 98. 
 
 P. 19, " 7 — Translation of poem made by Dirce St. 
 
 Cyr in A Visit to Maurice Maeter- 
 linck, Theatre Magazine, January, 
 1906, p. II. 
 " 28 — ^William McDougall, Social Psychology 
 (John W. Luce & Co., Boston, 1912), 
 p. 116. 
 
 P. 21, " 5 — Brander de Rennes, The Maeterlincks, 
 
 Theatre Magazine, 191 1, p. 131- 
 " 8 — Mary Carolyn Cranford, An Interview 
 vi^ith Mme. Maeterlinck, Theatre 
 Magazine, March, 191 2. 
 The Author also pleads indebtedness to 
 that admirable volume by Edward 
 Thomas, Maurice Maeterlinck 
 (Dodd, Mead & Co., New York, 
 
 1911.) 
 Funk & Wagnall's Standard Encyclo- 
 
 paeedia (New York, 1912). 
 Chas. Henry Meltzer, Maeterlinck, the 
 Belgian Shakespeare, The Cosmopoli- 
 tan Magazine, February, 191 3. 
 
 P. 23, " — Henri Bergson's first lecture at Colum- 
 bia University, February, 1913- 
 Quoted from The Outlook Magazine, 
 and The Literary Digest. 
 
 P. 25, " 14 — William McDougall, Social Psychology, 
 
 p. 129. 
 " 21 — W. Hanna Thomson, Brain and Person- 
 ality (Dodd, Mead & Company, New 
 York, 1912), p. 289. 
 
 251
 
 252 Notes 
 
 " 28 — Henri Bergson, An Introduction to 
 Metaphysics, Trans, by T. E. Hulme 
 (G. P. Putnam's Sons, New York and 
 London, 1912), p. 25. 
 
 P. 26, " 22 — Monna Vanna. 
 
 P. 27, " 2 — A. D. Lindsay, The Philosophy of Berg- 
 son (J. M. Dent and Sons, Ltd., Lon- 
 don, 191 1), p. 191. 
 " 18 — ^William McDougall, Social Psychology, 
 
 p. 128. 
 " 25 — Granville Forbes Sturgis, The Influence 
 of the Drama (Shakespeare Press, 
 New York City, 1913), Discusses 
 these plays at length. 
 
 P. 28, " 5 — ^William James, The Principles of Psy- 
 chology (Henry Holt & Co., New 
 York, 1890). 
 
 P. 30, " 6 — William McDougall, Social Psychology, 
 
 p. 127. 
 
 P. 32, " 9 — Ethel D. PufFer, The Psychology of 
 
 Beauty (Houghton Mifflin Company, 
 Boston and New York, 1905), p. 261. 
 " 14 — Richard Hovey, Essay on Modern Sym- 
 bolism. 
 " 24 — Alexander Pope, Essay on Man, Epistle 
 
 ii. Line i. 
 " 28 — Charron, De la Sagesses, Lib. i, Ch. i. 
 
 P. 33, " 4 — Pascal, Systemes des Philosophes, xxv. 
 
 P. 34, " 9 — Romans 6, 23. 
 
 P. 35, " II — Maurice Parmelee, The Science of Hu- 
 man Behavior (The MacMillan Com- 
 pany, New York, 1913), p. 396. 
 " 17 — Maurice Pannelle, The Science of Hu- 
 man Behavior, pp. 226 and 20i. 
 Poem — ^William James, The Will to Believe 
 (Longmans, Green and Co., New 
 York, London, 191 1), p. 117. 
 
 p. 36, " 31— Ethel D. Puffer, The Psychology of 
 
 Beauty, p. 162. 
 
 P. 38, " 19 & 21 — Hiram M. Stanley, Evolutionary 
 
 Psychology of Feeling (Swan Son- 
 nenschein & Co., London, 1895), p. 
 324.
 
 Notes 
 
 253 
 
 P- 39> " 20 — Maurice Parmelee, The Science of Hu- 
 man Behavior, p. 302. 
 " 28 — General statement among Psychologi3ts. 
 P. 43 " 3 & 5 — Shakespeare, Macbeth, Act 5, Sc. i, 
 
 which compare, 
 " 25 — Worcester, McComb, Coriat, Religion 
 and Medicine (Moffat, Yard and Co., 
 New York, 1908), p. 379. 
 P. 44, " 18 — J. H. Green, Prologomena to Ethics. 
 
 " 30 to 32 — Frederick Paulsen, A System of 
 Ethics, p. 221. 
 P. 45, " 4 and II — Frelerick Paulsen, A System of 
 
 Ethics, p. 139. 
 " 1 9 — William McDougall, Social Phychology, 
 
 p. 139. 
 P. 46, " I — Henri Bergson, Matter and Memory, 
 
 p. 234. 
 " 20 — William McDougall, Social Psycholog)-, 
 
 p. 139- 
 " 23 — ^William McDougall, Social Psychology, 
 
 p. 153- 
 Verse — John Dryden, Absalom and Achitophel, 
 Part I, L. 156. 
 Line 24 — Henry Frank, Modern Light on Im- 
 mortality (Sherman, French & Co., 
 Boston, 1909), p. 429. 
 23 — ^William James, The Will to Believe, p. 
 302. 
 3 — W. Preyer, Mind of the Child. Quoted 
 from Henry Frank's Modern Light on 
 Immortality, p. 319 
 9 — Henry Frank, Modern Light on Im- 
 mortality, p. 120. 
 24 — E. P. Evans, Evolutional Ethics and Ani- 
 mal Psychology (D. Appleton & Co., 
 New York, 1898) p. 294. 
 P. 52, " 3 — Myers, quoted from William James, 
 
 The Will to Believe, p. 316. 
 P. 53, " 6 — See Thomson J. Hudson, The Law of 
 
 Psychic Phenomena (A. C. McClurg 
 & Co., Chicago, 191 2), in support of 
 the theories advanced. 
 Poem — Sir Edwin Arnold, The Light of Asia. 
 
 P. 
 
 47, 
 
 p. 
 
 49, 
 
 p. 
 
 50, 
 
 p. 
 
 51,
 
 254 Notes 
 
 P. 54, Line 28 — E. P. Evans, Evolutional Ethics, etc., p. 
 
 132. 
 
 G. Stanley Hall, Adolescence (D. Ap- 
 
 pleton & Co., New York and London, 
 
 191 1 ), "V'ol. 2, p. 161, M. 24 of notes. 
 
 P. 56, " 14 — Henri Bergson, Creative Evolution, p. 
 
 210. 
 P. 58, " 20 — Otto Heller, Studies in Modern Ger- 
 
 can Literature, p. 288. 
 P. 59, " 16 — University of Toronto Studies, Psy. 
 
 Series, No. 4, p. 20, quoted from Ethel 
 D. Puffer, Psy. of Beauty, p. 100. 
 " 22 — Shakespeare, Macbeth, Act 3, Sc. 4. 
 Verse — Young, Night Thoughts, v. 661. 
 Verse — John Dryden, Eleanora, Line 315. 
 .ine — Maurice Maeterlinck, Sister Beatrice, 
 quoted from Prayer of Act i. 
 " 13 — James Huneker, Iconoclasts, a Book of 
 
 Dramatists, quoted p. 380. 
 " 21 — ^Worcester, McComb, Coriat, Religion 
 
 and Medicine, p. 384. 
 " 24 — Joseph Jastrow, The Subconscious 
 (Houghton Mifflin Co., Boston and 
 New York, 1906), references to 
 Dreams, also William James, Princi- 
 ples of Psychology. 
 " 28— A. D. Lindsay, The Philosophy of Berg- 
 son, p. 183. 
 P. 71, " 16 — Worcester, McComb, Coriat, Religion 
 
 and Medicine, p. 43. 
 " 26 — Thomson J. Hudson, The Law of Psy- 
 chic Phenomena, p. 108. 
 P. 72, " 17 & 22 — G. Stanley Hall, Adolescence, 
 
 Vol. 2, p. 206. 
 P. 73, " 10 — Rt. Rev. John Cuthbert Hedley, Dublin 
 
 Review, Oct., 1887, p. 418. 
 P. 74, " 3 — See Joseph Jastrow, The Subconcious, 
 
 Note on pp. 218-219. 
 P. 75, " I — ^Worcester, McComb, Coriat, Religion 
 
 and Medicine, p. 32. 
 " 6 — Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act 3, Sc. i. 
 " 30 — ^Worcester, McComb, Coriat, Religion 
 and Medicine, p. 268. 
 
 P. 
 
 60, 
 
 p. 
 
 61, 
 
 p. 
 
 62, 
 
 p. 
 
 63, 
 
 p. 
 
 64, 
 
 p. 
 
 66, 
 
 p. 
 
 67,
 
 Notes 255 
 
 P. 78, " 7 — E. P. Evans, Evolutional Ethics, etc., 
 
 P- 354- 
 " 13 — ^E. P. Evans, Evolutional Ethic, etc. p. 
 
 319. 
 " 28 — E. P. Evans, Evolutional Ethics, etc., p. 
 
 96. 
 Also, Edward L. Thorndike, Animal In- 
 telligence (The MacMillan Co., New 
 
 York, 191 1 ). 
 " 30 — E. P. Evans, Evolutional Ethic, etc., p 
 
 182. 
 P. 79. " 13 — E. P. Evans, Evolutional Ethic, etc., p 
 
 219. 
 P. 80. " 19 — Old Testament, Habakkuk, Chap. 2 
 
 V. 2 
 P. 81, " 9 — E. P. Evans, Evolutional Ethics, etc., p 
 
 169. 
 " 16 — E. P. Evans, Evolutional Ethics, etc., p 
 
 168. 
 P, 82, " 16 — Theodore Ribot, Diseases of the Person- 
 ality, trans, by P. W. Shedd (Boericke 
 
 & Tafel, Philadelphia, 1909), P- 102. 
 P. 84, " 7— Plato, Epistles, vii, 341 > 344- Quoted 
 
 from A. J. Lindsay, The Philosophy 
 
 of Bergson, p. 239. 
 P. 85, " 9 & 17 — Theodore Ribot, The Psychology 
 
 of the Emotions (Walter Scott Pub. 
 
 Co., Ltd., London, 1912), p. 379- 
 " 28 — Worcester, McComb, Coriat, Religion 
 
 and Medicine, p. 15. 
 p^ 88, " 5 — Arnold Bennett, Hilda Lessways, a 
 
 Novel (E. P. Dutton & Co., New 
 
 York, 191 1 ) p. 355- 
 P. 89, " 5 — E. P. Evans, Evolutional Ethics, etc., p. 
 
 56. 
 p^ go, " I— Theodore Ribot, The Psy. of the Emo- 
 tions, p. 412. 
 
 G. Stanley Hall, Adolescence, Vol. 1, 
 
 p. 342. 
 " 33 — E. P. Evans, Evolutional Ethics, etc.. 
 
 p. 20. 
 p^ gi^ " 33 — Ribot-Shedd, Diseases of the Personality, 
 
 p. 51.
 
 256 Notes 
 
 P. 92, " 15 — E. P. Evans, Evolutional Ethics, etc., p. 
 
 125. 
 " 18— Pascal, Thoughts. 
 P. 93, Verse — Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act i, Sc. 3. 
 P. 94, Line 23 — Interview in The Theatre Magazine, 
 
 January, 1906. 
 P. 95, " 15 — Arnold Bennett, Hilda Lessways, p. 357. 
 " 30 — Yajfiavalkyad-harma-Sastra, i, v. 348- 
 
 350. 
 P. 96, " 5 — E. P. Evans, Evolutional Ethics, etc., p. 
 
 132. 
 " 23 — E. P. Evans, Evolutional Ethics, etc., 
 
 p. 9. 
 Verse — Alfred Tennyson, To J. S. 
 P. 98, Line 7 — Darwin, The Descent of Man (London, 
 
 1874), P- 95. 
 Verse — Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act I, Sc. i. 
 P. 100, Line 21 — E. P. Evans, Evolutional Ethics, etc., 
 
 p. 355- 
 27 — Theodore Ribot, Psy, of the Emotions, 
 
 p. 324. 
 15 — Joseph Jastrow, The Subconscious, pp. 
 
 374-375- 
 23 — Theodore Ribot, Psy. of the Emotions, 
 
 p. 325. 
 Verse — Edmond Rostand, Cyrano de Bergerac, 
 
 Act 5. 
 — John Dryden, Imitation of Horace, Book 
 
 III, Ode 29, 1. 71. 
 — Percy Bysshe Shelley, Queen Mab, iii. 
 — Ethel D. Puffer, The Psychology of 
 Beauty, p. 16. 
 9 — Hiram M. Stanley, Evolutionary Psy. of 
 
 Feeling, p. 328. 
 6 — Vellhagen & Klasings "Monatsheftes," 
 Berlin, Dec, igi2, article, "Des 
 Marionetten - Theatre, Miinchen 
 Kiinstler," by WiUn Rath. 
 
 P. 114, " 29, 30 — Interview in The Theatre Maga- 
 zine, Jan., 1896. 
 
 P. 115, " 4 — Interview in The Theatre Magazine, 
 
 Jan., 1896. 
 
 P. 
 
 102, 
 
 u 
 
 p. 
 
 103, 
 
 u 
 
 p. 
 
 104, 
 
 V. 
 
 p. 
 
 106, 
 
 
 p. 
 
 108, 
 
 
 p. 
 
 109, 
 
 Line 
 
 p. 
 
 III, 
 
 a 
 
 p. 
 
 113, 
 
 u
 
 Notes 
 
 257 
 
 12 — Thomson J. Hudson, The Law of Psy- 
 chic Phenomena, pp. 108 & 99. 
 P- 117. " 17 — Theodore Ribot, Psy. of the Emotions, p. 
 
 244, et seq, 
 21 — Thomson J. Hudson, The Law of Psy- 
 chic Phenomena, p. 134. 
 P. 122, " 22 — Worcester McComb, Coriat, Religion 
 
 and Medicine, p. 20. 
 33 — E. P. Evans, Evolutional Ethics, etc., p. 
 
 121. 
 16 & 28 — Saleeby, Worry, pp. 250-251. 
 28 — See Thomson J. Hudson, Law of Psychic 
 Phenomena. 
 Verse — Omar Khayyam, Rubaiyat. 
 — Omar Khayyam, Rubaiyat. 
 — Pseudo-Sallust, Epist. de Rep Ordin. 
 
 P. 
 p. 
 
 126, 
 
 127, 
 
 ii 
 
 p. 
 p. 
 
 141, 
 145, 
 
 y 
 
 p. 
 
 149, : 
 
 Lin 
 
 p. 
 
 150, 
 
 (( 
 
 p. 
 
 153. 
 
 
 p. 
 
 157, 
 
 ti 
 
 p. 
 
 159, 
 
 (< 
 
 p. 
 
 163, 
 
 (( 
 
 n, I. 
 
 P. 149, Line 8 — Herhart Hauptmann's Play, Einsamc 
 
 Menschen. 
 8 — Theodore Ribot, Psychology of the Emo- 
 tions. 
 16 — Hebrews xii, i. 
 26 — Henri Bergson. 
 3 — Granville Forbes Sturgis, The Influence 
 of the Drama. 
 13 — Hiram M. Stanley, Evolutionary Psy. of 
 
 Feeling, p. 307. 
 15 — Edward Gordon Craig, On the Art of 
 the Theatre, (Browne's Bookstore, 
 igii) Essay on The Actor and the 
 Uber-Marlonette, p. 54. 
 P. 166, " 10 — Granville Forbes Sturgis, The Influence 
 
 of the Drama.
 
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