to overwhelm all thoughts of a more spiritual nature, it is pleasant to welcome a writer whose outlook on life is spiritual, not material, and whose influence, by the literary art in which it is embodied, is likely to touch many whom religion does not yet touch.

Other topics are touched on in this volume, other aspects of the supra-sensual life which is the special theme of the mystics. Sometimes it is difficult to follow M. Maeterlinck's thought, or to put oneself into the frame of mind which he is trying to evoke. The mystic is necessarily dealing with spheres beyond our ken, and is striving to describe in words that which is strictly indescribable. He is expressing thoughts which even in himself are rather vague aspirations and half-formed images than clear and definite beliefs, and he has to create in his readers the same sort of mental atmosphere as that in which he himself moves. M. Maeterlinck's literary skill aids him greatly in thus creating an atmosphere, whether it is the atmosphere of tragic and mysterious destiny which hangs over many of his plays, or the atmosphere of spiritual environment which surrounds the essays of which we have been speaking; but their effect must vary according to the idiosyncrasy of the reader, or even according to the mood in which he finds himself when reading them. Subjected to hard matter-of-fact criticism, they may seem to contain little that is definite and less that is true; nevertheless, the sympathetic reader will find in them much that is suggestive and even helpful. The English author with whom he may best be compared is Emerson in his more transcendental moods. There is the same sense of truth being illuminated by successive flashes, which severally show up only a part of the truth, yet show it up very vividly, and collectively leave behind an impression which, if not the whole truth, is at least an important approximation to it.

Most of Emerson's writings, however, have a closer relation to actual life and character than the essays we have hitherto been considering; otherwise they would not be so full of helpfulness and interest as they are, especially to those whose intellectual life is just beginning to develop. M. Maeterlinck's next volume, La Sagesse et la Destinée, enters this sphere of character and conduct, and is therefore likely to be more generally popular, and also more generally useful, than its predecessor. Up to the present, indeed, it is the most notable of its author's non-dramatic productions; and if the philosophy which it contains differs very noticeably from that which underlies nearly all the dramas, it differs very distinctly for the better. Its main theme is the relation of man to "Destiny," and the upshot of its teaching is the superiority of man to that mysterious power outside him. It is, no doubt, true that many men are overpowered by their destiny, or abandon themselves to it without a struggle; but that is their own fault, their own culpable weak

ness.

The wise man (and by the wise man M. Maeterlinck, like Plato, means the man who unites the higher qualities alike of mind and character) is superior to the buffets of fate, and either blunts its arrows by the spirit with which he confronts them, or, even if physically overcome by misfortune, is morally the victor by reason of the nobility of mind with which he meets it. The great tragedies of life and literature could not be conceived as happening if their victims had risen to the standard which we find in the noblest of mankind. Place Marcus Aurelius in the position of Edipus, and his soul would have risen superior to the calamity instead of being crushed by it. Nay, more, it would seem as if wisdom in itself created a refuge in which the powers of fate lose their force.

Had Socrates dwelt in Agamemnon's palace among the Atrides, then had there been no Oresteia, nor would Edipus ever have dreamed of destroying his sight if he had been tranquilly seated on the threshold of Jocasta's abode. Fatality shrinks back abashed from the soul that has more than once conquered her; there are certain disasters she dare not send forth when this soul is near, and the sage, as he passes by, intervenes in numberless tragedies."

"Man is the master of his fate;" that is, in fact, the motto of this book. All depends on the way in which we meet the events of life. Even happiness and unhappiness arise, not so much from the actual occurrences which we experience as from the spirit in which we receive them.

Our experiences, indeed, are largely determined by our characters. "Deeds of heroism are but offered to those who for many long years have been heroes in obscurity and silence." Go where you will, "none but yourself shall you meet on the highway of fate. If Judas go forth to-night it is towards Judas his steps will tend, nor will chance for betrayal be lacking; but let Socrates open his door, he shall find Socrates asleep on the threshold before him, and there will be occasion for wisdom." " "To those round about us there hap

7 "Wisdom and Destiny," p. 35 (Eng. trans.). "Wisdom and Destiny," p. 8.

• "Wisdom and Destiny," p. 31.

pen incessant and countless adventures, whereof every one, it would seem, contains a germ of heroism; but the adventure passes away and heroic deed is there none. But when Jesus Christ met the Samaritan, met a few children, an adulterous woman, then did humanity rise three times in succession to the level of God." 10

If we ask, in what does this "wisdom" consist which thus conquers "destiny," we shall find that, on the one hand, it is something more than the intellectual virtue to which we commonly give the name; while, on the other, it falls short in certain respects of the Christian ideal of character. Wisdom is a higher and wider virtue than intellect, covering the whole sphere of our moral nature, with which indeed our reason has but little to do.

"Strangely enough," says M. Maeterlinck, "it is not in our reason that moral life has its being; and he who would let reason govern his life would be the most wretched of men. There is not a virtue, a beautiful thought, or a generous deed, but has most of its roots hidden far away from that which can be understood or explained." "

Or again:

Happiness is a plant that thrives far more readily in moral than in intellectual life. Consciousness-the consciousness of happiness, above all -will not choose the intellect as a hiding-place for the treasure it holds most dear. At times it would almost seem as if all that is loftiest in intellect, fraught with most comfort, is transformed into consciousness only when passed through an act of virtue. 12

Wisdom, then, lies not in a successful intellectual appreciation of our surroundings, but in the noble attitude of

10 Wisdom and Destiny," p. 20. 11 "Wisdom and Destiny," p. 110. 12 "Wisdom and Destiny," p. 136.

mind and character with which we face the world and "destiny." But how does it, in truth, help us to overcome this "destiny," this apparently blind fate, which, according to M. Maeterlinck's philosophy, surrounds us all? It certainly does not abolish suffering. On the contrary, the sage suffers perhaps more than an ordinary man, just because he is a more perfect man. The difference is not in the suffering, but in the way in which suffering is met. "Were the only son of Socrates and Thersites to die the same day, Socrates' grief would in no way resemble the grief of Thersites." 13 Misfortune and pain, which strike down the common soul, do but increase the nobility of the noble soul, by giving it an occasion for exercise. The soul which has been accustomed to live for the little pleasures of common life, to devote itself merely to the transient interests of the day, may be desolated by a blow which deprives it of these pleasures and interests; but the soul which has been trained in nobler activities cannot be equally desolated, because suffering cannot deprive it of the sources of its content. In many cases misfortune strikes only at the lower order of our pleasures; and even the great sorrows, which seem to blot out all the light of our life and to turn day into night, may be met nobly or ignobly, may be the occasion of our rising to yet higher conceptions of our life and duty, or of our falling into the swamps of despair and inactivity.

Teaching such as this, though one cannot but feel how much it loses both in beauty and in force through its severance from Christian beliefs and ideals, is yet teaching on the right side, appealing to men's higher nature and leading them up from the levels of hedonistic materialism. The latter portion of the book is less satisfactory, in the picture which it gives of the ideal 13 Wisdom and Destiny," p. 33.

sage. The true sage, according to M. Maeterlinck, will find his fullest development in the cultivation of his capacities for noble happiness:

There are some occasions in life, inevitable and of general bearing, that demand resignation, which is necessary then, and good; but there are many occasions when we are still able to fight; and at such times resignation is no more than veiled helplessness, idleness, ignorance. So it is with sacrifice too, which is indeed most often the withered arm resignation still shakes in the void. There is beauty in simple self-sacrifice when its hour has come unsought, when its motive is happiness of others; but it cannot be wise, or of use to mankind, to make sacrifice the aim of one's life, or to regard its achievement as the magnificent triumph of the spirit over the body. . . . Sacrifice may be a flower that virtue will pluck on its road, but it was not to gather this flower that virtue set forth on its travels. It is a grave error to think that the beauty of soul is most clearly revealed by the eager desire for sacrifice; for the soul's fertile beauty

resides in its consciousness, in

the elevation and power of its life. There are some, it is true, who awake from their sleep at the call of sacrifice only; but these lack the strength and courage to seek other forms of moral existence. It is, as a rule, far easier to sacrifice self-to give up, that is, our moral existence to the first one who chooses to take it-than to fulfil our spiritual destiny, to accomplish, right to the end, the task for which we were created. 14

Not in self-sacrifice, then, but in selfdevelopment, is the ideal to be found. It is a high ideal-the ideal of Plato and Aristotle and Goethe; but, as here expressed, it lacks the crowning glory of the Christian ideal of self-surrender, of self-identification with the will of God. The highest virtue, the supreme happiness of which the sage is capable, is, it is admitted, to be found in love; 14 "Wisdom and Destiny," pp. 167-169.

but it is love of a fellow-creature, not of a Creator or a Saviour. On this point M. Maeterlinck is explicit, and shows at the same time his want of appreciation of the Christian standpoint:

To love God, and to serve Him with all one's might, will not suffice to bring peace and strength to the soul of man. It is only by means of the knowledge and thought we have gained and developed by contact with men that we can learn how God should be loved; for, notwithstanding all things, the human soul remains profoundly human still. ... If there come toward us a man whose soul is truly tranquil and calm, we may be certain that human virtues have given him his tranquillity and his calmness. Were we permitted to peer into the secret recesses of hearts that are now no more, we might discover, perhaps, that the fountain of peace whereat Fénelon slaked his thirst every night of his exile lay rather in his loyalty to Madame Guyon in her misfortunes, in his love for the slandered, persecuted Dauphin, than in his expectation of eternal reward; rather in the irreproachable human conscience within him, overflowing with fidelity and tenderness, than in the hopes he cherished as a Christian. 15

Possibly; but what a stunted view of the Christian ideal, which limits it to the "expectation of eternal reward!"

These two volumes, The Treasure of the Humble and Wisdom and Destiny, are the two most complete statements of M. Maeterlinck's philosophy, on its metaphysical and ethical sides, that have yet appeared; and their popularity in his own country and in France is shown by the fact that as long as a year ago they had reached, in their original French dress, their twenty-first and their twelfth thousand respectively. in England a higher level of popularity, as tested by the statistics of sales, has been reached by his later work, The Life of the Bee, which ran through three editions in the course of four months

15 "Wisdom and Destiny," p. 283.

last year. It is characteristic of the class of readers which makes a lending-library success that it should be so; for it is certain that a combination of popular science with poetical, semiphilosophical reflections appeals to many minds far more strongly than a treatise in which the powder of philosophy is offered without the jam of sentimental science. The Life of the Bee, though an interesting book enough, has not the same value in itself, nor as a representation of M. Maeterlinck's thought, as the volumes already described. It is rather the creation of an author who, being also incidentally a bee-lover, portrays the life of his favorite insects in poetical language to an accompaniment of philosophical reflections. Of the two we prefer the narrative to the meditations. The life of that marvellous community, a hive of bees, well bears description by a sympathetic and poetically-minded observer; and the fascination of the study is readily communicated to the reader. From this point of view the book may be cordially recommended to many who would not be attracted by a formal treatise on apiculture. But M. Maeterlinck, being poet and thinker as well as bee-keeper, is tempted to philosophize on the phenomena presented by the life of the bee, and his speculations are more than usually halting and unsatisfying. The mysteries of Nature baffle his inquiries. The problems of the bee's existence are such as we, with our limited knowledge, are unable to solve. The organization of the hive, the reasoning faculties of the bee-so extensive in some directions, so limited and unprogressive in others; the apparently useless multiplication males, who do no work and of whom only an infinitesimally small proportion is required to take part in the perpetuation of the species; the apparently cumbrous method by which this perpetuation is affected; the ruthless

of

slaughter, at a given moment and with a common impulse, of the superfluous drones-all these phenomena of the life of the bee may suggest reflections as to the wastefulness, the purposelessness, the blindness of Nature; but the reflections are valueless, because we have no reason to suppose that all the facts of the case are before us, and the whole aspect of them might be altered by an increase of our knowledge. To study the ways of Nature is profitable and interesting; to speculate on their moral interpretation is apt to be futile, and in the present case leads to nothing but a series of interrogations to which no answer is given.

Throughout it all, one feels that M. Maeterlinck is hankering after some light on the great problem of the relations between man and the forces that lie outside him, whether we call them Nature, Destiny, or God. This is, indeed, the problem which is at the root of all his writings, whether in the form of dramatic compositions or speculative essays; and it is interesting to follow the modifications which time and reflection have introduced into his attitude towards it. In his earlier plays one feels that all the characters are merely puppets in the hand of a destructive, if not actually malignant, fate. This fate is not the fate of the Greek tragedians-a cold, clear-cut impersonation of immutable law, automatically dealing out retribution for sin; rather it is a mysterious, impalpable power, whose action cannot be foreseen, guided by no fixed laws, but ever tending to involve in irremediable calamity the unfortunate creatures who live beneath its sway. The sense of calamity, undeserved but inevitable, hangs heavy over the stage, and the victims can but writhe and moan before its approach. In such a situation there may be pity and horror, but the unreasoning aimlessness of it alienates our sympathy, because it is so unlike

our conception of the reality of life. In the later plays, though the background is still one of tragedy, though misfortune awaits the principal personages in them, yet the chain of events leading to the catastrophe is more natural; we feel that the characters are no longer helpless automata in the grasp of destiny, but that their individualities react upon their fate and derive their interest from the manner in which they confront it.

In none of the plays, however, do we reach the attitude assumed in Wisdom and Destiny, where Destiny is represented as overcome by Wisdom, and even as stripped of half its powers by the mere presence of the wise man. In Aglavaine et Sélysette, one of the latest of M. Maeterlinck's plays, we do indeed find the embodiment of much of his philosophy. Many of the ideas which are prominent in the essays are here expressly repeated-the idea of the intercourse of soul with soul transcending the utterances of spoken words, the contagious influences of a noble soul on those who surround it, the growth and expansion of the soul through noble effort; but the great idea of the victory of wisdom is not reached. The presence of the perfectly wise and noble character of Aglavaine does not avert the tragedy, it produces it. Beautiful and noble though she is, and meeting a wholehearted response from both Méléandre and Sélysette, nevertheless no solution is found save in the self-sacrifice of the latter-the old, old solution of the problem of incompatible loves.

The, thesis of Wisdom and Destiny therefore, represents a further stage in the progress of M. Maeterlinck's thought in the direction of an intelligent theory of the universe as a rationally ordered whole, animated by a soul of good, not by a blind irrational fate. M. Maeterlinck is still comparatively young; he has shown that his mind is