tag="{http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml}a">(4) the striking commixture of the realistic and imaginative elements in the work of the Flemish symbolists. “The vision of the Flemings”—quoting from his own précis of his paper—“is very concrete, very exact in all details and gives a durable, real, and almost corporeal presence to the creations of the imagination. All these traits are exhibited in the reveries of the Flemish mystics, ancient and modern. One finds them also no less plainly in the poetic work of Belgian writers of the last generation: Maeterlinck, Verhaeren, Rodenbach, Van Lerberghe, Le Roy, Elskamp, etc.”

If we take into account this composite attitude of the Flemish mind we shall be less surprised at the remarkable evolution of a poet-philosopher whose creations seem at first blush to bear no resemblance to the outward complexion of his own age; who seems as far removed temperamentally from his locality and time as were his lineal spiritual ancestors: the Dutchman Ruysbroeck, the Scandinavian Swedenborg, the German Novalis, and the American Emerson—and who in the zenith of his career stands forth as an ardent advocate of practical action while at the same time a firm believer in the transcendental.

Maeterlinck's romantic antipathy towards the main drift of the age was a phenomenon which at the dawn of our century could be observed in a great number of superior intelligences. Those fugitives from the dun and sordid materialism of the day were likely to choose between two avenues of escape, according to their greater or lesser inner ruggedness. The more aggressive type would engage in multiform warfare for the reconstruction of life on sounder principles; whereas the more meditative professed a real or affected indifference to practical things and eschewed any participation in the world's struggle for progress. And of the quiescent rather than the insurgent variety of the romantic temper Maurice Maeterlinck was the foremost exponent.

The “romantic longing” seems to have come into the world in the company of the Christian religion with which it shares its partly outspoken, partly implied repugnance for the battle of life. Romantic periods occur in the history of civilization whenever a sufficiently influential set of artistically minded persons have persuaded themselves that, in quite a literal sense of the colloquial phrase, they “have no use” for the world; a discovery which would still be true were it stated obversely. The romantic world-view, thus fundamentally oriented by world-contempt, entails, at least in theory, the repudiation of all earthly joys—notably the joy of working—and the renouncement of all worldly ambition; it scorns the cooperative, social disposition, invites the soul to a progressive withdrawal into the inner ego, and ends in complete surrender to one sole aspiration: the search of the higher vision, the vision, that is, of things beyond their tangible reality. To such mystical constructions of the inner eye a certain group of German writers who flourished in the beginning of the nineteenth century and were known as the Romantics, darkly groped their way out of the confining realities of their own time. The most modern spell of romanticism, the one through which our own generation was but yesterday passing, measures its difference from any previous romantic era by the difference between earlier states of culture and our own. Life with us is conspicuously more assertive and aggressive in its social than in its individual expressions, which was by no means always so, and unless the romantic predisposition adapted itself to this important change it could not relate itself at all intimately to our interests. Our study of Maeterlinck should help us, therefore, to discover possibly in the new romantic tendency some practical and vital bearings.

We find that in the new romanticism esthetic and philosophical impulses are inextricably mixed. Hence the new movement is also playing an indispensable rôle in the modern re-foundation of art. For while acting as a wholesome offset to the so-called naturalism, in its firm refusal to limit inner life to the superficial realities, it at the same time combines with naturalism into a complete recoiling, both of the intellect and the emotions, from any commonplace, or pusillanimous, or mechanical practices of artistry. This latter-day romanticism, moreover, notwithstanding its sky-aspiring outstretch, is akin to naturalism in that, after all, it keeps its roots firmly grounded in the earth; that is to say, it seeks for its ulterior sanctions not in realms high beyond the self; rather it looks within for the “blue flower” of contentedness. Already to the romantics of old the mystic road to happiness was not unknown. It is, for instance, pointed by Novalis: “Inward leads the mysterious way. Within us or nowhere lies eternity with its worlds; within us or nowhere are the past and the future.” Viewed separately from other elements of romanticism, this passion for retreating within the central ego is commonly referred to as mysticism; it has a strong hold on many among the moderns, and Maurice Maeterlinck to be properly understood has to be understood as the poet par excellence of modern mysticism. By virtue of this special office he deals mainly in concepts of the transcendental, which puzzles the ordinary person accustomed to perceive only material and ephemeral realities. Maeterlinck holds that nothing matters that is not eternal and that what keeps us from enjoying the treasures of the universe is the hereditary resignation with which we tarry in the gloomy prison of our senses. “In reality, we live only from soul to soul, and we are gods who do not know each other.”(5) It follows from this metaphysical foundation of his art that instead of the grosser terminology suitable to plain realities, Maeterlinck must depend upon a code of subtle messages in order to establish between himself and his audience a line of spiritual communication. This makes it somewhat difficult for people of cruder endowment to appreciate his meaning, a grievance from which in the beginning many of them sought redress in facile scoffing. Obtuse minds are prone to claim a right to fathom the profound meanings of genius with the same ease with which they expect to catch the meaning of a bill of fare or the daily stock market report.

It must be confessed, however, that even those to whom Maeterlinck's sphere of thought is not so utterly sealed, enter it with a sense of mixed perplexity and apprehension. They feel themselves helplessly conducted through a world situated beyond the confines of their normal consciousness, and in this strange world everything that comes to pass appears at first extremely impracticable and unreal. The action seems “wholly dissevered from common sense and ordinary uses;” the figures behave otherwise than humans; the dialogue is “poised on the edge of a precipice of bathos.” It is clear that works so far out of the common have to be approached from the poet's own point of view. “Let the reader move his standpoint one inch nearer the popular standpoint,” thus we are warned by Mr. G. K. Chesterton, “and his attitude towards the poet will be harsh, hostile, unconquerable mirth.” There are some works that can be appreciated for their good story, even if we fail to realize the author's moral attitude, let alone to grasp the deeper content of his work. “But if we take a play by Maeterlinck we shall find that unless we