This essay on Wisdom and Destiny was to have been a thing of sometwenty pages, the work of a fortnight; but the idea took root, othersflocked to it, and the volume has occupied M. Maeterlinck continuouslyfor more than two years. It has much essential kinship with the"Treasure of the Humble," though it differs therefrom in treatment; forwhereas the earlier work might perhaps be described as the eagerspeculation of a poet athirst for beauty, we have here rather theendeavour of an earnest thinker to discover the abode of truth. And ifthe result of his thought be that truth and happiness are one, this wasby no means the object wherewith he set forth. Here he is no longercontent with exquisite visions, alluring or haunting images; he probesinto the soul of man and lays bare all his joys and his sorrows. It isas though he had forsaken the canals he loves so well—the green, calm,motionless canals that faithfully mirror the silent trees andmoss-covered roofs—and had adventured boldly, unhesitatingly, on thebroad river of life.
He describes this book himself, in a kind of introduction that isalmost an apology, as "a few interrupted thoughts that entwinethemselves, with more or less system, around two or three subjects." Hedeclares that there is nothing it undertakes to prove; that there arenone whose mission it is to convince. And so true is this, soabsolutely honest and sincere is the writer, that he does not shrinkfrom attacking, qualifying, modifying, his own propositions; fromadvancing, and insisting on, every objection that flits across hisbrain; and if such proposition survive the onslaught of itsadversaries, it is only because, in the deepest of him, he holds it forabsolute truth. For this book is indeed a confession, a naive,outspoken, unflinching description of all that passes in his mind; andeven those who like not his theories still must admit that this mind isstrangely beautiful.
There have been many columns filled—and doubtless will be again—withingenious and scholarly attempts to place a definitive label on M.Maeterlinck, and his talent; to trace his thoughts to their origin,clearly denoting the authors by whom he has been influenced; in ameasure to predict his future, and accurately to establish the placethat he fills in the hierarchy of genius. With all this I feel that Ihave no concern. Such speculations doubtless have their use and servetheir purpose. I shall be content if I can impress upon those who mayread these lines, that in this book the man is himself, of untrammelledthought; a man possessed of the rare faculty of seeing beauty in allthings, and, above all, in truth; of the still rarer faculty of lovingall things, and, above all, life.
Nor is this merely a vague and, at bottom, a more or less meaninglessstatement. For, indeed, considering this essay only, that deals withwisdom and destiny, at the root of it—its fundamental principle, itsguiding, inspiring thought—is love. "Nothing is contemptible in thisworld save only scorn," he says; and for the humble, the foolish, nay,even the wicked, he has the same love, almost the same admiration, asfor the sage, the saint, or t