XVI

"THE BETROTHAL" OF MAURICE

MAETERLINCK

It is not often that New York is honored with the privilege of witnessing the first performance in the world of a masterpiece by one of the foremost dramatists of Europe. It was doubtless due mainly to the exigencies of the war that the famous Belgian poet, in the summer of 1918, shipped the latest heir of his invention overseas to be adopted by the American public; but since authors are always tender of their progeny, we may be certain that Maurice Maeterlinck would not have sent his "littlest child" so far away from Ghent and Normandy unless he had known that a kindly foster-father was waiting on the hither side of the Atlantic to receive it. The world-première of The Blue Bird took place at Stanislawski's Art Theatre in Moscow. This, also, was a long distance from Belgium and France; but Stanislawski's theatre, at the time, was the most highly regarded in all of Europe. For the privilege of witnessing the world-première of The Betrothal, New York is indebted to the respect of the great poet for an American manager, - Winthrop Ames; and Mr. Ames has shown himself worthy, in every way, of the trust imposed upon him.

The Betrothal is a sequel to The Blue Bird and constitutes the second canticle in an uncompleted trilogy

of lyric dramas designed to summarize the whole experience of humankind as it is normally unfolded by the quest for those three guerdons that are sought instinctively in human life, at its beginning, at its middle, and at its end. Tyltyl, the hero, represents the human race. In each of the plays, he fares forth on a journey through the present, past, and future-imagined as three mystic notes that sing together into the single chord of eternity — in search of a different ideal. The first ideal is Truth, the second, Beauty, the third, Righteousness: three in one, and one in three.

In The Blue Bird, Tyltyl is but a little boy, and the human race is young. What he toils for is that understanding of all the things that are which shall put an end to problems and appease the seeking soul with happiness. The blue bird, in itself, is not so much a symbol of happiness as a symbol of that comprehension of the truth of all things which is the necessary precedent condition to the mood of perfect happiness.

In The Betrothal, Tyltyl has become adult; and what he seeks is love. The truth that had been taught to him alone, by his former journey through the universe, still needs and seeks its complement. Truth, like the fabled god named Janus, wears two faces; the other face is beauty; and beauty must evermore remain mysterious until love is ready to lift the veil that has enveloped it.

In the third play, which remains as yet unwritten, Tyltyl will be shown as an old man, and will fare forth on his final journey, through the very gates of death, in search of that dear guerdon of peace which is the ultimate reward of righteousness. [It is only fair to

the reader to confess that the present writer is not possessed of any "inside information" that this hypothetical third play is now in contemplation. The prophecy has merely been derived, by logical deduction, from an appreciative study of the hitherto existing works of Maurice Maeterlinck.]

At the outset of The Betrothal, Tyltyl, now seventeen years old, is tossing in bed, at that mysterious hour which immediately antecedes the dawn. The fairy Bérylune appears to him, looking rather like the widow Berlingot, who used to be his neighbor. Bérylune inquires quaintly if he is interested in the subject of love, and Tyltyl replies that he has thought of it a bit. Half a dozen lovely girls have already looked at him invitingly the daughters of the woodcutter, the butcher, the beggar, the miller, the innkeeper, and the and he would find it rather easy to love any mayor of them, and not particularly difficult to love all of them. The fairy cautions him that if his life is to be truly happy he must focus his affections upon one and only one; and she invites the adolescent Tyltyl to fare forth upon a journey through the universe in quest of the one and only woman.

Tyltyl goes forth upon this quest, followed faithfully by the six young girls who have already looked upon him favorably and alluringly. A seventh figure trails along, at the very end of the procession; but she is scarcely noticed, because her face is veiled. Money, it appears, is needed for the journey; and, for the purpose of securing money, the fairy Bérylune first leads Tyltyl to the miser's cave. Here, for a time,

the miser is seen grovelling obscenely over his gathered gold; but, as soon as Tyltyl turns the magic jewel that he wears upon his cap, the miser remembers the longforgotten truth that, in reality, his heart is generous, and pours forth by handfuls to the questing youth uncounted bags of gold. Tyltyl, for a time, discards his magic cap, or else forgets to turn the mystic jewel; and, at once, the six young maidens in his train are reduced in semblance to the very women that they actually are, and fling themselves into the common sort of cat-fight that is customary among females who are attracted amorously by an identic male. But Tyltyl soon recovers his cap, and turns the magic jewel; and the six young girls immediately are revealed again as the wonder-seeking women that they really are.

The quest of Tyltyl leads him soon to the abode of his ancestors, which is peopled by hundreds and hundreds of individuals who seem, to him, surprisingly concerned in a matter so apparently personal as his choice of a bride. Some of his ancestors were respectable, some disreputable; some lofty, some lowly; some to be remembered, and some to be forgotten: but all of them are interested eagerly in his selection of a wife. The assembled senators among Tyltyl's progenitors consider gradually in review the six young and glowing girls who have been willing to attach themselves to the hero's soaring and highminded quest, as a trailing tail is appended to a sailing kite. But, with long and aged consideration, the ancestors find these many women wanting. With eyes dimmed by several centuries, they fail to see, however, the veiled figure that

still follows in the wake of the more immediate candidates for Tyltyl's troth.

But Tyltyl is soon led, by the guiding hand of the fairy Bérylune, to the abode of the children,— which corresponds, in little, to that kingdom of the future which he was privileged to visit in the course of his former journey through the universe. Here Tyltyl encounters, face to face, his own children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and so forward, through an endless and illimitable series. These future and still hypothetical descendants display an even greater interest in his selection of a mate than had been shown by his ancestors. To them, of course, his choice is epoch-making. In this region of futurity the tallest children, by virtue of a rigid logic, are those who live still furthest from the world. They grow little and still littler as they dwindle, through foreshortened generations, from great-grandchildren to grandchildren and finally to children. The littlest child of all is, consequently, the one that is most ready to be born into the world.

In this mystic region of futurity, it is Tyltyl's littlest child of all that rushes forward, with wide arms, to acknowledge his predestined mother. This littlest child, in mystic and manifest agreement with all of the long-bearded members of the ancient council of Tyltyl's ancestors, rejects the glowing group comprised of the half dozen candidates regarded all along as not easily to be dismissed, but welcomes eagerly that vague and veiled and trailing figure who follows Tyltyl in his quest most modestly and with a monumental silence.