The sun. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1833-1916, 1903-06-14

| of noises" Daudet loved Wagner, Tur-
genev Mozart. But the two were excep-
lions. had heard. as every one In Paris
has heard. that Maeterlnck bitterly re-
scented the conversion OF his drama into an
opera. Over the changes made In the
text he went to law He has never heard
tho Debussy music. He was interested
when told him Of Charles Martin Loeff1er' 3
setting of "The Death OF Tintagiles. But
music Is a sealed book for Maeterlinck, and
1t IL all the moro curious as his prose -
and artistic prose Is much rarer than artistic
poetry-has a rich assonance and Ia varied
In its cadences.
wonder IL all the great prosaie"rs we're
musio-deaf. Charles Lamb was; 80 was Sir
Thomas Browne. though he talks much
OF the heavenly art" Walter Pater kne "
music, and to-day 80 does Arthur Symons
Maeterlinck is quite frank in his likes and
dis|ikes, though didn't venture to ask him
his opinion Of his contemporaries, especially
[, Of Octave Mirbeau his early admirer and
sponsor, as had seen 'Las Afaires sent les
Afaires. but really had not the courage
to inquire of Mae,erllnck II he had. 1t would
have been too cruel. The poet-elramatist
spoke admiringly Of Arthur symons aad
his poetry.
He looks like a poet--a rare thing,
TO which cordially assented Then came
the inevitable auto GIT phs and much
we7riad man bowed me out and down queer
staircases into lonely courts paved with
harsh ston ~, where dwarf trees stood senti-
mel fashion and presented branches as
passed into the cool of the street. The
coachman. quiet oblivious to the fact that
Maeterlinok was ,Maeterlinck, grlmbled at
the length Of my absence. I did not blame
him. For an hour he had leaned against
the skinny forelegs of his old nag to prevent
the beast from slppirg down the billy
street. After SO much experience in hold
ing up animals the bandit with whip he Id
me up and bled freely at the pccketbook.
Why revolt3 / had my interview with
Maurice Maeterinck. and a childish detail
like wellth had no meaning for me.
For the sake Of contrast went later to the
Theatre Antoine. on the Boulevard Strass-
bourg Naturalisn, whether in painting.
music, fiction. drama, is my shbboleth.
remember Antoine when he was less
known Antoine than he is to-day. Now he
is a success. and success always spells con-
vention. When we do thing supremely
well we are tempted to play on one string
forever. ! have a great admiration for
Richard Wagner on this account He
went from victory>to victory, never reck-
ing the cost to his physical health, never
stopping to consider il he should work the
| public vein. But he, too, succumbed when
wealth overlook him, and then We got--Par-
sifal." ! remember Antoine when he was
| not the actor he lie now, in the old Mon
| martre days; but he put on more interest
! ing pieces. Or has his wave reached its
top crest and Is it subsiding? We are ia
milar with the phenomenon of the genera
ton that follows us and it's calm acceptance
! OF the very artistic principles for which
we gave our hearts blood. So il it with
all revolutionaries--if they live long enough
| they see their once crazy theories atten-
uated, accepted, yet not quite the ideas for
which they battled.
At Antoine's now what was once bizarre,
wicked. daring is as it should be. Even
his naturasm has a tinge Of the conven-
| tonal. To express thing, whether in
| stone. on canvas, in prose. verse. tone or
| drama. is to lose something OF it's more
| precious essence. That Is the reason l
| liked to talk with those old philosophers.
| poets and painters you once met in the
! Latin quarter, say twenty-five years ago.
| They knew not soap or its civilizing quail
| ties, but they were rich in ideas We sat
in cafes and argued long past midnight,
| There was sand on the floor. but in our
youthful throats thirstfor the ideal Oh,
dear. dead days. what rascally delusions
YOU were. In reality we loathed you and
| Ion eed for America and bathtubs and self
respect and ether things not to mention
| green cigars and clam chowder.
| The programme last week at the Antoine
| consisted Of three short two-act plays.
As a theatre II Ia uncomfortable and noisy.
| The place was Allied with bourgeois who
cared little for the better things on the
pro gramme and applauded its obvious
vulgartiee. But there were some COM
pensations. One was lie Supplice du
| silence" comedy. by Berr de Turique.
a masterpiece in little and a psychologist
revelation. The story is this A wife, bored
by her husbands devotion to his labra-
tory. forgets herself in what the drama
, fists call mad moment She bitterly
regrets her sin, particularly as she begins
| to love the husband she has deceived. That
curious. yet none the less true, tendency OF
wonderland men--to unburdcn themselves
of a secret. an idea that obsesse.. fault
that has been too long concealed, She
unburdens herself to an intimate friend,
lady with largely developed sense of
! curiosity and one to whom in turn the
! husband tells his little tale Of woe. All
these confessions lead to the principal
scene wherein the friend poses the question
ia the husband, poses a hypothetical
case. suppose, she asks suppose woman
| loving her husband, but weaned from him
because Of his absorption in his science,
goes wrong once. only once. II is a misstep
that is heartily rued and long time re-
pented in tears and prayers, Is there TO
balm in Gilead for the poor sinner? Is
there no nepenthe for her sorrow? What
IL she went to her husband and told the
naked truth-woud he, could he forgive
her?
This scene. which chokes with its intcn-
sity, is played in a modest drawing-room
by three everyday people. The unhappy
wife keeps we'll away from the lamplight,
as her friend passonately interrcgatcs
the unsuspicious husband. Now the aver
age playwright would have seized this
opportunity for a noble display Of exalted