mystery, but is quite accessible to us; we can explain him logically in all his details and reproduce him in a work of art. His man is, again, the centre of the world, and is, in some way, separated from the rest of existence surrounding him; he is independent and stands above all other beings; he is the only being in the world worthy of attention and investigation, a being who finds in himself the explanation of his spiritual and physical movements. Maeterlinck's man is a being whose sensuous life is only a concrete symbol of his infinite transcendental side; and, further, is only a link in an endless chain of innumerable existences, a link that remains in continual communication, in mutual union with all the other links.

Shakespeare

refers everything to man, so much that even the characters introduced by him occasionally as auxiliaries in weaving out actions, such as spirits, ghosts, witches, represent only a popular romantic apparatus, but they can, and often they must, be considered as the inward, psychological disposition of the hero. The poet wishes to emphasize such a great tension in one direction of the imagination of his character, that at last the ghosts born in his brain take the plasticity of external subjects. In Maeterlinck's dramas the whole of nature vibrates with man, either warning him of coming catastrophes or taking on a mournful attitude after they have happened. Shakespeare outlines his charactersas far as is possible-precisely and expressively; he brings out in dialogues and monologues all the interior hesitations and struggles, he strives to unveil and formulate the most secret shivers of the soul and the heart, in order to find an inward connection between them, and for that purpose he makes his heroes philosophize about inward states of mind which drive them to do certain things or stay them from

accomplishing certain others. Maeterlinck is somewhat afraid of formulating sentiments and philosophizing over them; he considers man to be a great, fathomless mystery, which one cannot determine precisely, at which one can only glance, noting his involuntary and instinctive words, exclamations and impressions. The characters of his dramas never pronounce complicated, philosophical dialogues or monologues; their sentences are short, simple, abrupt, expressing that which they feel and not that which they would think, if they were to ponder over their impressions.

Shakespeare's masterpieces, above all, show us man as endowed with propensities, sentiments, passions, but quite separated from the rest of existence. Maeterlinck's dramas strive to unveil for us the relations of man to the existence surrounding him, they represent him to us as a part inseparable from the universe and depending on it. Consequently Shakespeare should be regarded only as a psychologist of sensuous consciousness in man, treated as abstracted from the whole of being, while Maeterlinck may be looked upon as a mystic recreator of the whole double-sided human being, in its natural connection with the existence surrounding it.

Maeterlinck's dramas cannot be judged from the point of view of any traditional ideas of dramatic art, for they are entirely new, totally original and so directly and logically arising out of his theories of the essence of existence, of man and of art, that if one would protest against them in the name of Shakespeare, it would be necessary to destroy all his fundamental theories and principles.

He introduces into drama a new kind of measure of absolute beauty, and the rules taken from Shakespeare's work a posteriori appear to be useless and could not be applied to it. We have

no choice but to enter into the new sphere opened to us by the poet, to look at his dramas from his own point of view, to understand his astonishing work of art, and, following Sainte Beuve's example, to find it in the absolute truth, as one finds it in everything.

There are three elements that attract the critic's attention in Maeterlinck's dramas.

The first and the easiest to discover is one which until now in general acceptance constituted by itself the exclusive essence of a drama-viz., man with his whole sensuous side, together with those manifestations of the spirit which could be defined, formulated and enclosed in words; the interior struggles of sentiment and the results of those struggles shown in an external action; frictions of passion and catastrophe, dramatic collisions or expiations during life. This is the only element that connects Maeterlinck's work with the dramatic ideas of his predecessors and in which any Shakespearean reminiscences can be detected.

If one wishes, however, to present in a work of art the complete man, and not a fragment of him, one must, at least by means of suggestion, catch and render his mysterious side, otherwise the poetical character of the work will be one-sided and incomplete. Here is shown the second element, still connected with the first because it concerns the man exclusively, but entirely new and for the first time introduced extensively and consciously into the drama, an element of factors and manifestations of the human being which are difficult to formulate with precision: they are undecided shadows and mysterious lights, which here and there darken or brighten the outline or cover the whole figure with a kind of mist. By means of these lights, thrown on every-day and apparently clear details.

of life, Maeterlinck wishes to bring out their hidden meaning, to draw attention to mysterious paths, which tend to the worlds beyond, hidden in man; to primitive existence, the manifestation of which may be perceived but not. understood or explained.

According to the philosophers and to. the accepted ideas about the drama, we are accustomed to imagine man as a being who can be understood, his deeds explained and his sentiments stated. It seems to us that in actual life we understand ourselves and other people, that there are no mysteries in man which cannot be elucidated. Hence when we are told that it is not so, we call the effort to elucidate the mysterious and invisible sickliness or immaturity of talent, notwithstanding that Maeterlinck in his views on man is in agreement with the results of scientific research, which prove that our self-consciousness does not exhaust our Ego. Observations and experiments conducted in regard to such important parts of our existence as sleep, somnambulism, ecstasy, delirium, hypnosis, magnetism, opium or any narcotic, show that in proportion as our ordinary sensuous consciousness grows. dull, there follows an awakening of some internal side of our being lying beyond the boundaries of empiric consciousness, that in such states there begins an action of some other consciousness, lying beyond our ideas in real life, reaching to infinity, both in. ourselves and in the existence surrounding us.

Consequently those who attack Maeterlinck's ideas as "nervous diseases of thought," as "dreamy contempt for positive and experimental theories," are unjust; they are critics stuck in materialism, who do not see that Maeterlinck's ideas are identical with the result of scientific experiment.

It is immaterial to find out whether Maeterlinck built the system of his

modern mysticism by himself or whether he took it from philosophical literature. The most important point is that he put these theoretical conclusions into practice by bringing out in dramatic poems both sides of the human being: the sensuous and the transcendental. This idea is quite new, and it makes a revolution in the domain of the drama. It introduces a new essence, new factors, new elements into the drama, and asks for corresponding and proper forms for them; on the other hand, it opens an epoch of new observations and critical comments on older dramatic masterpieces, the authors of which felt unconsciously that of which Maeterlinck is conscious-viz., the necessity of emphasizing in man the mysterious and unfathomable side.

The natural consequence of this fundamental change of ideas concerning man is the third element to which the Belgian dramatist gives an active position in the drama-again contrary to accepted rules and ideas-and this is the introducing of nature into the drama.

Nature used to occupy a very inferior position in the theatre, especially during the prevalence of rationalism and materialism. In the theatre they were satisfied with a background representing some landscape, with cardboard scenery and artificial fireworks; even if sometimes a writer introduced nature and made her act beside man, reflect his thoughts, or influence his actions, he did not take any account of the depth and importance of that dramatic factor; as for the spectators, they took such exhibitions of the life of nature for simple accidents, or looked at them as picturesque legends, serving as frames for the thoughts, sentiments and deeds of the acting heroes.

In general, the dramatists were preoccupied with man, limited by the The Contemporary Review.

boundaries of the senses, excluded by them from nature, not feeling her influence and reaction and, again, not reacting on her. The dramas were and are acted as if in an empty space, under the glass bell of a pneumatic machine. The few unconscious exceptions from that rule probably could not be explained by the dramatists themselves, and were either not understood or wrongly understood by the public and the critics.

Maeterlinck consciously deprives nature of her passive role of a soulless accessory, he animates her, orders her to collaborate actively in the action of the drama, to speak mysteriously beside man and to man, to forecast future incidents and catastrophes, to contribute in some degree to the expiation of criminal deeds, in a word, to participate in all the actions of that fragment of human life which is called a drama. This reform also agrees with the newest scientific discoveries, according to which force and matter are not two totally different things, but are extreme manifestations on the same line of radiating matter that penetrates everything and makes everything react on everything else, consequently on us also, and naturally we also react on everything surrounding us.

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The bringing out of man from abstract solitude and isolation into the world surrounding him, in which isolation the dramatists, with a few exceptions, kept him; the bringing out of a whole network of stimuli and influences, neglected until now, and thus making man broader; the introduction into the drama of a new active element, and thus widening its poetical force, this constitutes Maeterlinck's great reform of the drama; a great reform, but full of difficulties for the future of dramatic poetry.

S. C. de Soissons. "Die Philosophie der Mystik." Du Prel. p. 241.

Amongst the memories of my nine years' wanderings in Asia which I treasure and value most, not the least valuable are the hours I have spent in General Kuropatkin's company. And of all the distinguished men I have met, between St. Petersburg and Peking and between Irkutsk and Haidarabad, there is only one who has left upon me the same deep and abiding impression-namely, Lord Curzon. It is in the hands of these two men that the destinies of Asia have during the last few years in great part rested. Even though these two typical representatives of two great peoples are, by reason of their national characteristics, very different from one another, on the other hand, as both possessing some of the best and noblest human qualities, they are in several respects like one another, and have many points in common. In his manners and bearing General Kuropatkin is quite as simple and natural as Lord Curzon, and, like the Viceroy of India, he treats all who are subject to his authority as men, listening to such as need help, and treating all, even the meanest amongst them, with the greatest consideration, kindliness, and politeness. Both are true and zealous patriots, both have devoted their life and best powers to the service of the country which gave them birth, and both are deeply sensible of the heavy responsibility which rests upon them. By a pure chance there is one point in which their careers are singularly alike. Both are geographers and explorers, and both authors within the field of scientific geography, and both have won for themselves an honored place in the history of geographical discovery in Asia. General Kuropatkin's travels were made in that part of Asia the political

future of which was to such a great extent destined to be placed in his own hands, and in his book "Kashgaria” he has described, in a manner that cannot be excelled, his journey through the East Turkestan of Yakub Beg's time. In his book "Russia in Central Asia" Lord Curzon says, speaking of a possible Russian invasion of India:

Since the death of Skobeleff it is well known that a revised edition of his scheme, modified or extended in accord with wider knowledge and more modern conditions, has been elaborated by General Kuropatkin, who was one of Skobeleff's right-hand men in Central Asia, and inherited his traditions and ideas, and who may be regarded as the leading exponent of Central Asian tactics in the Russian army. Did circumstances render it desirable to-morrow

that pressure should be brought to bear upon England in Afghanistan, every detail of the plan to be pursued is already drawn up and decided upon, and the telegraph wire could set the machinery in instantaneous motion.

How greatly the political position in Asia has changed since these words were written in 1888! If Russia ever did entertain any real and serious idea of invading India, which personally I very much doubt, all such plans are now, at any rate, abandoned.

But it was not of this I wished to speak, but about the personal impressions which General Kuropatkin made upon me. Alexei Nicolaievitch Kuropatkin is the central figure in the great and striking drama which is now being enacted in the theatre of war in Manchuria, and which all the world is watching in breathless expectation. At this present moment he is the man who instinctively but inevitably excites our interest in the highest degree. As 3

young man he served in the French Foreign Legion in Algiers and took part in several missions sahariennes, and these he has described with the same admirable degree of accuracy and knowledge that he has displayed in all the military experiences of his varied and remarkable life. It was in Algiers he learned to speak French with such wonderful purity; though he does not speak it with the vivacity and gesticulation of a Frenchman, but speaks it slowly and quietly, yet with perfect mastery. Of other books that he has written I may mention a capital description of the Russo-Turkish war and several handbooks on strategy and the science of war. It was as chief of the staff to Skobeleff that he learned the practical side of the art of war. Yet how unlike is he to Skobeleff! The latter loved war for its own sake, and, like the Japanese, greeted the stirring trumpet signal to charge as the invitation to a feast-a man who, on his white horse and with the breast of his white uniform glittering with brilliants and decorations, loved to gallop to the front with a sublime contempt for the showers of bullets falling all around him. General Kuropatkin regards war entirely from its serious side, as an unavoidable evil, an art that must be studied with industry and thoroughness, leaving nothing to chance or to the enthusiasm of the moment. In point of popularity with the army he even rivals his former chief; but whereas Skobeleff by his mere presence possessed the power to electrify his men and kindle their enthusiasm, Kuropatkin inspires in his troops a feeling of unruffled calmness, confidence, and security. They look upon him as their father, and know that he takes the same interest in every man that marches in the ranks that he would in his own son.

The first time I personally had the honor to meet General Kuropatkin he

was voyenniy natchalnik, or "military commander," of the new province of Transcaspia. That was in October, 1890, and at Askabad, where he had his headquarters. When I called upon him, my overcoat was taken charge of by a Cossack, and I was ushered into a large hall, where I was received and my visit announced by an aide-de-camp. The walls of the noble apartment were adorned with Asiatic weapons, ancient and modern, and with portraits of the Imperial family. After I had waited a little, the General entered, dressed in full uniform, for he was about to preside at a meeting of some sort. He is a short but strongly-built man, with a black beard and small but kindly and intelligent eyes. I was then just setting out on my first journey to Kashgar, and Kuropatkin gave me a good deal of information about the dangerous pass of Terekdavan. though I expected to find it buried in snow, he did not attempt to dissuade me from the journey; a northerner would not permit himself to be deterred by either snow or cold. When I let fall the remark that upon my return home I intended to write a book about Turkestan, Kuropatkin replied, humorously, that there were no secrets in Askabad. I was at perfect liberty to go where I liked; I might freely visit all the institutions in the town, might count the soldiers in the barracks, as well as the big guns, the rifles, and the cartridges in the magazines, sketch whatever I thought fit, and, he added, "you may even write articles about it all to The Times if you like." If I met with any difficulty I had only to report the matter to him and he would see me righted.

Al

It was interesting to observe with what energy and vigor Kuropatkin directed the military and even the civil affairs of his province. Everything worked like clockwork, with the greatest regularity and punctuality. Every