HAS it ever struck you that our mental attitude
toward famous men varies in this respect: that
while we think of some of them as human be-
ings with whom we might conceivably shake hands and
have a chat, we think of others as legendary creatures,
strange and remote--beings hardly to be looked upon
by human eyes?

Some years since, in the courtyard of a hotel in
Paris, I met a friend of mine. He was hurrying in the
direction of the bar.

"Come on," he beckoned. "There are some people
here you'll want to meet."

I followed him in and to a table at which two men
were seated. One proved to be Alfred Sutro; the other
Maurice Maeterlinck.

To meet Mr. Sutro was delightful, but it was conceiv-
able. Not so Maeterlinck. To shake hands with him,
to sit at the same table, to see that he wore a black coat, a
stiff collar (it was too large for him), a black string tie,
a square-crowned derby hat; to see him seated in a bar
sipping beer like any man--that was not conceivable.

I sat there speechless, trying to convince myself of
what I saw.

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