Traunnovel
box 5/7
33 nnne e e
10
*
SINVCL AR LEW IS
ARTHUR SCHNTZLER
DllEimrHeTEL
1#
ST SChHTTELEN
Noted Austrian Writes With
Great Art a Delicate Bit
of Psychology.
By ESTHER B. MINTTRE.
RHAPSODY. by Arthur Schnitzler: Simon
& Schuster.
There is something to muse over,
this notion, at the heart of Schnitz¬
ler’s latest novel, that “no dream is
entirely a dream,“ and that reality,
as we interpret our waking hours,
is never the whole truth. There is
something beyond, for which that
other-world seif that sleeps withln
Du Ae
us instinctively yearns, those
bright, alluring visions which en¬
compass, what might be—or what
could have been had not thechances
UTHOR of FRAULEIN
of love been so regrettably lost.
4
ELSE, BE.TRICE, and other
Rhapsody' —its German title is
Traumnovelle'—is indeed a dream
novels, whose latest book, RHAP¬
novel, and absorbed in its pages one
SODY, is reviewed on this page
has the impression of slipping into
a dream. There is a smooth calm,
today.
get a spirit of intense fervor, which
—
puts one at once into sympathy!“
with Dr. Fridolin during his ardent
adventures in the course of a few
nights. A flavor of the professional
mind, too, puts one at ease in a
sane and wholesome atmopshere,
despite the element of fantasy that
follows Fridolin, or, more accurate¬
Iy, which he pursues through those
incredible nights.
Fridolin and Albertina, his wife,
two normal, sanely occupied human
beings, happy in their marriage and
their mutual love for a little daugh¬
ter, yet skirt the border of disaster
to follow the urge of that mystie
longing to probe other loves and
VSOl
other lives.
Returning late of a wintry night
from a masquerade ball, they aban¬
don themselves more completely
than for a long time to their really
deep love, awakened, it seems, by
romantic experiences of each dur¬
ing the dance — glimpsed, but just
barely missed. The next day, still
stirred by the memory of what frult
these incidents might have borne,
each recalls to the other the mem¬
ory of earlier loves, arousing a
faint hostility in each other.
Then the tantalizing, dreamlike
experiences of Fridolin—were they!
reality, or only the figments of his
yearning? He returns of an eerie
winter dawn to hear his wife
awake from sleep with a cry. She
recounts a fantastic dream, which
matches the throbbing measures of
his own rhapsody.
So the happiest of us, he on whom
the sun of completeness and peace
shines brightest, must sometimes
fear to stifle in the commonplace
round, and yearn to follow the will¬
o’sthe-wisp of romance tugging at
our hearts with phantom fingers.
— —
THE DETROIT NEWS, SUNDAY, MARCH 13, 1927.
1
—
box 5/7
33 nnne e e
10
*
SINVCL AR LEW IS
ARTHUR SCHNTZLER
DllEimrHeTEL
1#
ST SChHTTELEN
Noted Austrian Writes With
Great Art a Delicate Bit
of Psychology.
By ESTHER B. MINTTRE.
RHAPSODY. by Arthur Schnitzler: Simon
& Schuster.
There is something to muse over,
this notion, at the heart of Schnitz¬
ler’s latest novel, that “no dream is
entirely a dream,“ and that reality,
as we interpret our waking hours,
is never the whole truth. There is
something beyond, for which that
other-world seif that sleeps withln
Du Ae
us instinctively yearns, those
bright, alluring visions which en¬
compass, what might be—or what
could have been had not thechances
UTHOR of FRAULEIN
of love been so regrettably lost.
4
ELSE, BE.TRICE, and other
Rhapsody' —its German title is
Traumnovelle'—is indeed a dream
novels, whose latest book, RHAP¬
novel, and absorbed in its pages one
SODY, is reviewed on this page
has the impression of slipping into
a dream. There is a smooth calm,
today.
get a spirit of intense fervor, which
—
puts one at once into sympathy!“
with Dr. Fridolin during his ardent
adventures in the course of a few
nights. A flavor of the professional
mind, too, puts one at ease in a
sane and wholesome atmopshere,
despite the element of fantasy that
follows Fridolin, or, more accurate¬
Iy, which he pursues through those
incredible nights.
Fridolin and Albertina, his wife,
two normal, sanely occupied human
beings, happy in their marriage and
their mutual love for a little daugh¬
ter, yet skirt the border of disaster
to follow the urge of that mystie
longing to probe other loves and
VSOl
other lives.
Returning late of a wintry night
from a masquerade ball, they aban¬
don themselves more completely
than for a long time to their really
deep love, awakened, it seems, by
romantic experiences of each dur¬
ing the dance — glimpsed, but just
barely missed. The next day, still
stirred by the memory of what frult
these incidents might have borne,
each recalls to the other the mem¬
ory of earlier loves, arousing a
faint hostility in each other.
Then the tantalizing, dreamlike
experiences of Fridolin—were they!
reality, or only the figments of his
yearning? He returns of an eerie
winter dawn to hear his wife
awake from sleep with a cry. She
recounts a fantastic dream, which
matches the throbbing measures of
his own rhapsody.
So the happiest of us, he on whom
the sun of completeness and peace
shines brightest, must sometimes
fear to stifle in the commonplace
round, and yearn to follow the will¬
o’sthe-wisp of romance tugging at
our hearts with phantom fingers.
— —
THE DETROIT NEWS, SUNDAY, MARCH 13, 1927.
1
—