Faksimile

Text

Traumnovelle
33. nenenenn
box 5/7
2
G
ARN
PRESS CLPPINGS
96 Warren St., N. V. Ene
Tribune
NEW VOHK CIT
S. 197.
(A Viennese Delicacy
KHAPSODY: A DREAM NOVEL.
Bu Arthur Schnitzler.
Neu Pork: Simon und Schuster.
81.50.
Reviewed by
BABETTE DEUTSCH
HERE is a saying that when 3
good Parisian dies he goes to
Vienna. And could there be a
more sophisticated Paradise than this
city, where the chief sin is to be dowdy,
where Otto Friml competes with nighte
ingales, and where patriarchs command
Haselnusstorte for dessert on wash-day!
At all events, Schnitzler has done his
best to give point to this mot about his
city. His novels, tales and dramas are
like so many boxes containing a fra¬
grant, delicately bitter compound which
is three parts charm and two parts dis¬
illusioned romanticism. This most re¬
cent story is no exception.
The German title of the piece,
Traumnovelle,“ gives the key to its
quality far better than the English
Rhapsody.“ Here is no account of a
violent passion or of an ecstatic inter¬
lude. Here, rather, is an extraordi¬
narily subtle delineation of emotions so
vague that they seem grounded in fan¬
tasy, of ghosts so vivid that they seem
to have the living body’s pressure and
heat. The provocative character of the
narrative lies in its mystery. Are the
nocturnal adventures of Fridolin actual
experiences, or merely desires that have
taken on palpability? Is the dream of
Albertina, his wife, an ephemeral
miasma floating over the marshes of
sleep, or is it a distorted memory of
real events, a threat of horrors and
Latreds that will yet stalk into life?
These questions are fairly explicit in
the interchange between husband and
wife with which the novel is brought to
a close.
The plot is simple enough; alone the
skillful intertwisting of the threads of
fantasy and reality complicates the pat¬
tern. There are only two characters of
any importance—the others are either
lügments of the protagonists’ imagina¬
Tae following night Fridelin finds
himself involved in one abortive adven¬
ture after another. The women who
stud the hours for him include the wist¬
ful, withering daughter of his patient,
the Privy Councilor; a young prosti¬
tute; the depraved child of a sinister
old theatrical costumer; an unknowr.
naked and masked, whom he #encounters
at an exclusive, mysterious, risqué and
risky ball. The sequence of these en¬
counters is more logical than à bare
mention of them would indicate. They
wary profeundly in tone, but #n
breaks off # 4% same inconclusive
fashion, so that-zney retain the quality
of dream-life, all the more potent for
being clarified now and again by a
teuch of cool realism.
While Fridolin is making these
strange, half-involuntary contacts Al¬
bertina lies sleeping, and wihen toward
morning he returns to her side it is to
discover that she has been even more
inimical to him in slumber than he to¬
ward her in his alert pursuft of pleas¬
ure. She reconnts to him frankly the
hostile dream from which he has just
roused her, and its effect upon him is to
divide him from his wife more sharply
than all his own recent experiences had
done. During the next day he attempts
ro follow up the night’s events, but is
again cheated of satisfaction. At last
he goes home. This time it is not Al¬
bertina who makes a confession, but
Fridolin.
The gray dawn was creeping in
through the curtains when Fridolin
finished. Albertina hadn't once inter¬
rupted him with a curious or impatient
question. She probably felt that he
could not, and would not, keep anything
from her. She lay there quietly, with
her arms folded under her head, and
remained silent long after Fridolin had
finished. He was lying by her side and
finally bent over her, and, looking into
her immobile face with the large, brigh
eyes in which morning seemed to ha#
dawned, he asked, in a voice of be
doubt and hope: What shall we
now, Albertina?“
She smiled, and, after a minute
plied: “Ithink we ought to be grai
that we have come unharmed out c
cur adventures, whether they were
or only a dream.
Are you-quite sure of that he
asked.
Just as sure as 1 am that the ality
of one night, let alone that of a chole
lifetime, is not the whole truth.“
And no dream,“ he said with a
slight sigh, “is entirely a dream.)
That would seem to be the moral of
tnis unadorned tale. It is part of
Schnitzler’s exquisite skill that long be¬
fore the pair put it into words he has
woven it into the texture of his fable.
And, though the two statements are
something of a commonplace, he has
managed to convey their grave impli¬
cations with all the deftness of an art¬
ist and all the gentleness of a physi¬
cian. The style of the writing—even
in translation—is smooth, direct and
ample, a style which, as Vienna appre¬
ciates, shows off subtle material to the
best advantage.