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Love Is a Spirit
Love Is a Spirit
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It is seldom that the covers of a volume so accurately shadow forth its contents as is the case with Julian Hawthorne's latest work, "Love is a Spirit."
In a background of pale green is a mystical design of a heart, a lambent flame and a pair of white wings. So symbolical of the plot of the story is its effect, that one suspects the author designed the cover himself.
From the very first chapter one is struck by the marked resemblance between the matter and manner of this tale and the occult results so deftly produced by the author's father. But the elder Hawthorne never created so sensuous an atmosphere as that which prevails in the first part of this book. One is at first disposed to object to the author's method when he remembers the title of his story. Especially does one feel like making a protest against an eight page elaboration of the psychical origin and physical development of a kiss.
This protracted kiss and all its untoward effects seem about to lead to the direst consequences. But by means of a literary lour de force the hero of the story is delivered from disgrace. His wife, whom the author lud adroitly kept in the background, opportunely "passes on" (as a Christian scientist would put it), just at the moment when the hero, Angus, had determined that suicide was the only creditable retreat he could make from the situation. "I must disappear," he said to himself. "She must believe me dead. She can stand that better than finding me out. Her faith in immortality will console her with the idea that we shall meet hereafter." But the hero's self-effacing devotion was rendered unnecessary by the sudden demise of his wife.
Meanwhile, after many qualms respecting his own unworthiness, Angus decides to visit Yolande, the beautiful maiden whom he loved. But Kismet, at this point, interposes his dread decree. The sky bursts with heavy torrents and the bridge which Angus must cross is swept away. As he nears the swollen waters he beholds Yolande in eerie radiance mounted upon a white palfrey. They converse for a long time in the language sacred to lovers, when finally all softly the maiden vanishes and only the faint echoes of her voice linger near him. Then is the mystery revealed to the anguish-striken lover. He has followed a vision and wooed the spirit of the maiden he loved. For down in the ravine, where the pitying waves have cast it ashore, lies the lifeless form of the fair Yolande.
In a background of pale green is a mystical design of a heart, a lambent flame and a pair of white wings. So symbolical of the plot of the story is its effect, that one suspects the author designed the cover himself.
From the very first chapter one is struck by the marked resemblance between the matter and manner of this tale and the occult results so deftly produced by the author's father. But the elder Hawthorne never created so sensuous an atmosphere as that which prevails in the first part of this book. One is at first disposed to object to the author's method when he remembers the title of his story. Especially does one feel like making a protest against an eight page elaboration of the psychical origin and physical development of a kiss.
This protracted kiss and all its untoward effects seem about to lead to the direst consequences. But by means of a literary lour de force the hero of the story is delivered from disgrace. His wife, whom the author lud adroitly kept in the background, opportunely "passes on" (as a Christian scientist would put it), just at the moment when the hero, Angus, had determined that suicide was the only creditable retreat he could make from the situation. "I must disappear," he said to himself. "She must believe me dead. She can stand that better than finding me out. Her faith in immortality will console her with the idea that we shall meet hereafter." But the hero's self-effacing devotion was rendered unnecessary by the sudden demise of his wife.
Meanwhile, after many qualms respecting his own unworthiness, Angus decides to visit Yolande, the beautiful maiden whom he loved. But Kismet, at this point, interposes his dread decree. The sky bursts with heavy torrents and the bridge which Angus must cross is swept away. As he nears the swollen waters he beholds Yolande in eerie radiance mounted upon a white palfrey. They converse for a long time in the language sacred to lovers, when finally all softly the maiden vanishes and only the faint echoes of her voice linger near him. Then is the mystery revealed to the anguish-striken lover. He has followed a vision and wooed the spirit of the maiden he loved. For down in the ravine, where the pitying waves have cast it ashore, lies the lifeless form of the fair Yolande.
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