Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1929-10-20
IDA GILBERT MYERS.

@ 70.
TIME United States is too young to
have amassed q body of myth
and folklore such as all earlier
peoples possess. It is yet, there
fore, in q sense unfledged, wing
less. incapable of those far flights of
blended fact and fancy which in other
ages gave rise to the arts and philoso-
phies, to religions even. A borrower 1t
has been, and still is-taking, for in
stance, King Arthur from the English,
Baldur the Beautiful from the Morse,
and from all around the Mediterranean
a thousand tales Of god-men and men
gods.
has material for q myth set In every
particular to the classic pattern. But,
| for it to ripen will take q thousand
years and more. Here is the myth In
essence-a rootage of pure truth, usually
tragic, always momentous. Around 1t
is piled the soil of centuries-the soil
! of rumor, report, embelhshing from age
| to age that initial fact until 1t has
driven deep into widespread accept.
| ance and belief, until 1t has lowered
high in broad branches of beauty and
| color and shade. Then, with time.
comes mystery-an essential part OF
| the myth. Curious inventions rise bit
| by bit into the open. That martyreo
one was of no common birth. Time
and again have the gods come to eartn
to recundate this lovely moral woman:
| or that one, for some great and special
burmese known to the gods themselves.
A matter to recall and to remember.
The birth-mystery Is vital to the true
significance of the myth. Another
mystery too, 1t rarely fails to find need
| ful for its complete purpose. And this
is the fate of the wicked one who caused
the great sacrifice upon which the myth
rests This one never dies. The earth
repudiates him and, so, forever he
roams-The Wandering Jew, The Fly.
| proof. Such Is the myth In essential
outline.
And here 1t is. Abraham Lincoln,
assassinated by wilkes Booth. TIL:
root of the matter Is demonstrated
! truth, historic fact. Its setting is the
| rank soil of hatred and passion and
unreason of war and its immediate con-
clusion. The defeated filled with hatred
and sorrow, the conquerors swollen with
the hatreds of triumph. Surely, no
myth out of the most ancient soil OF
any past ever had ranker and usher
fields for growth than had this one
| that set out upon its way in April oil
| 1865. True to form, the belief grew
| that wilkes Booth did not die-that he
lived on. a fugitive over the earth. And
| then the story grew that the martyr
| had some unusual birth heritage-that
Abraham Lincoln was sired by no com
mon man. And this Is where the mat
ter stands-a perfect myth founoatlon
| If there ever was one. Only time
! thousands of years-is needed to mel
low 1t into one of the potent mysteries
by way of which needy mortal man Is
able to sense the supporting presence
! of something more than himself. IL
| too. will inspire art. 1t, too, will color
the tide OF current philosophy and,
maybe, will broaden the scope OF
human thinkings and doings. little.
| In substance, such is Lloyd Lewis
book. No. he does not name 1t that
| Nor does he strain to make 1t the myth,
| rounded and complete. Rather does
he expend his effort in gathering the
soil for us to see again. the soil that
piled SO. speedily and abundantly
around the tragic act itself. Here is
| the turbulent washington of those days,
vivid as today itself. Complete IN an
/ exhaustion of pertinent details bearing
| upon the matter Of Lincoln, of Booth
! of the rabble of Observation-Disclosures
ALI. from the Northern radical, to the
| defeated Southerner. Not history, tins
| Not material for history Since, for the
! time being there were only the matters
and the hated. The only logical use
! that could be made of the situation Is
that which Lloyd Lewis projects mere
in pictures of the catastrophe inter-
Jude, upon its highest point OF TRAGEDY
and debacle. Research, tests OF truth
scholarly habit, dramatic competency
these unite in a drama of such poign-
ancy and inmediacy as one VIII MOI
/ come upon again In many day. Mid
night suggests nothing of bedtime when
this book is in question. And, remem-
Der. we have a perfectly good myth on
| its way-made right here In the
u, S. A.-and we have In nearer seizure
a fine. a remarkable picture OF the
darkest hour in our national career
ATMOSPHERE OF LOVE. BY Andre
Maurois, author Of Captains ana
Kings" etc. Translated by DR.. JOS
eph Collins. New York: D. Apple
ton e. Co.
AS artless as baby, to look at
"a Atmosphere of Love-" Just
story about Philippe and his wives
Odiie and Isabelle. In Book One" PM
| Odile. In Book Two" Isabelle gives
the straight tale of her life with PM
lippe. Both are records of circumstance.
| day-by-day episodes Illuminating the
emotion of love as this is tried in the
| crlIcible of matrimony. In sum. potLl
register a heavy balance Of unhappi-
ness. In each case this unhappy state
rises from 'iealousy-sometimes caileo
passionate and consuming love. Let US
90 along with the alteration of Odlle py
Philippe. An aloof girl, either stepping
back from the ardors of her young mate
or coating herself with a thin ice
againt them. Unhappy Philippe Hurt
in his pride-that is what he calls II.
Hurt in his vanity. as matter OF 1act.
As smooth as q mere teller OF stories
is Andre Maurois here. yet as Unsuitable
as a man with a microscope holding
down a bug for its reactions is he over
every manner of marital issue between
these two. Jealous and hurt In MS
pride is Philippe. A nfSflt love. Tor
OdiIe took @ cave man finally In place
of the gentle youth who had nrst nus
banded her. The next time It Is tne
turn of Isabelle to tell Of her life with
the vision of an Odile lovelier than Sne
could possibly be. scourging herself with
this hourly recollection. And here again
there is the same simple and guiieleSS
Way of recounting q thousand incidents
of the life between the two. and the
same Unsuitable hunt after the founda-
lions of the disorder called love. NO
concIusions-of course not. Scientists
rarely state conclusions. They are too
wary, too conscious of the fickleness OF
truth. So one contents himself with
the suave and beautiful story lying SO
plain and straight before the reader.
In an afterthought. away from the In
nocent face of this tale. he wonders II
love Is really made Of only personal
yanity-the' pursuer loving himself
alone. really-and If this vanity is not.
after all. the immediate progenitor of
that jealousy that spawns so malig-
nantly and abundantly and continuously