Lady Barbarina, The Siege of London, An International Episode, and Other Tales

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Генри Джеймс. Lady Barbarina, The Siege of London, An International Episode, and Other Tales

PREFACE

LADY BARBARINA

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VI

THE SIEGE OF LONDON

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VII

VIII

IX

X

AN INTERNATIONAL EPISODE

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VI

THE PENSION BEAUREPAS

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VII

VIII

IX

A BUNDLE OF LETTERS

I. FROM MISS MIRANDA HOPE IN PARIS TO MRS. ABRAHAM C. HOPE AT BANGOR MAINE

II. FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME

III. FROM MISS VIOLET RAY IN PARIS TO MISS AGNES RICH IN NEW YORK

IV. FROM LOUIS LEVERETT IN PARIS TO HARVARD TREMONT IN BOSTON

V. FROM MIRANDA HOPE TO HER MOTHER

VI. FROM MISS EVELYN VANE IN PARIS TO THE LADY AUGUSTA FLEMING AT BRIGHTON

VII. FROM LÉON VERDIER IN PARIS TO PROSPER GOBAIN AT LILLE

VIII. FROM DR. RUDOLPH STAUB IN PARIS TO DR. JULIUS HIRSCH AT GÖTTINGEN

IX. MIRANDA HOPE TO HER MOTHER

THE POINT OF VIEW

I. FROM MISS AURORA CHURCH AT SEA TO MISS WHITESIDE IN PARIS

II. MRS. CHURCH IN NEW YORK TO MADAME GALOPIN AT GENEVA

III. FROM MISS STURDY AT NEWPORT TO MRS. DRAPER AT OUCHY

IV. FROM THE RIGHT HON. EDWARD ANTROBUS, M.P., IN BOSTON TO THE HONOURABLE MRS. ANTROBUS

V. FROM LOUIS LEVERETT IN BOSTON TO HARVARD TREMONT IN PARIS

VI. FROM M. GUSTAVE LEJAUNE OF THE FRENCH ACADEMY IN WASHINGTON TO M. ADOLPHE BOUCHE IN PARIS

VII. FROM MARCELLUS COCKEREL IN WASHINGTON TO MRS. COOLER, NÉE COCKEREL, AT OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA

VIII. FROM MISS AURORA CHURCH IN NEW YORK TO MISS WHITESIDE IN PARIS

Отрывок из книги

It is well known that there are few sights in the world more brilliant than the main avenues of Hyde Park of a fine afternoon in June.  This was quite the opinion of two persons who on a beautiful day at the beginning of that month, four years ago, had established themselves under the great trees in a couple of iron chairs—the big ones with arms, for which, if I mistake not, you pay twopence—and sat there with the slow procession of the Drive behind them while their faces were turned to the more vivid agitation of the Row.  Lost in the multitude of observers they belonged, superficially at least, to that class of persons who, wherever they may be, rank rather with the spectators than with the spectacle.  They were quiet simple elderly, of aspect somewhat neutral; you would have liked them extremely but would scarcely have noticed them.  It is to them, obscure in all that shining host, that we must nevertheless give our attention.  On which the reader is begged to have confidence; he is not asked to make vain concessions.  It was indicated touchingly in the faces of our friends that they were growing old together and were fond enough of each other’s company not to object—since it was a condition—even to that.  The reader will have guessed that they were husband and wife; and perhaps while he is about it will further have guessed that they were of that nationality for which Hyde Park at the height of the season is most completely illustrative.  They were native aliens, so to speak, and people at once so initiated and so detached could only be Americans.  This reflexion indeed you would have made only after some delay; for it must be allowed that they bristled with none of those modern signs that carry out the tradition of the old indigenous war-paint and feathers.  They had the American turn of mind, but that was very secret; and to your eye—if your eye had cared about it—they might have been either intimately British or more remotely foreign.  It was as if they studied, for convenience, to be superficially colourless; their colour was all in their talk.  They were not in the least verdant; they were grey rather, of monotonous hue.  If they were interested in the riders, the horses, the walkers, the great exhibition of English wealth and health, beauty, luxury and leisure, it was because all this referred itself to other impressions, because they had the key to almost everything that needed an answer—because, in a word, they were able to compare.  They had not arrived, they had only returned; and recognition much more than surprise was expressed in their quiet eyes.  Dexter Freer and his wife belonged in fine to that great company of Americans who are constantly “passing through” London.  Enjoyers of a fortune of which, from any standpoint, the limits were plainly visible, they were unable to treat themselves to that commonest form of ease, the ease of living at home.  They found it much more possible to economise at Dresden or Florence than at Buffalo or Minneapolis.  The saving was greater and the strain was less.  From Dresden, from Florence, moreover, they constantly made excursions that wouldn’t have been possible with an excess of territory; and it is even to be feared they practised some eccentricities of thrift.  They came to London to buy their portmanteaus, their toothbrushes, their writing-paper; they occasionally even recrossed the Atlantic westward to assure themselves that westward prices were still the same.  They were eminently a social pair; their interests were mainly personal.  Their curiosity was so invidiously human that they were supposed to be too addicted to gossip, and they certainly kept up their acquaintance with the affairs of other people.  They had friends in every country, in every town; and it was not their fault if people told them their secrets.  Dexter Freer was a tall lean man, with an interested eye and a nose that rather drooped than aspired, yet was salient withal.  He brushed his hair, which was streaked with white, forward over his ears and into those locks represented in the portraits of clean-shaven gentlemen who flourished fifty years ago and wore an old-fashioned neckcloth and gaiters.  His wife, a small plump person, rather polished than naturally fresh, with a white face and hair still evenly black, smiled perpetually, but had never laughed since the death of a son whom she had lost ten years after her marriage.  Her husband, on the other hand, who was usually quite grave, indulged on great occasions in resounding mirth.  People confided in her less than in him, but that mattered little, as she confided much in herself.  Her dress, which was always black or dark grey, was so harmoniously simple that you could see she was fond of it; it was never smart by accident or by fear.  She was full of intentions of the most judicious sort and, though perpetually moving about the world, had the air of waiting for every one else to pass.  She was celebrated for the promptitude with which she made her sitting-room at an inn, where she might be spending a night or two, appear a real temple of memory.  With books, flowers, photographs, draperies, rapidly distributed—she had even a way, for the most part, of not failing of a piano—the place seemed almost hereditary.  The pair were just back from America, where they had spent three months, and now were able to face the world with something of the elation of people who have been justified of a stiff conviction.  They had found their native land quite ruinous.

“There he is again!” said Mr. Freer, following with his eyes a young man who passed along the Row, riding slowly.  “That’s a beautiful thoroughbred!”

.....

“Polygamy would be rather good for the parents.  However, Luke told me the other night she knew you to be looking the way you speak of.”

“Yes, I mentioned to Lady Beauchemin that I love Lady Barb, and she seemed to think it natural.”

.....