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The Floating Press - Henry James

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20 pages

English

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This intriguing tale from American literary master Henry James delves into the age-old issue of whether beauty is a universal value or a matter of subjective perception. A well-born society woman makes sure that she always has a homely female companion by her side so that her own beauty will seem more striking in comparison. However, her plan is derailed when her latest companion is hailed as a beauty by everyone in her social circle.

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Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 mai 2016
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781776671014
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0100€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

THE BELDONALD HOLBEIN
* * *
HENRY JAMES

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The Beldonald Holbein First published in 1901 Epub ISBN 978-1-77667-101-4 Also available: PDF ISBN 978-1-77667-102-1 © 2013 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
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Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V
Chapter I
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Mrs. Munden had not yet been to my studio on so good a pretext as whenshe first intimated that it would be quite open to me—should I onlycare, as she called it, to throw the handkerchief—to paint her beautifulsister-in-law. I needn't go here more than is essential into thequestion of Mrs. Munden, who would really, by the way, be a story inherself. She has a manner of her own of putting things, and some ofthose she has put to me—! Her implication was that Lady Beldonaldhadn't only seen and admired certain examples of my work, but hadliterally been prepossessed in favour of the painter's "personality." HadI been struck with this sketch I might easily have imagined her ladyshipwas throwing me the handkerchief. "She hasn't done," my visitor said,"what she ought."
"Do you mean she has done what she oughtn't?"
"Nothing horrid—ah dear no." And something in Mrs. Munden's tone, withthe way she appeared to muse a moment, even suggested to me that what she"oughtn't" was perhaps what Lady Beldonald had too much neglected. "Shehasn't got on."
"What's the matter with her?"
"Well, to begin with, she's American."
"But I thought that was the way of ways to get on."
"It's one of them. But it's one of the ways of being awfully out of ittoo. There are so many!"
"So many Americans?" I asked.
"Yes, plenty of them ," Mrs. Munden sighed. "So many ways, I mean, ofbeing one."
"But if your sister-in-law's way is to be beautiful—?"
"Oh there are different ways of that too."
"And she hasn't taken the right way?"
"Well," my friend returned as if it were rather difficult to express,"she hasn't done with it—"
"I see," I laughed; "what she oughtn't!"
Mrs. Munden in a manner corrected me, but it was difficult to express."My brother at all events was certainly selfish. Till he died she wasalmost never in London; they wintered, year after year, for what hesupposed to be his health—which it didn't help, since he was so much toosoon to meet his end—in the south of France and in the dullest holes hecould pick out, and when they came back to England he always kept her inthe country. I must say for her that she always behaved beautifully.Since his death she has been more in London, but on a stupidlyunsuccessful footing. I don't think she quite understands. She hasn'twhat I should call a life. It may be of course that she doesn't wantone. That's just what I can't exactly find out. I can't make out howmuch she knows."
"I can easily make out," I returned with hilarity, "how much you do!"
"Well, you're very horrid. Perhaps she's too old."
"Too old for what?" I persisted.
"For anything. Of course she's no longer even a little young; onlypreserved—oh but preserved, like bottled fruit, in syrup! I want tohelp her if only because she gets on my nerves, and I really think theway of it would be just the right thing of yours at the Academy and onthe line."
"But suppose," I threw out, "she should give on my nerves?"
"Oh she will. But isn't that all in the day's work, and don't greatbeauties always—?