eBook - ePub
The Portrait of a Lady
Henry James
This is a test
Share book
- 595 pages
- English
- ePUB (mobile friendly)
- Available on iOS & Android
eBook - ePub
The Portrait of a Lady
Henry James
Book details
Book preview
Table of contents
Citations
About This Book
Isabel Archer, from New York, is invited by her rich family to visit their estate, near London. There she meets a robust man, Lord Warburton, who proposes. She declines his proposal, as well as Caspar Goodwood's. She feels that a marriage like either of these would infringe upon her freedom. She finally decides to marry an American expatriate, Gilbert Osmond. This is when life gets especially complicated for Isabel.
Frequently asked questions
How do I cancel my subscription?
Can/how do I download books?
At the moment all of our mobile-responsive ePub books are available to download via the app. Most of our PDFs are also available to download and we're working on making the final remaining ones downloadable now. Learn more here.
What is the difference between the pricing plans?
Both plans give you full access to the library and all of Perlegoās features. The only differences are the price and subscription period: With the annual plan youāll save around 30% compared to 12 months on the monthly plan.
What is Perlego?
We are an online textbook subscription service, where you can get access to an entire online library for less than the price of a single book per month. With over 1 million books across 1000+ topics, weāve got you covered! Learn more here.
Do you support text-to-speech?
Look out for the read-aloud symbol on your next book to see if you can listen to it. The read-aloud tool reads text aloud for you, highlighting the text as it is being read. You can pause it, speed it up and slow it down. Learn more here.
Is The Portrait of a Lady an online PDF/ePUB?
Yes, you can access The Portrait of a Lady by Henry James in PDF and/or ePUB format, as well as other popular books in Literatur & Altertumswissenschaften. We have over one million books available in our catalogue for you to explore.
Information
Topic
LiteraturSubtopic
AltertumswissenschaftenChapter I
Under certain circumstances there are few hours in life more agreeable than the hour dedicated to the ceremony known as afternoon tea. There are circumstances in which, whether you partake of the tea or notāsome people of course never do,āthe situation is in itself delightful. Those that I have in mind in beginning to unfold this simple history offered an admirable setting to an innocent pastime. The implements of the little feast had been disposed upon the lawn of an old English country-house, in what I should call the perfect middle of a splendid summer afternoon. Part of the afternoon had waned, but much of it was left, and what was left was of the finest and rarest quality. Real dusk would not arrive for many hours; but the flood of summer light had begun to ebb, the air had grown mellow, the shadows were long upon the smooth, dense turf. They lengthened slowly, however, and the scene expressed that sense of leisure still to come which is perhaps the chief source of oneās enjoyment of such a scene at such an hour. From five oāclock to eight is on certain occasions a little eternity; but on such an occasion as this the interval could be only an eternity of pleasure. The persons concerned in it were taking their pleasure quietly, and they were not of the sex which is supposed to furnish the regular votaries of the ceremony I have mentioned. The shadows on the perfect lawn were straight and angular; they were the shadows of an old man sitting in a deep wicker-chair near the low table on which the tea had been served, and of two younger men strolling to and fro, in desultory talk, in front of him. The old man had his cup in his hand; it was an unusually large cup, of a different pattern from the rest of the set and painted in brilliant colours. He disposed of its contents with much circumspection, holding it for a long time close to his chin, with his face turned to the house. His companions had either finished their tea or were indifferent to their privilege; they smoked cigarettes as they continued to stroll. One of them, from time to time, as he passed, looked with a certain attention at the elder man, who, unconscious of observation, rested his eyes upon the rich red front of his dwelling. The house that rose beyond the lawn was a structure to repay such consideration and was the most characteristic object in the peculiarly English picture I have attempted to sketch.
It stood upon a low hill, above the riverāthe river being the Thames at some forty miles from London. A long gabled front of red brick, with the complexion of which time and the weather had played all sorts of pictorial tricks, only, however, to improve and refine it, presented to the lawn its patches of ivy, its clustered chimneys, its windows smothered in creepers. The house had a name and a history; the old gentleman taking his tea would have been delighted to tell you these things: how it had been built under Edward the Sixth, had offered a nightās hospitality to the great Elizabeth (whose august person had extended itself upon a huge, magnificent and terribly angular bed which still formed the principal honour of the sleeping apartments), had been a good deal bruised and defaced in Cromwellās wars, and then, under the Restoration, repaired and much enlarged; and how, finally, after having been remodelled and disfigured in the eighteenth century, it had passed into the careful keeping of a shrewd American banker, who had bought it originally because (owing to circumstances too complicated to set forth) it was offered at a great bargain: bought it with much grumbling at its ugliness, its antiquity, its incommodity, and who now, at the end of twenty years, had become conscious of a real aesthetic passion for it, so that he knew all its points and would tell you just where to stand to see them in combination and just the hour when the shadows of its various protuberances which fell so softly upon the warm, weary brickworkāwere of the right measure. Besides this, as I have said, he could have counted off most of the successive owners and occupants, several of whom were known to general fame; doing so, however, with an undemonstrative conviction that the latest phase of its destiny was not the least honourable. The front of the house overlooking that portion of the lawn with which we are concerned was not the entrance-front; this was in quite another quarter. Privacy here reigned supreme, and the wide carpet of turf that covered the level hill-top seemed but the extension of a luxurious interior. The great still oaks and beeches flung down a shade as dense as that of velvet curtains; and the place was furnished, like a room, with cushioned seats, with rich-coloured rugs, with the books and papers that lay upon the grass. The river was at some distance; where the ground began to slope the lawn, properly speaking, ceased. But it was none the less a charming walk down to the water.
The old gentleman at the tea-table, who had come from America thirty years before, had brought with him, at the top of his baggage, his American physiognomy; and he had not only brought it with him, but he had kept it in the best order, so that, if necessary, he might have taken it back to his own country with perfect confidence. At present, obviously, nevertheless, he was not likely to displace himself; his journeys were over and he was taking the rest that precedes the great rest. He had a narrow, clean-shaven face, with features evenly distributed and an expression of placid acuteness. It was evidently a face in which the range of representation was not large, so that the air of contented shrewdness was all the more of a merit. It seemed to tell that he had been successful in life, yet it seemed to tell also that his success had not been exclusive and invidious, but had had much of the inoffensiveness of failure. He had certainly had a great experience of men, but there was an almost rustic simplicity in the faint smile that played upon his lean, spacious cheek and lighted up his humorous eye as he at last slowly and carefully deposited his big tea-cup upon the table. He was neatly dressed, in well-brushed black; but a shawl was folded upon his knees, and his feet were encased in thick, embroidered slippers. A beautiful collie dog lay upon the grass near his chair, watching the masterās face almost as tenderly as the master took in the still more magisterial physiognomy of the house; and a little bristling, bustling terrier bestowed a desultory attendance upon the other gentlemen.
One of these was a remarkably well-made man of five-and-thirty, with a face as English as that of the old gentleman I have just sketched was something else; a noticeably handsome face, fresh- coloured, fair and frank, with firm, straight features, a lively grey eye and the rich adornment of a chestnut beard. This person had a certain fortunate, brilliant exceptional lookāthe air of a happy temperament fertilised by a high civilisationāwhich would have made almost any observer envy him at a venture. He was booted and spurred, as if he had dismounted from a long ride; he wore a white hat, which looked too large for him; he held his two hands behind him, and in one of themāa large, white, well-shaped fistāwas crumpled a pair of soiled dog-skin gloves.
His companion, measuring the length of the lawn beside him, was a person of quite a different pattern, who, although he might have excited grave curiosity, would not, like the other, have provoked you to wish yourself, almost blindly, in his place. Tall, lean, loosely and feebly put together, he had an ugly, sickly, witty, charming face, furnished, but by no means decorated, with a straggling moustache and whisker. He looked clever and illāa combination by no means felicitous; and he wore a brown velvet jacket. He carried his hands in his pockets, and there was something in the way he did it that showed the habit was inveterate. His gait had a shambling, wandering quality; he was not very firm on his legs. As I have said, whenever he passed the old man in the chair he rested his eyes upon him; and at this moment, with their faces brought into relation, you would easily have seen they were father and son. The father caught his sonās eye at last and gave him a mild, responsive smile.
āIām getting on very well,ā he said.
āHave you drunk your tea?ā asked the son.
āYes, and enjoyed it.ā
āShall I give you some more?ā
The old man considered, placidly. āWell, I guess Iāll wait and see.ā He had, in speaking, the American tone.
āAre you cold?ā the son enquired.
The father slowly rubbed his legs. āWell, I donāt know. I canāt tell till I feel.ā
āPerhaps some one might feel for you,ā said the younger man, laughing.
āOh, I hope some one will always feel for me! Donāt you feel for me, Lord Warburton?ā
āOh yes, immensely,ā said the gentleman addressed as Lord Warburton, promptly. āIām bound to say you look wonderfully comfortable.ā
āWell, I suppose I am, in most respects.ā And the old man looked down at his green shawl and smoothed it over his knees. āThe fact is Iāve been comfortable so many years that I suppose Iāve got so used to it I donāt know it.ā
āYes, thatās the bore of comfort,ā said Lord Warburton. āWe only know when weāre uncomfortable.ā
āIt strikes me weāre rather particular,ā his companion remarked.
āOh yes, thereās no doubt weāre particular,ā Lord Warburton murmured. And then the three men remained silent a while; the two younger ones standing looking down at the other, who presently asked for more tea. āI should think you would be very unhappy with that shawl,ā Lord Warburton resumed while his companion filled the old manās cup again.
āOh no, he must have the shawl!ā cried the gentleman in the velvet coat. āDonāt put such ideas as that into his head.ā
āIt belongs to my wife,ā said the old man simply.
āOh, if itās for sentimental reasonsāā And Lord Warburton made a gesture of apology.
āI suppose I must give it to her when she comes,ā the old man went on.
āYouāll please to do nothing of the kind. Youāll keep it to cover your poor old legs.ā
āWell, you mustnāt abuse my legs,ā said the old man. āI guess they are as good as yours.ā
āOh, youāre perfectly free to abuse mine,ā his son replied, giving him his tea.
āWell, weāre two lame ducks; I donāt think thereās much difference.ā
āIām much obliged to you for calling me a duck. Howās your tea?ā
āWell, itās rather hot.ā
āThatās intended to be a merit.ā
āAh, thereās a great deal of merit,ā murmured the old man, kindly. āHeās a very good nurse, Lord Warburton.ā
āIsnāt he a bit clumsy?ā asked his lordship.
āOh no, heās not clumsyāconsidering that heās an invalid himself. Heās a very good nurseāfor a sick-nurse. I call him my sick-nurse because heās sick himself.ā
āOh, come, daddy!ā the ugly young man exclaimed.
āWell, you are; I wish you werenāt. But I suppose you canāt help it.ā
āI might try: thatās an idea,ā said the young man.
āWere you ever sick, Lord Warburton?ā his father asked.
Lord Warburton considered a moment. āYes, sir, once, in the Persian Gulf.ā
āHeās making light of you, daddy,ā said the other young man. āThatās a sort of joke.ā
āWell, there seem to be so many sorts now,ā daddy replied, serenely. āYou donāt look as if you had been sick, any way, Lord Warburton.ā
āHeās sick of life; he was just telling me so; going on fearfully about it,ā said Lord Warburtonās friend.
āIs that true, sir?ā asked the old man gravely.
āIf it is, your son gave me no consolation. Heās a wretched fellow to talk toāa regular cynic. He doesnāt seem to believe in anything.ā
āThatās another sort of joke,ā said the person accused of cynicism.
āItās because his health is so poor,ā his father explained to Lord Warburton. āIt affects his mind and colours his way of looking at things; he seems to feel as if he had never had a chance. But itās almost entirely theoretical, you know; it doesnāt seem to affect his spirits. Iāve hardly ever seen him when he wasnāt cheerfulāabout as he is at present. He often cheers me up.ā
The young man so described looked at Lord Warburton and laughed. āIs it a glowing eulogy or an accusation of levity? Should you like me to carry out my theories, daddy?ā
āBy Jove, we should see some queer things!ā cried Lord Warburton.
āI hope you havenāt taken up that sort of tone,ā said the old man.
āWarburtonās tone is worse than mine; he pretends to be bored. Iām not in the least bored; I find life only too interesting.ā
āAh, too interesting; you shouldnāt allow it to be that, you know!ā
āIām never bored when I come here,ā said Lord Warburton. āOne gets such uncommonly good talk.ā
āIs that another sort of joke?ā asked the old man. āYouāve no excuse for being bored anywhere. When I was your age I had never heard of such a thing.ā
āYou must have developed very late.ā
āNo, I developed very quick; that was just the reason. When I was twenty years old I was very highly developed indeed. I was working tooth and nail. You wouldnāt be bored if you had something to do; but all you young men are too idle. You think too much of your pleasure. Youāre too fastidious, and too indolent, and too rich.ā
āOh, I say,ā cried Lord Warburton, āyouāre hardly the person to accuse a fellow-creature of being too rich!ā
āDo you mean because Iām a banker?ā asked the old man.
āBecause of that, if you like; and because you haveāhavenāt you?āsuch unlimited means.ā
āHe isnāt very rich,ā the other young man mercifully pleaded. āHe has given away an immense deal of money.ā
āWell, I suppose it was his own,ā said Lord Warburton; āand in that case could there be a better proof of wealth? Let not a public benefactor talk of oneās being too fond of pleasure.ā
āDaddyās very fond of pleasureāof other peopleās.ā
The old man shook his head. āI donāt pretend to have contributed anything to the amusement of my contemporaries.ā
āMy dear father, youāre too modest!ā
āThatās a kind of joke, sir,ā said Lord Warburton.
āYou young men have too many jokes. When there are no jokes youāve nothing left.ā
āFortunately there are always more jokes,ā the ugly young man remarked.
āI donāt believe itāI believe things are getting more serious. You young men will find that out.ā
āThe increasing seriousness of things, then thatās the great opportunity of jokes.ā
āTheyāll have to be grim jokes,ā said the old man. āIām convinced there will be great changes, and no...