: Henry James
: The Awkward Age
: Seltzer Books
: 9781455353019
: 1
: CHF 0.10
:
: Erzählende Literatur
: English
: 880
: DRM
: PC/MAC/eReader/Tablet
: ePUB
Classic Henry James novel. According to Wikipedia: 'Henry James,(1843 - 1916), son of theologian Henry James Sr., brother of the philosopher and psychologist William James and diarist Alice James, was an American-born British author. He is one of the key figures of 19th century literary realism; the fine art of his writing has led many academics to consider him the greatest master of the novel and novella form. He spent much of his life in England and became a British subject shortly before his death. He is primarily known for a series of major novels in which he portrayed the encounter of America with Europe. His plots centered on personal relationships, the proper exercise of power in such relationships, and other moral questions. His method of writing from the point of view of a character within a tale allowed him to explore the phenomena of consciousness and perception, and his style in later works has been compared to impressionist painting.'

VI


 

"Go to her straight--be nice to her: you must have plenty to say. YOU stay with me--we have our affair." The latter of these commands the Duchess addressed to Mr. Mitchett, while their companion, in obedience to the former and affected, as it seemed, by an unrepressed familiar accent that stirred a fresh flicker of Mitchy's grin, met the new arrival in the middle of the room before Mrs. Brookenham had had time to reach her. The Duchess, quickly reseated, watched an instant the inexpressive concussion of the tall brother and sister; then while Mitchy again subsided into his place,"You're not, as a race, clever, you're not delicate, you're not sane, but you're capable of extraordinary good looks," she resumed."Vous avez parfois la grande beaute."

 

Mitchy was much amused."Do you really think Petherton has?"

 

The Duchess withstood it."They've got, both outside and in, the same great general things, only turned, in each, rather different ways, a way safer for him as a man, and more triumphant for her as--whatever you choose to call her! What CAN a woman do," she richly mused,"with such beauty as that--?"

 

"Except come desperately to advise with Mrs. Brook"--Mitchy undertook to complete her question--"as to the highest use to make of it? But see," he immediately added,"how perfectly competent to instruct her our friend now looks." Their hostess had advanced to Lady Fanny with an outstretched hand but with an eagerness of greeting merged a little in the sweet predominance of wonder as well as in the habit, at such moments most perceptible, of the languid lily-bend. Nothing in general could have been less conventionally poor than the kind of reception given in Mrs. Brookenham's drawing-room to the particular element--the element of physical splendour void of those disparities that make the question of others tiresome--comprised in Lady Fanny's presence. It was a place in which, at all times, before interesting objects, the unanimous occupants, almost more concerned for each other's vibrations than for anything else, were apt rather more to exchange sharp and silent searchings than to fix their eyes on the object itself. In the case of Lady Fanny, however, the object itself--and quite by the same law that had worked, t