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diff --git a/2366-h/2366-h.htm b/2366-h/2366-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..180dd18 --- /dev/null +++ b/2366-h/2366-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1190 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>The Beldonald Holbein</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4 { + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">The Beldonald Holbein, by Henry James</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Beldonald Holbein, by Henry James + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Beldonald Holbein + + +Author: Henry James + +Release Date: May 8, 2005 [eBook #2366] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BELDONALD HOLBEIN*** +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed from the 1922 Macmillan and Co. edition by David Price, +email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk. Proofing by Andy and his wife.</p> +<h1>THE BELDONALD HOLBEIN <br /> +by Henry James</h1> +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> +<p>Mrs. Munden had not yet been to my studio on so good a pretext as +when she first intimated that it would be quite open to me—should +I only care, as she called it, to throw the handkerchief—to paint +her beautiful sister-in-law. I needn’t go here more than +is essential into the question of Mrs. Munden, who would really, by +the way, be a story in herself. She has a manner of her own of +putting things, and some of those she has put to me—! Her +implication was that Lady Beldonald hadn’t only seen and admired +certain examples of my work, but had literally been prepossessed in +favour of the painter’s “personality.” Had I +been struck with this sketch I might easily have imagined her ladyship +was throwing me the handkerchief. “She hasn’t done,” +my visitor said, “what she ought.”</p> +<p>“Do you mean she has done what she oughtn’t?”</p> +<p>“Nothing horrid—ah dear no.” And something +in Mrs. Munden’s tone, with the 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. “She +hasn’t got on.”</p> +<p>“What’s the matter with her?”</p> +<p>“Well, to begin with, she’s American.”</p> +<p>“But I thought that was the way of ways to get on.”</p> +<p>“It’s one of them. But it’s one of the ways +of being awfully out of it too. There are so many!”</p> +<p>“So many Americans?” I asked.</p> +<p>“Yes, plenty of <i>them</i>,” Mrs. Munden sighed. +“So many ways, I mean, of being one.”</p> +<p>“But if your sister-in-law’s way is to be beautiful—?”</p> +<p>“Oh there are different ways of that too.”</p> +<p>“And she hasn’t taken the right way?”</p> +<p>“Well,” my friend returned as if it were rather difficult +to express, “she hasn’t done with it—”</p> +<p>“I see,” I laughed; “what she oughtn’t!”</p> +<p>Mrs. Munden in a manner corrected me, but it <i>was</i> difficult +to express. “My brother at all events was certainly selfish. +Till he died she was almost never in London; they wintered, year after +year, for what he supposed to be his health—which it didn’t +help, since he was so much too soon to meet his end—in the south +of France and in the dullest holes he could pick out, and when they +came back to England he always kept her in the country. I must +say for her that she always behaved beautifully. Since his death +she has been more in London, but on a stupidly unsuccessful footing. +I don’t think she quite understands. She hasn’t what +I should call a life. It may be of course that she doesn’t +want one. That’s just what I can’t exactly find out. +I can’t make out how much she knows.”</p> +<p>“I can easily make out,” I returned with hilarity, “how +much <i>you</i> do!”</p> +<p>“Well, you’re very horrid. Perhaps she’s +too old.”</p> +<p>“Too old for what?” I persisted.</p> +<p>“For anything. Of course she’s no longer even a +little young; only preserved—oh but preserved, like bottled fruit, +in syrup! I want to help her if only because she gets on my nerves, +and I really think the way of it would be just the right thing of yours +at the Academy and on the line.”</p> +<p>“But suppose,” I threw out, “she should give on +my nerves?”</p> +<p>“Oh she will. But isn’t that all in the day’s +work, and don’t great beauties always—?”</p> +<p>“<i>You</i> don’t,” I interrupted; but I at any +rate saw Lady Beldonald later on—the day came when her kinswoman +brought her, and then I saw how her life must have its centre in her +own idea of her appearance. Nothing else about her mattered—one +knew her all when one knew that. She’s indeed in one particular, +I think, sole of her kind—a person whom vanity has had the odd +effect of keeping positively safe and sound. This passion is supposed +surely, for the most part, to be a principle of perversion and of injury, +leading astray those who listen to it and landing them sooner or later +in this or that complication; but it has landed her ladyship nowhere +whatever—it has kept her from the first moment of full consciousness, +one feels, exactly in the same place. It has protected her from +every danger, has made her absolutely proper and prim. If she’s +“preserved,” as Mrs. Munden originally described her to +me, it’s her vanity that has beautifully done it—putting +her years ago in a plate-glass case and closing up the receptacle against +every breath of air. How shouldn’t she be preserved when +you might smash your knuckles on this transparency before you could +crack it? And she is—oh amazingly! Preservation is +scarce the word for the rare condition of her surface. She looks +<i>naturally</i> new, as if she took out every night her large lovely +varnished eyes and put them in water. The thing was to paint her, +I perceived, in the glass case—a most tempting attaching feat; +render to the full the shining interposing plate and the general show-window +effect.</p> +<p>It was agreed, though it wasn’t quite arranged, that she should +sit to me. If it wasn’t quite arranged this was because, +as I was made to understand from an early stage, the conditions from +our start must be such as should exclude all elements of disturbance, +such, in a word, as she herself should judge absolutely favourable. +And it seemed that these conditions were easily imperilled. Suddenly, +for instance, at a moment when I was expecting her to meet an appointment—the +first—that I had proposed, I received a hurried visit from Mrs. +Munden, who came on her behalf to let me know that the season happened +just not to be propitious and that our friend couldn’t be quite +sure, to the hour, when it would again become so. She felt nothing would +make it so but a total absence of worry.</p> +<p>“Oh a ‘total absence,’” I said, “is +a large order! We live in a worrying world.”</p> +<p>“Yes; and she feels exactly that—more than you’d +think. It’s in fact just why she mustn’t have, as +she has now, a particular distress on at the very moment. She +wants of course to look her best, and such things tell on her appearance.”</p> +<p>I shook my head. “Nothing tells on her appearance. +Nothing reaches it in any way; nothing gets <i>at</i> it. However, +I can understand her anxiety. But what’s her particular +distress?”</p> +<p>“Why the illness of Miss Dadd.”</p> +<p>“And who in the world’s Miss Dadd?”</p> +<p>“Her most intimate friend and constant companion—the +lady who was with us here that first day.”</p> +<p>“Oh the little round black woman who gurgled with admiration?”</p> +<p>“None other. But she was taken ill last week, and it +may very well be that she’ll gurgle no more. She was very +bad yesterday and is no better to-day, and Nina’s much upset. +If anything happens to Miss Dadd she’ll have to get another, and, +though she has had two or three before, that won’t be so easy.”</p> +<p>“Two or three Miss Dadds? is it possible? And still wanting +another!” I recalled the poor lady completely now. +“No; I shouldn’t indeed think it would be easy to get another. +But why is a succession of them necessary to Lady Beldonald’s +existence?”</p> +<p>“Can’t you guess?” Mrs. Munden looked deep, +yet impatient. “They help.”</p> +<p>“Help what? Help whom?”</p> +<p>“Why every one. You and me for instance. To do +what? Why to think Nina beautiful. She has them for that +purpose; they serve as foils, as accents serve on syllables, as terms +of comparison. They make her ‘stand out.’ It’s +an effect of contrast that must be familiar to you artists; it’s +what a woman does when she puts a band of black velvet under a pearl +ornament that may, require, as she thinks, a little showing off.”</p> +<p>I wondered. “Do you mean she always has them black?”</p> +<p>“Dear no; I’ve seen them blue, green, yellow. They +may be what they like, so long as they’re always one other thing.”</p> +<p>“Hideous?”</p> +<p>Mrs. Munden made a mouth for it. “Hideous is too much +to say; she doesn’t really require them as bad as that. +But consistently, cheerfully, loyally plain. It’s really +a most happy relation. She loves them for it.”</p> +<p>“And for what do they love <i>her</i>?”</p> +<p>“Why just for the amiability that they produce in her. +Then also for their ‘home.’ It’s a career for +them.”</p> +<p>“I see. But if that’s the case,” I asked, +“why are they so difficult to find?”</p> +<p>“Oh they must be safe; it’s all in that: her being able +to depend on them to keep to the terms of the bargain and never have +moments of rising—as even the ugliest woman will now and then +(say when she’s in love)—superior to themselves.”</p> +<p>I turned it over. “Then if they can’t inspire passions +the poor things mayn’t even at least feel them?”</p> +<p>“She distinctly deprecates it. That’s why such +a man as you may be after all a complication.”</p> +<p>I continued to brood. “You’re very sure Miss Dadd’s +ailment isn’t an affection that, being smothered, has struck in?” +My joke, however, wasn’t well timed, for I afterwards learned +that the unfortunate lady’s state had been, even while I spoke, +such as to forbid all hope. The worst symptoms had appeared; she +was destined not to recover; and a week later I heard from Mrs. Munden +that she would in fact “gurgle” no more.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> +<p>All this had been for Lady Beldonald an agitation so great that access +to her apartment was denied for a time even to her sister-in-law. +It was much more out of the question of course that she should unveil +her face to a person of my special business with it; so that the question +of the portrait was by common consent left to depend on that of the +installation of a successor to her late companion. Such a successor, +I gathered from Mrs. Munden, widowed childless and lonely, as well as +inapt for the minor offices, she had absolutely to have; a more or less +humble <i>alter ago</i> to deal with the servants, keep the accounts, +make the tea and watch the window-blinds. Nothing seemed more +natural than that she should marry again, and obviously that might come; +yet the predecessors of Miss Dadd had been contemporaneous with a first +husband, so that others formed in her image might be contemporaneous +with a second. I was much occupied in those months at any rate, +and these questions and their ramifications losing themselves for a +while to my view, I was only brought back to them by Mrs. Munden’s +arrival one day with the news that we were all right again—her +sister-in-law was once more “suited.” A certain Mrs. +Brash, an American relative whom she hadn’t seen for years, but +with whom she had continued to communicate, was to come out to her immediately; +and this person, it appeared, could be quite trusted to meet the conditions. +She was ugly—ugly enough, without abuse of it, and was unlimitedly +good. The position offered her by Lady Beldonald was moreover +exactly what she needed; widowed also, after many troubles and reverses, +with her fortune of the smallest, and her various children either buried +or placed about, she had never had time or means to visit England, and +would really be grateful in her declining years for the new experience +and the pleasant light work involved in her cousin’s hospitality. +They had been much together early in life and Lady Beldonald was immensely +fond of her—would in fact have tried to get hold of her before +hadn’t Mrs. Brash been always in bondage to family duties, to +the variety of her tribulations. I daresay I laughed at my friend’s +use of the term “position”—the position, one might +call it, of a candlestick or a sign-post, and I daresay I must have +asked if the special service the poor lady was to render had been made +clear to her. Mrs. Munden left me in any case with the rather +droll image of her faring forth across the sea quite consciously and +resignedly to perform it.</p> +<p>The point of the communication had however been that my sitter was +again looking up and would doubtless, on the arrival and due initiation +of Mrs. Brash, be in form really to wait on me. The situation +must further, to my knowledge, have developed happily, for I arranged +with Mrs. Munden that our friend, now all ready to begin, but wanting +first just to see the things I had most recently done, should come once +more, as a final preliminary, to my studio. A good foreign friend +of mine, a French painter, Paul Outreau, was at the moment in London, +and I had proposed, as he was much interested in types, to get together +for his amusement a small afternoon party. Every one came, my +big room was full, there was music and a modest spread; and I’ve +not forgotten the light of admiration in Outreau’s expressive +face as at the end of half an hour he came up to me in his enthusiasm. +“<i>Bonté divine, mon cher—que cette vieille est +donc belle</i>!”</p> +<p>I had tried to collect all the beauty I could, and also all the youth, +so that for a moment I was at a loss. I had talked to many people +and provided for the music, and there were figures in the crowd that +were still lost to me. “What old woman do you mean?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know her name—she was over by the door +a moment ago. I asked somebody and was told, I think, that she’s +American.”</p> +<p>I looked about and saw one of my guests attach a pair of fine eyes +to Outreau very much as if she knew he must be talking of her. +“Oh Lady Beldonald! Yes, she’s handsome; but the great +point about her is that she has been ‘put up’ to keep, and +that she wouldn’t be flattered if she knew you spoke of her as +old. A box of sardines is ‘old’ only after it has +been opened, Lady Beldonald never has yet been—but I’m going +to do it.” I joked, but I was somewhat disappointed. +It was a type that, with his unerring sense for the <i>banal</i>, I +shouldn’t have expected Outreau to pick out.</p> +<p>“You’re going to paint her? But, my dear man, she +is painted—and as neither you nor I can do it. <i>Où +est-elle donc</i>? He had lost her, and I saw I had made a mistake. +She’s the greatest of all the great Holbeins.”</p> +<p>I was relieved. “Ah then not Lady Beldonald! But +do I possess a Holbein of <i>any</i> price unawares?”</p> +<p>“There she is—there she is! Dear, dear, dear, what +a head!” And I saw whom he meant—and what: a small +old lady in a black dress and a black bonnet, both relieved with a little +white, who had evidently just changed, her place to reach a corner from +which more of the room and of the scene was presented to her. +She appeared unnoticed and unknown, and I immediately recognised that +some other guest must have brought her and, for want of opportunity, +had as yet to call my attention to her. But two things, simultaneously +with this and with each other, struck me with force; one of them the +truth of Outreau’s description of her, the other the fact that +the person bringing her could only have been Lady Beldonald. She +<i>was</i> a Holbein—of the first water; yet she was also Mrs. +Brash, the imported “foil,” the indispensable “accent,” +the successor to the dreary Miss Dadd! By the time I had put these +things together—Outreau’s “American” having +helped me—I was in just such full possession of her face as I +had found myself, on the other first occasion, of that of her patroness. +Only with so different a consequence. I couldn’t look at +her enough, and I stared and stared till I became aware she might have +fancied me challenging her as a person unpresented. “All +the same,” Outreau went on, equally held, “<i>c’est +une tête à faire</i>. If I were only staying long +enough for a crack at her! But I tell you what”—and +he seized my arm—“bring her over!”</p> +<p>“Over?”</p> +<p>“To Paris. She’d have a <i>succès fou</i>.”</p> +<p>“Ah thanks, my dear fellow,” I was now quite in a position +to say; “she’s the handsomest thing in London, and”—for +what I might do with her was already before me with intensity—“I +propose to keep her to myself.” It was before me with intensity, +in the light of Mrs. Brash’s distant perfection of a little white +old face, in which every wrinkle was the touch of a master; but something +else, I suddenly felt, was not less so, for Lady Beldonald, in the other +quarter, and though she couldn’t have made out the subject of +our notice, continued to fix us, and her eyes had the challenge of those +of the woman of consequence who has missed something. A moment +later I was close to her, apologising first for not having been more +on the spot at her arrival, but saying in the next breath uncontrollably: +“Why my dear lady, it’s a Holbein!”</p> +<p>“A Holbein? What?”</p> +<p>“Why the wonderful sharp old face so extraordinarily, consummately +drawn—in the frame of black velvet. That of Mrs. Brash, +I mean—isn’t it her name?—your companion.”</p> +<p>This was the beginning of a most odd matter—the essence of +my anecdote; and I think the very first note of the oddity must have +sounded for me in the tone in which her ladyship spoke after giving +me a silent look. It seemed to come to me out of a distance immeasurably +removed from Holbein. “Mrs. Brash isn’t my ‘companion’ +in the sense you appear to mean. She’s my rather near relation +and a very dear old friend. I love her—and you must know +her.”</p> +<p>“Know her? Rather! Why to see her is to want on +the spot to ‘go’ for her. She also must sit for me,”</p> +<p>“<i>She</i>? Louisa Brash?” If Lady Beldonald +had the theory that her beauty directly showed it when things weren’t +well with her, this impression, which the fixed sweetness of her serenity +had hitherto struck me by no means as justifying, gave me now my first +glimpse of its grounds. It was as if I had never before seen her +face invaded by anything I should have called an expression. This +expression moreover was of the faintest—was like the effect produced +on a surface by an agitation both deep within and as yet much confused. +“Have you told her so?” she then quickly asked, as if to +soften the sound of her surprise.</p> +<p>“Dear no, I’ve but just noticed her—Outreau, a +moment ago put me on her. But we’re both so taken, and he +also wants—”</p> +<p>“To <i>paint</i> her?” Lady Beldonald uncontrollably +murmured.</p> +<p>“Don’t be afraid we shall fight for her,” I returned +with a laugh for this tone. Mrs. Brash was still where I could +see her without appearing to stare, and she mightn’t have seen +I was looking at her, though her protectress, I’m afraid, could +scarce have failed of that certainty. “We must each take +our turn, and at any rate she’s a wonderful thing, so that if +you’ll let her go to Paris Outreau promises her there—”</p> +<p>“<i>There</i>?” my companion gasped.</p> +<p>“A career bigger still than among us, as he considers we haven’t +half their eye. He guarantees her <i>a succès fou</i>.”</p> +<p>She couldn’t get over it. “Louisa Brash? +In Paris?”</p> +<p>“They do see,” I went on, “more than we and they +live extraordinarily, don’t you know, in that. But she’ll +do something here too.”</p> +<p>“And what will she do?”</p> +<p>If frankly now I couldn’t help giving Mrs. Brash a longer look, +so after it I could as little resist sounding my converser. “You’ll +see. Only give her time.”</p> +<p>She said nothing during the moment in which she met my eyes; but +then: “Time, it seems to me, is exactly what you and your friend +want. If you haven’t talked with her—”</p> +<p>“We haven’t seen her? Oh we see bang off—with +a click like a steel spring. It’s our trade, it’s +our life, and we should be donkeys if we made mistakes. That’s +the way I saw you yourself, my lady, if I may say so; that’s the +way, with a long pin straight through your body, I’ve got you. +And just so I’ve got <i>her</i>!”</p> +<p>All this, for reasons, had brought my guest to her feet; but her +eyes had while we talked never once followed the direction of mine. +“You call her a Holbein?”</p> +<p>“Outreau did, and I of course immediately recognised it. +Don’t you? She brings the old boy to life! It’s +just as I should call you a Titian. You bring <i>him</i> to life.”</p> +<p>She couldn’t be said to relax, because she couldn’t be +said to have hardened; but something at any rate on this took place +in her—something indeed quite disconnected from what I would have +called her. “Don’t you understand that she has always +been supposed—?” It had the ring of impatience; nevertheless +it stopped short on a scruple.</p> +<p>I knew what it was, however, well enough to say it for her if she +preferred. “To be nothing whatever to look at? To +be unfortunately plain—or even if you like repulsively ugly? +Oh yes, I understand it perfectly, just as I understand—I have +to as a part of my trade—many other forms of stupidity. +It’s nothing new to one that ninety-nine people out of a hundred +have no eyes, no sense, no taste. There are whole communities +impenetrably sealed. I don’t say your friend’s a person +to make the men turn round in Regent Street. But it adds to the +joy of the few who do see that they have it so much to themselves. +Where in the world can she have lived? You must tell me all about +that—or rather, if she’ll be so good, <i>she</i> must.”</p> +<p>“You mean then to speak to her—?”</p> +<p>I wondered as she pulled up again. “Of her beauty?”</p> +<p>“Her beauty!” cried Lady Beldonald so loud that two or +three persons looked round.</p> +<p>“Ah with every precaution of respect!” I declared in +a much lower tone. But her back was by this time turned to me, +and in the movement, as it were, one of the strangest little dramas +I’ve ever known was well launched.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> +<p>It was a drama of small smothered intensely private things, and I +knew of but one other person in the secret; yet that person and I found +it exquisitely susceptible of notation, followed it with an interest +the mutual communication of which did much for our enjoyment, and were +present with emotion at its touching catastrophe. The small case—for +so small a case—had made a great stride even before my little +party separated, and in fact within the next ten minutes.</p> +<p>In that space of time two things had happened one of which was that +I made the acquaintance of Mrs. Brash; and the other that Mrs. Munden +reached me, cleaving the crowd, with one of her usual pieces of news. +What she had to impart was that, on her having just before asked Nina +if the conditions of our sitting had been arranged with me, Nina had +replied, with something like perversity, that she didn’t propose +to arrange them, that the whole affair was “off” again and +that she preferred not to be further beset for the present. The +question for Mrs. Munden was naturally what had happened and whether +I understood. Oh I understood perfectly, and what I at first most +understood was that even when I had brought in the name of Mrs. Brash +intelligence wasn’t yet in Mrs. Munden. She was quite as +surprised as Lady Beldonald had been on hearing of the esteem in which +I held Mrs. Brash’s appearance. She was stupefied at learning +that I had just in my ardour proposed to its proprietress to sit to +me. Only she came round promptly—which Lady Beldonald really +never did. Mrs. Munden was in fact wonderful; for when I had given +her quickly “Why she’s a Holbein, you know, absolutely,” +she took it up, after a first fine vacancy, with an immediate abysmal +“Oh <i>is</i> she?” that, as a piece of social gymnastics, +did her the greatest honour; and she was in fact the first in London +to spread the tidings. For a face—about it was magnificent. +But she was also the first, I must add, to see what would really happen—though +this she put before me only a week or two later. “It will +kill her, my dear—that’s what it will do!”</p> +<p>She meant neither more nor less than that it would kill Lady Beldonald +if I were to paint Mrs. Brash; for at this lurid light had we arrived +in so short a space of time. It was for me to decide whether my +æsthetic need of giving life to my idea was such as to justify +me in destroying it in a woman after all in most eyes so beautiful. +The situation was indeed sufficiently queer; for it remained to be seen +what I should positively gain by giving up Mrs. Brash. I appeared +to have in any case lost Lady Beldonald, now too “upset”—it +was always Mrs. Munden’s word about her and, as I inferred, her +own about herself—to meet me again on our previous footing. +The only thing, I of course soon saw, was to temporise to drop the whole +question for the present and yet so far as possible keep each of the +pair in view. I may as well say at once that this plan and this +process gave their principal interest to the next several months. +Mrs. Brash had turned up, if I remember, early in the new year, and +her little wonderful career was in our particular circle one of the +features of the following season. It was at all events for myself +the most attaching; it’s not my fault if I am so put together +as often to find more life in situations obscure and subject to interpretation +than in the gross rattle of the foreground. And there were all +sorts of things, things touching, amusing, mystifying—and above +all such an instance as I had never yet met—in this funny little +fortune of the useful American cousin. Mrs. Munden was promptly +at one with me as to the rarity and, to a near and human view, the beauty +and interest of the position. We had neither of us ever before +seen that degree and that special sort of personal success come to a +woman for the first time so late in life. I found it an example +of poetic, of absolutely retributive justice; so that my desire grew +great to work it, as we say, on those lines. I had seen it all +from the original moment at my studio; the poor lady had never known +an hour’s appreciation—which moreover, in perfect good faith, +she had never missed. The very first thing I did after inducing +so unintentionally the resentful retreat of her protectress had been +to go straight over to her and say almost without preliminaries that +I should hold myself immeasurably obliged for a few patient sittings. +What I thus came face to face with was, on the instant, her whole unenlightened +past and the full, if foreshortened, revelation of what among us all +was now unfailingly in store for her. To turn the handle and start +that tune came to me on the spot as a temptation. Here was a poor +lady who had waited for the approach of old age to find out what she +was worth. Here was a benighted being to whom it was to be disclosed +in her fifty-seventh year—I was to make that out—that she +had something that might pass for a face. She looked much more +than her age, and was fairly frightened—as if I had been trying +on her some possibly heartless London trick—when she had taken +in my appeal. That showed me in what an air she had lived and—as +I should have been tempted to put it had I spoken out—among what +children of darkness. Later on I did them more justice; saw more +that her wonderful points must have been points largely the fruit of +time, and even that possibly she might never in all her life have looked +so well as at this particular moment. It might have been that +if her hour had struck I just happened to be present at the striking. +What had occurred, all the same, was at the worst a notable comedy.</p> +<p>The famous “irony of fate” takes many forms, but I had +never yet seen it take quite this one. She had been “had +over” on an understanding, and she wasn’t playing fair. +She had broken the law of her ugliness and had turned beautiful on the +hands of her employer. More interesting even perhaps than a view +of the conscious triumph that this might prepare for her, and of which, +had I doubted of my own judgement, I could still take Outreau’s +fine start as the full guarantee—more interesting was the question +of the process by which such a history could get itself enacted. +The curious thing was that all the while the reasons of her having passed +for plain—the reasons for Lady Beldonald’s fond calculation, +which they quite justified—were written large in her face, so +large that it was easy to understand them as the only ones she herself +had ever read. What was it then that actually made the old stale +sentence mean something so different?—into what new combinations, +what extraordinary language, unknown but understood at a glance, had +time and life translated it? The only thing to be said was that +time and life were artists who beat us all, working with recipes and +secrets we could never find out. I really ought to have, like +a lecturer or a showman, a chart or a blackboard to present properly +the relation, in the wonderful old tender battered blanched face, between +the original elements and the exquisite final “style.” +I could do it with chalks, but I can scarcely do it with words. +However, the thing was, for any artist who respected himself, to <i>feel</i> +it—which I abundantly did; and then not to conceal from <i>her</i> +I felt it—which I neglected as little. But she was really, +to do her complete justice, the last to understand; and I’m not +sure that, to the end—for there was an end—she quite made +it all out or knew where she was. When you’ve been brought +up for fifty years on black it must be hard to adjust your organism +at a day’s notice to gold-colour. Her whole nature had been +pitched in the key of her supposed plainness. She had known how +to be ugly—it was the only thing she had learnt save, if possible, +how not to mind it. Being beautiful took in any case a new set +of muscles. It was on the prior conviction, literally, that she +had developed her admirable dress, instinctively felicitous, always +either black or white and a matter of rather severe squareness and studied +line. She was magnificently neat; everything she showed had a +way of looking both old and fresh; and there was on every occasion the +same picture in her draped head—draped in low-falling black—and +the fine white plaits (of a painter’s white, somehow) disposed +on her chest. What had happened was that these arrangements, determined +by certain considerations, lent themselves in effect much better to +certain others. Adopted in mere shy silence they had really only +deepened her accent. It was singular, moreover, that, so constituted, +there was nothing in her aspect of the ascetic or the nun. She +was a good hard sixteenth-century figure, not withered with innocence, +bleached rather by life in the open. She was in short just what +we had made of her, a Holbein for a great Museum; and our position, +Mrs. Munden’s and mine, rapidly became that of persons having +such a treasure to dispose of. The world—I speak of course +mainly of the art-world—flocked to see it.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> +<p>“But has she any idea herself, poor thing?” was the way +I had put it to Mrs. Munden on our next meeting after the incident at +my studio; with the effect, however, only of leaving my friend at first +to take me as alluding to Mrs. Brash’s possible prevision of the +chatter she might create. I had my own sense of that—this +provision had been nil; the question was of her consciousness of the +office for which Lady Beldonald had counted on her and for which we +were so promptly proceeding to spoil her altogether.</p> +<p>“Oh I think she arrived with a goodish notion,” Mrs. +Munden had replied when I had explained; “for she’s clever +too, you know, as well as good-looking, and I don’t see how, if +she ever really <i>knew</i> Nina, she could have supposed for a moment +that she wasn’t wanted for whatever she might have left to give +up. Hasn’t she moreover always been made to feel that she’s +ugly enough for anything?” It was even at this point already +wonderful how my friend had mastered the case and what lights, alike +for its past and its future, she was prepared to throw on it. +“If she has seen herself as ugly enough for anything she has seen +herself—and that was the only way—as ugly enough for Nina; +and she has had her own manner of showing that she understands without +making Nina commit herself to anything vulgar. Women are never +without ways for doing such things—both for communicating and +receiving knowledge—that I can’t explain to you, and that +you wouldn’t understand if I could, since you must be a woman +even to do that. I daresay they’ve expressed it all to each +other simply in the language of kisses. But doesn’t it at +any rate make something rather beautiful of the relation between them +as affected by our discovery—?”</p> +<p>I had a laugh for her plural possessive. “The point is +of course that if there was a conscious bargain, and our action on Mrs. +Brash is to deprive her of the sense of keeping her side of it, various +things may happen that won’t be good either for her or for ourselves. +She may conscientiously throw up the position.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” my companion mused—“for she is conscientious. +Or Nina, without waiting for that, may cast her forth.”</p> +<p>I faced it all. “Then we should have to keep her.”</p> +<p>“As a regular model?” Mrs. Munden was ready for anything. +“Oh that would be lovely!”</p> +<p>But I further worked it out. “The difficulty is that +she’s not a model, hang it—that she’s too good for +one, that she’s the very thing herself. When Outreau and +I have each had our go, that will be all; there’ll be nothing +left for any one else. Therefore it behoves us quite to understand +that our attitude’s a responsibility. If we can’t +do for her positively more than Nina does—”</p> +<p>“We must let her alone?” My companion continued +to muse. “I see!”</p> +<p>“Yet don’t,” I returned, “see too much. +We <i>can</i> do more.”</p> +<p>“Than Nina?” She was again on the spot. “It +wouldn’t after all be difficult. We only want the directly +opposite thing—and which is the only one the poor dear can give. +Unless indeed,” she suggested, “we simply retract—we +back out.”</p> +<p>I turned it over. “It’s too late for that. +Whether Mrs. Brash’s peace is gone I can’t say. But +Nina’s is.”</p> +<p>“Yes, and there’s no way to bring it back that won’t +sacrifice her friend. We can’t turn round and say Mrs. Brash +is ugly, can we? But fancy Nina’s not having <i>seen</i>!” +Mrs. Munden exclaimed.</p> +<p>“She doesn’t see now,” I answered. “She +can’t, I’m certain, make out what we mean. The woman, +for <i>her</i> still, is just what she always was. But she has +nevertheless had her stroke, and her blindness, while she wavers and +gropes in the dark, only adds to her discomfort. Her blow was +to see the attention of the world deviate.”</p> +<p>“All the same I don’t think, you know,” my interlocutress +said, “that Nina will have made her a scene or that, whatever +we do, she’ll ever make her one. That isn’t the way +it will happen, for she’s exactly as conscientious as Mrs. Brash.”</p> +<p>“Then what is the way?” I asked.</p> +<p>“It will just happen in silence.”</p> +<p>“And what will ‘it,’ as you call it, be?”</p> +<p>“Isn’t that what we want really to see?”</p> +<p>“Well,” I replied after a turn or two about, “whether +we want it or not it’s exactly what we <i>shall</i> see; which +is a reason the more for fancying, between the pair there—in the +quiet exquisite house, and full of superiorities and suppressions as +they both are—the extraordinary situation. If I said just +now that it’s too late to do anything but assent it’s because +I’ve taken the full measure of what happened at my studio. +It took but a few moments—but she tasted of the tree.”</p> +<p>My companion wondered. “Nina?”</p> +<p>“Mrs. Brash.” And to have to put it so ministered, +while I took yet another turn, to a sort of agitation. Our attitude +was a responsibility.</p> +<p>But I had suggested something else to my friend, who appeared for +a moment detached. “Should you say she’ll hate her +worse if she <i>doesn’t</i> see?”</p> +<p>“Lady Beldonald? Doesn’t see what we see, you mean, +than if she does? Ah I give <i>that</i> up!” I laughed. +“But what I can tell you is why I hold that, as I said just now, +we can do most. We can do this: we can give to a harmless and +sensitive creature hitherto practically disinherited—and give +with an unexpectedness that will immensely add to its price—the +pure joy of a deep draught of the very pride of life, of an acclaimed +personal triumph in our superior sophisticated world.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Munden had a glow of response for my sudden eloquence. +Oh it will be beautiful!</p> +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> +<p>Well, that’s what, on the whole and in spite of everything, +it really was. It has dropped into my memory a rich little gallery +of pictures, a regular panorama of those occasions that were to minister +to the view from which I had so for a moment extracted a lyric inspiration. +I see Mrs. Brash on each of these occasions practically enthroned and +surrounded and more or less mobbed; see the hurrying and the nudging +and the pressing and the staring; see the people “making up” +and introduced, and catch the word when they have had their turn; hear +it above all, the great one—“Ah yes, the famous Holbein!”—passed +about with that perfection of promptitude that makes the motions of +the London mind so happy a mixture of those of the parrot and the sheep. +Nothing would be easier of course than to tell the whole little tale +with an eye only for that silly side of it. Great was the silliness, +but great also as to this case of poor Mrs. Brash, I will say for it, +the good nature. Of course, furthermore, it took in particular +“our set,” with its positive child-terror of the <i>banal</i>, +to be either so foolish or so wise; though indeed I’ve never quite +known where our set begins and ends, and have had to content myself +on this score with the indication once given me by a lady next whom +I was placed at dinner: “Oh it’s bounded on the north by +Ibsen and on the south by Sargent!” Mrs. Brash never sat +to me; she absolutely declined; and when she declared that it was quite +enough for her that I had with that fine precipitation invited her, +I quite took this as she meant it; before we had gone very far our understanding, +hers and mine, was complete. Her attitude was as happy as her +success was prodigious. The sacrifice of the portrait was a sacrifice +to the true inwardness of Lady Beldonald, and did much, for the time, +I divined, toward muffling their domestic tension. All it was +thus in her power to say—and I heard of a few cases of her having +said it—was that she was sure I would have painted her beautifully +if she hadn’t prevented me. She couldn’t even tell +the truth, which was that I certainly would have done so if Lady Beldonald +hadn’t; and she never could mention the subject at all before +that personage. I can only describe the affair, naturally, from +the outside, and heaven forbid indeed that I should try too closely +to, reconstruct the possible strange intercourse of these good friends +at home.</p> +<p>My anecdote, however, would lose half the point it may have to show +were I to omit all mention of the consummate turn her ladyship appeared +gradually to have found herself able to give her deportment. She +had made it impossible I should myself bring up our old, our original +question, but there was real distinction in her manner of now accepting +certain other possibilities. Let me do her that justice; her effort +at magnanimity must have been immense. There couldn’t fail +of course to be ways in which poor Mrs. Brash paid for it. How +much she had to pay we were in fact soon enough to see; and it’s +my intimate conviction that, as a climax, her life at last was the price. +But while she lived at least—and it was with an intensity, for +those wondrous weeks, of which she had never dreamed—Lady Beldonald +herself faced the music. This is what I mean by the possibilities, +by the sharp actualities indeed, that she accepted. She took our +friend out, she showed her at home, never attempted to hide or to betray +her, played her no trick whatever so long as the ordeal lasted. +She drank deep, on her side too, of the cup—the cup that for her +own lips could only be bitterness. There was, I think, scarce +a special success of her companion’s at which she wasn’t +personally present. Mrs. Munden’s theory of the silence +in which all this would be muffled for them was none the less, and in +abundance, confirmed by our observations. The whole thing was +to be the death of one or the other of them, but they never spoke of +it at tea. I remember even that Nina went so far as to say to +me once, looking me full in the eyes, quite sublimely, “I’ve +made out what you mean—she <i>is</i> a picture.” The +beauty of this moreover was that, as I’m persuaded, she hadn’t +really made it out at all—the words were the mere hypocrisy of +her reflective endeavour for virtue. She couldn’t possibly +have made it out; her friend was as much as ever “dreadfully plain” +to her; she must have wondered to the last what on earth possessed us. +Wouldn’t it in fact have been after all just this failure of vision, +this supreme stupidity in short, that kept the catastrophe so long at +bay? There was a certain sense of greatness for her in seeing +so many of us so absurdly mistaken; and I recall that on various occasions, +and in particular when she uttered the words just quoted, this high +serenity, as a sign of the relief of her soreness, if not of the effort +of her conscience, did something quite visible to my eyes, and also +quite unprecedented, for the beauty of her face. She got a real +lift from it—such a momentary discernible sublimity that I recollect +coming out on the spot with a queer crude amused “Do you know +I believe I could paint you <i>now</i>?”</p> +<p>She was a fool not to have closed with me then and there; for what +has happened since has altered everything—what was to happen a +little later was so much more than I could swallow. This was the +disappearance of the famous Holbein from one day to the other—producing +a consternation among us all as great as if the Venus of Milo had suddenly +vanished from the Louvre. “She has simply shipped her straight +back”—the explanation was given in that form by Mrs. Munden, +who added that any cord pulled tight enough would end at last by snapping. +At the snap, in any case, we mightily jumped, for the masterpiece we +had for three or four months been living with had made us feel its presence +as a luminous lesson and a daily need. We recognised more than +ever that it had been, for high finish, the gem of our collection—we +found what a blank it left on the wall. Lady Beldonald might fill +up the blank, but we couldn’t. That she did soon fill it +up—and, heaven help us, <i>how</i> was put before me after an +interval of no great length, but during which I hadn’t seen her. +I dined on the Christmas of last year at Mrs. Munden’s, and Nina, +with a “scratch lot,” as our hostess said, was there, so +that, the preliminary wait being longish, she could approach me very +sweetly. “I’ll come to you tomorrow if you like,” +she said; and the effect of it, after a first stare at her, was to make +me look all round. I took in, by these two motions, two things; +one of which was that, though now again so satisfied herself of her +high state, she could give me nothing comparable to what I should have +got had she taken me up at the moment of my meeting her on her distinguished +concession; the other that she was “suited” afresh and that +Mrs. Brash’s successor was fully installed. Mrs. Brash’s +successor, was at the other side of the room, and I became conscious +that Mrs. Munden was waiting to see my eyes seek her. I guessed +the meaning of the wait; what was one, this time, to say? Oh first +and foremost assuredly that it was immensely droll, for this time at +least there was no mistake. The lady I looked upon, and as to +whom my friend, again quite at sea, appealed to me for a formula, was +as little a Holbein, or a specimen of any other school, as she was, +like Lady Beldonald herself, a Titian. The formula was easy to +give, for the amusement was that her prettiness—yes, literally, +prodigiously, her prettiness—was distinct. Lady Beldonald +had been magnificent—had been almost intelligent. Miss What’s-her-name +continues pretty, continues even young, and doesn’t matter a straw! +She matters so ideally little that Lady Beldonald is practically safer, +I judge, than she has ever been. There hasn’t been a symptom +of chatter about this person, and I believe her protectress is much +surprised that we’re not more struck.</p> +<p>It was at any rate strictly impossible to me to make an appointment +for the day as to which I have just recorded Nina’s proposal; +and the turn of events since then has not quickened my eagerness. +Mrs. Munden remained in correspondence with Mrs. Brash—to the +extent, that is, of three letters, each of which she showed me. +They so told to our imagination her terrible little story that we were +quite prepared—or thought we were—for her going out like +a snuffed candle. She resisted, on her return to her original +conditions, less than a year; the taste of the tree, as I had called +it, had been fatal to her; what she had contentedly enough lived without +before for half a century she couldn’t now live without for a +day. I know nothing of her original conditions—some minor +American city—save that for her to have gone back to them was +clearly to have stepped out of her frame. We performed, Mrs. Munden +and I, a small funeral service for her by talking it all over and making +it all out. It wasn’t—the minor American city—a +market for Holbeins, and what had occurred was that the poor old picture, +banished from its museum and refreshed by the rise of no new movement +to hang it, was capable of the miracle of a silent revolution; of itself +turning, in its dire dishonour, its face to the wall. So it stood, +without the intervention of the ghost of a critic, till they happened +to pull it round again and find it mere dead paint. Well, it had +had, if that’s anything, its season of fame, its name on a thousand +tongues and printed in capitals in the catalogue. We hadn’t +been at fault. I haven’t, all the same, the least note of +her—not a scratch. And I did her so in intention! +Mrs. Munden continues to remind me, however, that this is not the sort +of rendering with which, on the other side, after all, Lady Beldonald +proposes to content herself. She has come back to the question +of her own portrait. Let me settle it then at last. Since +she <i>will</i> have the real thing—well, hang it, she shall!</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BELDONALD HOLBEIN***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 2366-h.htm or 2366-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/3/6/2366 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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