This was another
friend of hers also an artist, she declared with a smile which
was almost amiable.
friend of hers also an artist, she declared with a smile which
was almost amiable.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v14 - Ibn to Juv
Theobald's beauty seemed as jealously exalted above
the line of common vision as the Belle aux Cheveux d'Or in her
(
## p. 8092 (#292) ###########################################
8092
HENRY JAMES
tower-top. He passed without knocking into the dark vestibule
of a small apartment, and flinging open an inner door, ushered
,
me into a small saloon. The room seemed mean and sombre,
though I caught a glimpse of white curtains swaying gently at
an open window. At a table, near a lamp, sat a woman dressed
in black, working at a piece of embroidery. As Theobald
entered, she looked up calmly, with a smile; but seeing me,
she made a movement of surprise, and rose with a kind of
stately grace. Theobald stepped forward, took her hand and
kissed it, with an indescribable air of immemorial usage. As
he bent his head, she looked at me askance, and I thought she
blushed.
“Behold the Serafina! ” said Theobald frankly, waving me
forward. « This is a friend, and a lover of the arts,” he added,
introducing me. I received a smile, a courtesy, and a request to
be seated.
The most beautiful woman in Italy was a person of a gener-
ous Italian type, and of a great simplicity of demeanor. Seated
again at her lamp, with her embroidery, she seemed to have
nothing whatever to say. Theobald, bending towards her in a
sort of Platonic ecstasy, asked her a dozen paternally tender ques-
tions as to her health, her state of mind, her occupations, and
the progress of her embroidery, which he examined minutely and
summoned me to admire. It was some portion of an ecclesiasti-
cal vestment,- yellow satin wrought with an elaborate design of
silver and gold. She made answer in a full, rich voice, but with
a brevity which I hesitated whether to attribute to native reserve
or to the profane constraint of my presence. She had been that
morning to confession; she had also been to market, and had
bought a chicken for dinner. She felt very happy; she had
nothing to complain of, except that the people for whom she was
making her vestment, and who furnished her materials, should
be willing to put such rotten silver thread into the garment, as
one might say, of the Lord. From time to time, as she took
her slow stitches, she raised her eyes and covered me with a
glance which seemed at first to denote a placid curiosity; but in
which, as I saw it repeated, I thought I perceived the dim glim-
mer of an attempt to establish an understanding with me at the
expense of our companion. Meanwhile, as mindful as possible
of Theobald's injunction of reverence, I considered the lady's
personal claims to the fine compliment he had paid her.
## p. 8093 (#293) ###########################################
HENRY JAMES
8093
That she was indeed a beautiful woman I perceived, after
recovering from the surprise of finding her without the freshness
of youth. Her beauty was of a sort which in losing youth loses
little of its essential charm, expressed for the most part as it
was in form and structure, and as Theobald would have said,
in "composition. ” She was broad and ample, low-browed and
large-eyed, dark and pale. Her thick brown hair hung low beside
her cheek and ear, and seemed to drape her head with a covering
as chaste and formal as the veil of a nun. The poise and car-
riage of her head was admirably free and noble, and the more
effective that their freedom was at monients discreetly corrected
by a little sanctimonious droop, which harmonized admirably with
the level gaze of her dark and quiet eye. A strong, serene phys-
ical nature, and the placid temper which comes of no nerves and
no troubles, seemed this lady's comfortable portion.
She was
dressed in plain dull black, save for a sort of dark-blue kerchief
which was folded across her bosom and exposed a glimpse of
her massive throat. Over this kerchief was suspended a little
silver cross. I admired her greatly, and yet with a large reserve.
A certain mild intellectual apathy belonged properly to her type
of beauty, and had always seemed to round and enrich it; but
this bourgeoise Egeria, if I viewed her right, betrayed a rather
vulgar stagnation of mind. There might have been once a dim
spiritual light in her face; but it had long since begun to wane.
And furthermore, in plain prose, she was growing stout. My dis-
appointment amounted very nearly to complete disenchantment
when Theobald, as if to facilitate my covert inspection, declaring
that the lamp was very dim and that she would ruin her eyes
without more light, rose and fetched a couple of candles from
the mantelpiece, which he placed lighted on the table. In this
brighter illumination I perceived that our hostess was decidedly
an elderly woman. She neither haggard nor
gray: she was simply coarse. The soul” which Theobald had
promised seemed scarcely worth making such a point of; it was
no deeper mystery than a sort of matronly mildness of lip and
brow. I would have been ready even to declare that that sanc-
tified bend of the head was nothing more than the trick of a
person constantly working at embroidery. It occurred to me even
that it was a trick of a less innocent sort; for in spite of the
mellow quietude of her wits, this stately needlewoman dropped
a hint that she took the situation rather less au sérieux than her
was
worn
nor
## p. 8094 (#294) ###########################################
8094
HENRY JAMES
friend. When he rose to light the candles, she looked across at
me with a quick, intelligent smile, and tapped her forehead with
her forefinger; then, as from a sudden feeling of compassionate
loyalty to poor Theobald I preserved a blank face, she gave a
little shrug and resumed her work.
What was the relation of this singular couple? Was he the
most ardent of friends, or the most reverent of lovers ? Did she
regard him as an eccentric youth whose benevolent admiration of
her beauty she was not ill pleased to humor, at this small cost
of having him climb into her little parlor and gossip of summer
nights? With her decent and sombre dress, her simple gravity,
and that fine piece of priestly needlework, she looked like some
pious lay member of a sisterhood, living by special permission out-
side her convent walls. Or was she maintained here aloft by her
friend in comfortable leisure, so that he might have before him
the perfect eternal type, uncorrupted and untarnished by the strug-
gle for existence? Her shapely hands, I observed, were very fair
and white; they lacked the traces of what is called "honest toil. ”
"And the pictures, how do they come on ? " she asked of Theo-
bald after a long pause.
"Finely, finely! I have here a friend whose sympathy and
encouragement give me new faith and ardor. ”
Our hostess turned to me; gazed at me a moment rather
inscrutably; and then, tapping her forehead with the gesture she
had used a minute before, “He has a magnificent genius! ” she
said with perfect gravity.
“I am inclined to think so, ” I answered with a smile.
“Eh, why do you smile ? ” she cried. "If you doubt it, you
must see the bambino ! ” And she took the lamp and conducted
me to the other side of the room, where on the wall, in a plain
black frame, hung a large drawing in red chalk. Beneath it was
festooned a little bowl for holy water. The drawing represented
a very young child, entirely naked, half nestling back against his
mother's gown, but with his two little arms outstretched, as if
in the act of benediction. It was executed with singular free-
dom and power, and yet seemed vivid with the sacred bloom of
infancy. A sort of dimpled elegance and grace, mingled with its
boldness, recalled the touch of Correggio. “That's what he can
do! ” said my hostess. "It's the blessed little boy whom I lost.
It's his very image, and the Signor Teobaldo gave it me as a
gift. He has given me many things beside ! »
((
a
## p. 8095 (#295) ###########################################
HENRY JAMES
8095
I looked at the picture for some time, and admired it vastly.
Turning back to Theobald, I assured him that if it were hung
among the drawings in the Uffizi and labeled with a glorious
name, it would hold its own. My praise seemed to give him
extreme pleasure; he pressed my hands, and his eyes filled with
tears. It moved him apparently with the desire to expatiate on
the history of the drawing; for he rose and made his adieux to
our companion, kissing her hand with the same mild ardor as
before. It occurred to me that the offer of a similar piece of
gallantry on my own part might help me to know what manner
of woman she was, When she perceived my intention, she with-
drew her hand, dropped her eyes solemnly, and made me a severe
courtesy. Theobald took my arm and led me rapidly into the
street.
“And what do you think of the divine Serafina ? ” he cried
with fervor.
“It's certainly good solid beauty! ” I answered.
He eyed me an instant askance, and then seemed hurried
along by the current of remembrance. « You should have seen
the mother and the child together, seen them as I first saw them,
-the mother with her head draped in a shawl, a divine trouble
in her face, and the bambino pressed to her bosom. You would
have said, I think, that Raphael had found his match in common
chance. I was coming in, one summer night, from a long walk
in the country, when I met this apparition at the city gate. The
woman held out her hand. I hardly knew whether to say, What
do you want? ) or to fall down and worship. She asked for a
little money. I saw that she was beautiful and pale. She might
have stepped out of the stable of Bethlehem! I gave her money
and helped her on her way into the town. I had guessed her
story. She too was a maiden mother, and she had been turned
out into the world in her shame. I felt in all my pulses that
here was my subject marvelously realized. I felt like one of the
old convent artists who had had a vision. I rescued the poor
creatures, cherished them, watched them as I would have done
some precious work of art, some lovely fragment of fresco dis-
covered in a moldering cloister. In a month as if to deepen
and consecrate the pathos of it all — the poor little child died.
When she felt that he was going, she held him up to me for ten
minutes, and I made that sketch. You saw a feverish haste in
it, I suppose: I wanted to spare the poor little mortal the pain
## p. 8096 (#296) ###########################################
8096
HENRY JAMES
of his position. After that, I doubly valued the mother. She is
the simplest, sweetest, most natural creature that ever bloomed
in this brave old land of Italy. She lives in the memory of her
child, in her gratitude for the scanty kindness I have been able
to show her, and in her simple religion! She's not even con-
scious of her beauty; my admiration has never made her vain.
Heaven knows I've made no secret of it. You must have
observed the singular transparency of her expression, the lovely
modesty of her glance. And was there ever such a truly vir-
ginal brow, such a natural classic elegance in the wave of the
hair and the arch of the forehead ? I've studied her; I may say
I know her. I've absorbed her little by little; my mind is
stamped and imbued, and I have determined now to clinch the
impression: I shall at last invite her to sit for me! ”
« (At last '—'at last'? ” I repeated in much amazement. Do
you mean that she has never done so yet ? ”
"I've not really had -a- a sitting,” said Theobald, speaking
very slowly. "I've taken notes, you know; I've got my grand
fundamental impression. That's the great thing! But I've not
actually had her as a model, posed and draped and lighted, before
my easel. ”
(
»
«Are you
What had become for the moment of my perception and my
tact, I am at a loss to say; in their absence I was unable to
repress headlong exclamation. I was destined to regret it. We
had stopped at a turning, beneath a lamp. "My poor friend,” I
exclaimed, laying my hand on his shoulder, "you've dawdled!
She's an old, old woman for a Madonna! ”
It was as if I had brutally struck him; I shall never forget
the long, slow, almost ghastly look of pain with which he
,
answered me. “Dawdled — old, old! ” he stammered.
joking ? ”
“Why, my dear fellow, I suppose you don't take the woman
for twenty ? ”
He drew a long breath and leaned against a house, looking at
me with questioning, protesting, reproachful eyes; at last, starting
forward and grasping my arm - "Answer me solemnly: does she
seem to you truly old ? Is she wrinkled, is she faded, am I
blind ? »
Then at last I understood the immensity of his illusion;
how one by one the noiseless years had ebbed away, and left
him brooding in charmed inaction, forever preparing for a work
## p. 8097 (#297) ###########################################
HENRY JAMES
8097
>
(
>
« Old
forever deferred. It seemed to me almost a kindness now to
tell him the plain truth. “I should be sorry to say you're blind,”
I answered, but I think you're deceived. You've lost time in
effortless contemplation. Your friend was once young and fresh
and virginal; but I protest that was some years ago. Still, she
has de beaux restes ! By all means make her sit for you! " I
broke down: his face was too horribly reproachful.
He took off his hat and stood passing his handkerchief me-
chanically over his forehead. “De beaux restes ? I thank you for
sparing me the plain English. I must make up my Madonna out
of de beaux restes! What a masterpiece she'll be! Old-old !
Old — old! ” he murmured.
“Never mind her age,” I cried, revolted at what I had done,
never mind my impression of her! You have your memory,
your notes, your genius. Finish your picture in a month. I pro-
claim it beforehand a masterpiece, and I hereby offer you for it
any sum you may choose to ask. ”
He stared, but he seemed scarcely to understand me.
- old! ” he kept stupidly repeating. "If she is old, what am I?
.
If her beauty has faded, where - where is my strength ? Has life
been a dream ? Have I worshiped too long, - have I loved too
well ? » The charm, in truth, was broken. That the chord of
illusion should have snapped at my light, accidental touch showed
how it had been weakened by excessive tension. The poor fellow's
sense of wasted time, of vanished opportunity, seemed to roll in
upon his soul in waves of darkness. He suddenly dropped his
head and burst into tears.
I led him homeward with all possible tenderness; but I at-
tempted neither to check his grief, to restore his equanimity, nor
to unsay the hard truth. When we reached my hotel I tried to
induce him to come in. « We'll drink a glass of wine," I said,
smiling, “to the completion of the Madonna. "
With a violent effort he held up his head, mused for a
moment with a formidably sombre frown, and then giving me
his hand, I'll finish it,” he cried, in a month! No, in a fort-
night! After all, I have it here ! ” and he tapped his forehead.
“Of course she's old! She can afford to have it said of her
a woman who has made twenty years pass like a twelvemonth!
Old-old! Why, sir, she shall be eternal! »
I wished to see him safely to his own door; but he waved me
back and walked away with an air of resolution, whistling and
XIV-507
## p. 8098 (#298) ###########################################
8098
HENRY JAMES
swinging his cane. I waited a moment, and then followed him
at a distance, and saw him proceed to cross the Santa Trinità
Bridge. When he reached the middle he suddenly paused, as if
his strength had deserted him, and leaned upon the parapet gaz-
ing over into the river. I was careful to keep him in sight; I
confess that I passed ten very nervous minutes. He recovered
himself at last, and went his way, slowly and with hanging head.
That I should have really startled poor Theobald into a bolder
use of his long-garnered stores of knowledge and taste, into the
vulgar effort and hazard of production, seemed at first reason
enough for his continued silence and absence; but as day fol-
lowed day without his either calling or sending me a line, and
without my meeting him in his customary haunts,-in the gal-
leries, in the chapel at San Lorenzo, or strolling between the
Arno-side and the great hedge screen of verdure which, along
the drive of the Cascine, throws the fair occupants of barouche
and phaeton into such becoming relief,- as for more than a week
I got neither tidings nor sight of him, I began to fear that I had
fatally offended him; and that instead of giving wholesome im-
petus to his talent, I had brutally paralyzed it. I had a wretched
I
suspicion that I had made him ill. My stay at Florence was
drawing to a close; and it was important that before resuming
my journey I should assure myself of the truth. Theobald to
the last had kept his lodging a mystery, and I was altogether at
a loss where to look for him. The simplest course was to make
inquiry of the beauty of the Mercato Vecchio; and I confess that
unsatisfied curiosity as to the lady herself counseled it as well.
Perhaps I had done her injustice, and she was as immortally
fresh and fair as he conceived her. I was at any rate anxious
to behold once more the ripe enchantress who had made twenty
years pass as a twelvemonth. I repaired accordingly one morn-
ing to her abode, climbed the interminable staircase, and reached
her door. It stood ajar; and as I hesitated whether to enter, a
little serving-maid came clattering out with an empty kettle, as
if she had just performed some savory errand. The inner door
too was open; so I crossed the little vestibule and entered the
room in which I had formerly been received. It had not its
evening aspect. The table, or one end of it, was spread for a
late breakfast; and before it sat a gentleman -- an individual
at least of the male sex - dealing justice upon a beefsteak and
onions and a bottle of wine. At his elbow, in friendly proximity,
## p. 8099 (#299) ###########################################
HENRY JAMES
8099
was placed the lady of the house. Her attitude as I entered was
not that of an enchantress. With one hand she held in her lap
a plate of smoking macaroni; with the other she had lifted high
in air one of the pendulous filaments of this succulent compound,
and was in the act of slipping it gently down her throat. On the
uncovered end of the table, facing her companion, were ranged
half a dozen small statuettes, of some snuff-colored substance re-
sembling terra-cotta. He, brandishing his knife with ardor, was
apparently descanting on their merits.
Evidently I darkened the door. My hostess dropped her mac-
aroni — into her mouth, and rose hastily with a harsh exclama-
tion and a flushed face. I immediately perceived that the Signora
Serafina's secret was even better worth knowing than I had sup-
posed, and that the way to learn it was to take it for granted.
I summoned my best Italian, I smiled and bowed and apologized
for my intrusion; and in a moment, whether or no I had dispelled
the lady's irritation, I had at least stimulated her prudence. I
was welcome, she said; I must take a seat.
This was another
friend of hers also an artist, she declared with a smile which
was almost amiable. Her companion wiped his mustache and
bowed with great civility. I saw at a glance that he was equal
to the situation. He was presumably the author of the statuettes
on the table, and he knew a money-spending forestiere when he
He was a small, wiry man, with a clever, impudent,
tossed-up nose, a sharp little black eye, and waxed ends to his
mustache. On the side of his head he wore jauntily a little crim-
son velvet smoking-cap, and I observed that his feet were incased
in brilliant slippers. On Serafina’s remarking with dignity that
I was the friend of Mr. Theobald, he broke out into that fantastic
French of which Italians are so insistently lavish, and declared
with fervor that Mr. Theobald was a magnificent genius.
"I'm sure I don't know," I answered with a shrug. "If you're
in a position to affirm it, you have the advantage of me. I've
seen nothing from his hand but the bambino yonder, which cer-
tainly is fine. ”
He declared that the bambino was a masterpiece, a pure Cor-
reggio. It was only a pity, he added with a knowing laugh, that
the sketch had not been made on some good bit of honeycombed
old panel.
The stately Serafina hereupon protested that Mr.
Theobald was the soul of honor, and that he would never lend
himself to a deceit. “I'm not a judge of genius,” she said, “and
saw one.
## p. 8100 (#300) ###########################################
8100
HENRY JAMES
»
I know nothing of pictures. I'm but a poor simple widow; but
I know that the Signor Teobaldo has the heart of an angel and
the virtue of a saint. —He's my benefactor,” she added senten-
tiously. The after-glow of the somewhat sinister flush with which
she had greeted me still lingered in her cheek, and perhaps did
not favor her beauty: I could not but fancy it a wise custom of
Theobald's to visit her only by candlelight. She was coarse, and
her poor adorer was a poet.
"I have the greatest esteem for him,” I said: “it is for this
reason that I have been uneasy at not seeing him for ten days.
Have you seen him ? Is he perhaps ill ? ”
“111! Heaven forbid ! ” cried Serafina, with genuine vehe-
mence.
Her companion uttered a rapid expletive, and reproached her
with not having been to see him. She hesitated a moment; then
she simpered the least bit and bridled. “He comes to see me
without reproach! But it would not be the same for me to go
to him, though indeed you may almost call him a man of holy
life. ”
« He has the greatest admiration for you,” I said, « He would
have been honored by your visit. ”
She looked at me a moment sharply. “More admiration than
you. Admit that! Of course I protested with all the eloquence
at my command; and my mysterious hostess then confessed that
she had taken no fancy to me on my former visit, and that,
Theobald not having returned, she believed I had poisoned his
mind against her. “It would be no kindness to the poor gentle-
man, I can tell you that,” she said. “He has come to see me
every evening for years. It's a long friendship! No one knows
him as well as I. ”
"I don't pretend to know him, or to understand him," I said.
He's a mystery! Nevertheless, he seems to me a little — » And
I touched my forehead and waved my hand in the air.
Serafina glanced at her companion a moment, as if for inspi-
ration. He contented himself with shrugging his shoulders, as
he filled his glass again. The padrona hereupon gave me a more
softly insinuating smile than would have seemed likely to bloom
on so candid a brow. “It's for that that I love him! ” she said.
The world has so little kindness for such persons. It laughs at
them, and despises them, and cheats them. He is too good for
this wicked life! It's his fancy that he finds a little Paradise up
(
6
## p. 8101 (#301) ###########################################
HENRY JAMES
8101
here in my poor apartment. If he thinks so, how can I help it ?
He has a strange belief — really, I ought to be ashamed to tell
you — that I resemble the Blessed Virgin: Heaven forgive me!
I let him think what he pleases, so long as it makes him happy.
He was very kind to me once, and I am not one that forgets
So I receive him every evening civilly, and ask after
his health, and let him look at me on this side and that! For
that matter, I may say it without vanity, I was worth looking at
once! And he's not always amusing, poor man! He sits some-
times for an hour without speaking a word, or else he talks
away, without stopping, on art and nature, and beauty and duty,
and fifty fine things that are all so much Latin to me.
I beg
you to understand that he has never said a word to me that I
mightn't decently listen to. He may be a little cracked, but he's
one of the saints. ”
"Eh! ” cried the man, “the saints were all a little cracked! ”
Serafina, I fancied, left part of her story untold; but she
told enough of it to make poor Theobald's own statement seem
intensely pathetic in its exalted simplicity. “It's a strange for-
tune, certainly,” she went on, “to have such a friend as this
a friend who's less than a lover and more than a
friend. " I glanced at her companion, who preserved an impene-
trable smile, twisted the end of his mustache, and disposed of a
copious mouthful. Was he less than a lover? “But what will
you have ? ” Serafina pursued. "In this hard world one mustn't
ask too many questions; one must take what comes and keep
what one gets. I've kept my good friend for twenty years, and
I do hope that at this time of day, signore, you've not come to
turn him against me! ”
I assured her that I had no such design, and that I should
vastly regret disturbing Mr. Theobald's habits or convictions.
On the contrary, I was alarmed about him, and I should imme-
diately go in search of him. She gave me his address, and a
florid account of her sufferings at his non-appearance. She had
not been to him, for various reasons; chiefly because she was
afraid of displeasing him, as he had always made such a mystery
of his home.
“You might have sent this gentleman ! ” I ventured to suggest.
"Ah,” cried the gentleman, “he admires the Signora Serafina,
but he wouldn't admire me. ” And then, confidentially, with his
finger on his nose, “He's a purist! »
dear man,
»
## p. 8102 (#302) ###########################################
8102
HENRY JAMES
I was about to withdraw, on the promise that I would in-
form the Signora Serafina of my friend's condition, when her
companion, who had risen from table and girded his loins appar-
ently for the onset, grasped me gently by the arm, and led me
before the row of statuettes. “I perceive by your conversation,
signore, that you are a patron of the arts. Allow me to request
your honorable attention for these modest products of my own
ingenuity. They are brand-new, fresh from my atelier, and have
never been exhibited in public. I have brought them here to
receive the verdict of this dear lady, who is a good critic, for all
she may pretend to the contrary. I am the inventor of this
peculiar style of statuette,- of subject, manner, material, every-
thing. Touch them, I pray you; handle them: you needn't fear.
Delicate as they look, it is impossible they should break! My
various creations have met with great success. They are espe-
cially admired by Americans. I have sent them all over Europe,
— to London, Paris, Vienna! You may have observed some little
specimens in Paris, on the Boulevard, in a shop of which they
constitute the specialty. There is always a crowd about the win-
dow. They form a very pleasing ornament for the mantel-shelf
of a gay young bachelor, for the boudoir of a pretty woman.
You couldn't make a prettier present to a person with whom you
wished to exchange a harmless joke. It is not classic art, signore,
of course; but between ourselves, isn't classic art sometimes
rather a bore ? Caricature, burlesque - la charge, as the French
say — has hitherto been confined to paper, to the pen and pencil.
Now, it has been my inspiration to introduce it into statuary.
For this purpose I have invented a peculiar plastic compound
which you will permit me not to divulge. That's my secret,
signore! It's as light, you perceive, as cork, and yet as firm as
alabaster! I frankly confess that I really pride myself as much
on this little stroke of chemical ingenuity as upon the other ele-
ment of novelty in my creations,— my types.
What do you say
to my types, signore ? The idea is bold: does it strike you as
happy? Cats and monkeys, monkeys and cats,- all human life
is there! Human life, of course I mean, viewed with the eye of
the satirist! To combine sculpture and satire, signore, has been
my unprecedented ambition. I flatter myself that I have not
egregiously failed. ”
As this jaunty Juvenal of the chimney-piece delivered him-
self of his persuasive allocution, he took up his little groups
## p. 8103 (#303) ###########################################
HENRY JAMES
8103
successively from the table, held them aloft, turned them about,
rapped them with his knuckles, and gazed at them lovingly with
his head on one side, They consisted each of a cat and a mon-
key, fantastically draped, in some preposterously sentimental con-
junction. They exhibited a certain sameness of motive, and
illustrated ,chiefly the different phases of what, in delicate terms,
may be called gallantry and coquetry; but they were strikingly
clever and expressive, and were at once very perfect cats and
monkeys and very natural men and women. I confess, however,
that they failed to amuse me. I was doubtless not in a mood to
enjoy them, for they seemed to me peculiarly cynical and vulgar.
Their imitative felicity was revolting. As I looked askance at
the complacent little artist, brandishing them between finger and
thumb, and caressing them with an amorous eye, he seemed to
me himself little more than an exceptionally intelligent ape. I
mustered an admiring grin, however, and he blew another blast.
“My figures are studied from life! I have a little menagerie
of monkeys whose frolics I contemplate by the hour. As for
the cats, one has only to look out of one's back window! Since
I have begun to examine these expressive little brutes, I have
made many profound observations. Speaking, signore, to a man
of imagination, I may say that my little designs are not without
a philosophy of their own. Truly, I don't know whether the cats
and monkeys imitate us, or whether it's we who imitate them. ”
I congratulated him on his philosophy, and he resumed. « You
will do me the honor to admit that I have handled my subjects
with delicacy. Eh, it was needed, signore! I have been free,
but not too free - eh ? Just a hint, you know! You may see as
much or as little as you please. These little groups, however,
are no measure of my invention. If you will favor me with a
call at my studio, I think that you will admit that my combina-
tions are really infinite. I likewise execute figures to command.
You have perhaps some little motive, – the fruit of your philoso-
phy of life, signore,— which you would like to have interpreted.
I can promise to work it up to your satisfaction; it shall be as
malicious as you please! Allow me to present you with my
card, and to remind you that my prices are moderate. Only
sixty francs for a little group like that. My statuettes are
durable as bronze,- ære perennius, signore, - and between our-
selves, I think they are more amusing! ”
As I pocketed his card I glanced at Madonna Serafina, won-
dering whether she had an eye for contrasts. She had picked
as
## p. 8104 (#304) ###########################################
8104
HENRY JAMES
up one of the little couples and was tenderly dusting it with a
feather broom.
What I had just seen and heard had so deepened my compas-
sionate interest in my deluded friend, that I took a summary
leave, and made my way directly to the house designated by this
remarkable woman. It was in an obscure corner of the opposite
side of the town, and presented a sombre and squalid appear-
ance. An old woman in the doorway, on my inquiring for Theo-
bald, ushered me in with a mumbled blessing and an expression
of relief at the poor gentleman having a friend. His lodging
seemed to consist of a single room at the top of the house. On
getting no answer to my knock, I opened the door, supposing
that he was absent; so that it gave me a certain shock to find
him sitting there helpless and dumb. He was seated near the
single window, facing an easel which supported a large canvas.
On my entering, he looked up at me blankly, without changing
his position, which was that of absolute lassitude and dejection,
his arms loosely folded, his legs stretched before him, his head
hanging on his breast. Advancing into the room, I perceived
that his face vividly corresponded with his attitude. He was
pale, haggard, and unshaven, and his dull and sunken eye gazed
at me without a spark of recognition. I had been afraid that
I
he would greet me with fierce reproaches, as the cruelly offi-
cious patron who had turned his peace to bitterness; and I was
relieved to find that my appearance awakened no visible resent-
ment. “Don't you know me? ” I asked as I put out my hand.
"Have you already forgotten me? ”
He made no response, kept his position stupidly, and left me
staring about the room. It spoke most plaintively for itself.
Shabby, sordid, naked, it contained, beyond the wretched bed, but
the scantiest provision for personal comfort. It was bedroom at
once and studio,- a grim ghost of a studio. A few dusty casts
and prints on the walls, three or four old canvases turned face
inward, and a rusty-looking color-box, formed, with the easel at
the window, the sum of its appurtenances. The place savored
horribly of poverty. Its only wealth was the picture on the easel,
presumably the famous Madonna. Averted as this was from the
door, I was unable to see its face; but at last, sickened by the
vacant misery of the spot, I passed behind Theobald, eagerly and
tenderly. I can hardly say that I was surprised at what I found:
a canvas that was a mere dead blank, cracked and discolored
by time.
This was his immortal work! Though not surprised,
## p. 8105 (#305) ###########################################
HENRY JAMES
8105
(
I confess I was powerfully moved, and I think that for five min-
utes I could not have trusted myself to speak. At last my silent
nearness affected him; he stirred and turned, and then rose and
looked at me with a slowly kindling eye. I murmured some
kind, ineffective nothings about his being ill and needing advice
and care; but he seemed absorbed in the effort to recall distinctly
what had last passed between us. “You were right,” he said
with a pitiful smile, «I'm a dawdler! I'm a failure! I shall do
nothing more in this world. You opened my eyes; and though
the truth is bitter, I bear you no grudge. Amen! I've been
sitting here for a week, face to face with the truth, with the past,
with my weakness and poverty and nullity. I shall never touch
a brush! I believe I've neither eaten nor slept. Look at that
canvas! he went on, as I relieved my emotion in the urgent
request that he would come home with me and dine.
« That was
to have contained my masterpiece! Isn't it a promising founda-
tion ? The elements of it are all here. " And he tapped his fore-
head with that mystic confidence which had marked the gesture
before. “If I could only transpose them into some brain that
had the hand, the will! Since I've been sitting here taking stock
of my intellects, I've come to believe that I have the material
for a hundred masterpieces. But my hand is paralyzed now, and
they'll never be painted. I never began! I waited and waited
!
to be worthier to begin, and wasted my life in preparation.
While I fancied my creation was growing, it was dying. I've
taken it all too hard! Michael Angelo didn't when he went at
the Lorenzo! He did his best at a venture, and his venture is
immortal. That's mine! » And he pointed, with a gesture I
shall never forget, at the empty canvas. "I suppose we're a
genus by ourselves in the providential scheme, - we talents that
can't act, that can't do nor dare! We take it out in talk, in
plans and promises, in study, in visions! But our visions, let me
tell you,” he cried with a toss of his head, “have a way of being
brilliant, and a man hasn't lived in vain who has seen the things
I have! Of course you'll not believe in them when that bit
of worm-eaten cloth is all I have to show for them; but to con-
vince you, to enchant and astound the world, I need only the
hand of Raphael. I have his brain. A pity, you'll say, I haven't
his modesty!
the line of common vision as the Belle aux Cheveux d'Or in her
(
## p. 8092 (#292) ###########################################
8092
HENRY JAMES
tower-top. He passed without knocking into the dark vestibule
of a small apartment, and flinging open an inner door, ushered
,
me into a small saloon. The room seemed mean and sombre,
though I caught a glimpse of white curtains swaying gently at
an open window. At a table, near a lamp, sat a woman dressed
in black, working at a piece of embroidery. As Theobald
entered, she looked up calmly, with a smile; but seeing me,
she made a movement of surprise, and rose with a kind of
stately grace. Theobald stepped forward, took her hand and
kissed it, with an indescribable air of immemorial usage. As
he bent his head, she looked at me askance, and I thought she
blushed.
“Behold the Serafina! ” said Theobald frankly, waving me
forward. « This is a friend, and a lover of the arts,” he added,
introducing me. I received a smile, a courtesy, and a request to
be seated.
The most beautiful woman in Italy was a person of a gener-
ous Italian type, and of a great simplicity of demeanor. Seated
again at her lamp, with her embroidery, she seemed to have
nothing whatever to say. Theobald, bending towards her in a
sort of Platonic ecstasy, asked her a dozen paternally tender ques-
tions as to her health, her state of mind, her occupations, and
the progress of her embroidery, which he examined minutely and
summoned me to admire. It was some portion of an ecclesiasti-
cal vestment,- yellow satin wrought with an elaborate design of
silver and gold. She made answer in a full, rich voice, but with
a brevity which I hesitated whether to attribute to native reserve
or to the profane constraint of my presence. She had been that
morning to confession; she had also been to market, and had
bought a chicken for dinner. She felt very happy; she had
nothing to complain of, except that the people for whom she was
making her vestment, and who furnished her materials, should
be willing to put such rotten silver thread into the garment, as
one might say, of the Lord. From time to time, as she took
her slow stitches, she raised her eyes and covered me with a
glance which seemed at first to denote a placid curiosity; but in
which, as I saw it repeated, I thought I perceived the dim glim-
mer of an attempt to establish an understanding with me at the
expense of our companion. Meanwhile, as mindful as possible
of Theobald's injunction of reverence, I considered the lady's
personal claims to the fine compliment he had paid her.
## p. 8093 (#293) ###########################################
HENRY JAMES
8093
That she was indeed a beautiful woman I perceived, after
recovering from the surprise of finding her without the freshness
of youth. Her beauty was of a sort which in losing youth loses
little of its essential charm, expressed for the most part as it
was in form and structure, and as Theobald would have said,
in "composition. ” She was broad and ample, low-browed and
large-eyed, dark and pale. Her thick brown hair hung low beside
her cheek and ear, and seemed to drape her head with a covering
as chaste and formal as the veil of a nun. The poise and car-
riage of her head was admirably free and noble, and the more
effective that their freedom was at monients discreetly corrected
by a little sanctimonious droop, which harmonized admirably with
the level gaze of her dark and quiet eye. A strong, serene phys-
ical nature, and the placid temper which comes of no nerves and
no troubles, seemed this lady's comfortable portion.
She was
dressed in plain dull black, save for a sort of dark-blue kerchief
which was folded across her bosom and exposed a glimpse of
her massive throat. Over this kerchief was suspended a little
silver cross. I admired her greatly, and yet with a large reserve.
A certain mild intellectual apathy belonged properly to her type
of beauty, and had always seemed to round and enrich it; but
this bourgeoise Egeria, if I viewed her right, betrayed a rather
vulgar stagnation of mind. There might have been once a dim
spiritual light in her face; but it had long since begun to wane.
And furthermore, in plain prose, she was growing stout. My dis-
appointment amounted very nearly to complete disenchantment
when Theobald, as if to facilitate my covert inspection, declaring
that the lamp was very dim and that she would ruin her eyes
without more light, rose and fetched a couple of candles from
the mantelpiece, which he placed lighted on the table. In this
brighter illumination I perceived that our hostess was decidedly
an elderly woman. She neither haggard nor
gray: she was simply coarse. The soul” which Theobald had
promised seemed scarcely worth making such a point of; it was
no deeper mystery than a sort of matronly mildness of lip and
brow. I would have been ready even to declare that that sanc-
tified bend of the head was nothing more than the trick of a
person constantly working at embroidery. It occurred to me even
that it was a trick of a less innocent sort; for in spite of the
mellow quietude of her wits, this stately needlewoman dropped
a hint that she took the situation rather less au sérieux than her
was
worn
nor
## p. 8094 (#294) ###########################################
8094
HENRY JAMES
friend. When he rose to light the candles, she looked across at
me with a quick, intelligent smile, and tapped her forehead with
her forefinger; then, as from a sudden feeling of compassionate
loyalty to poor Theobald I preserved a blank face, she gave a
little shrug and resumed her work.
What was the relation of this singular couple? Was he the
most ardent of friends, or the most reverent of lovers ? Did she
regard him as an eccentric youth whose benevolent admiration of
her beauty she was not ill pleased to humor, at this small cost
of having him climb into her little parlor and gossip of summer
nights? With her decent and sombre dress, her simple gravity,
and that fine piece of priestly needlework, she looked like some
pious lay member of a sisterhood, living by special permission out-
side her convent walls. Or was she maintained here aloft by her
friend in comfortable leisure, so that he might have before him
the perfect eternal type, uncorrupted and untarnished by the strug-
gle for existence? Her shapely hands, I observed, were very fair
and white; they lacked the traces of what is called "honest toil. ”
"And the pictures, how do they come on ? " she asked of Theo-
bald after a long pause.
"Finely, finely! I have here a friend whose sympathy and
encouragement give me new faith and ardor. ”
Our hostess turned to me; gazed at me a moment rather
inscrutably; and then, tapping her forehead with the gesture she
had used a minute before, “He has a magnificent genius! ” she
said with perfect gravity.
“I am inclined to think so, ” I answered with a smile.
“Eh, why do you smile ? ” she cried. "If you doubt it, you
must see the bambino ! ” And she took the lamp and conducted
me to the other side of the room, where on the wall, in a plain
black frame, hung a large drawing in red chalk. Beneath it was
festooned a little bowl for holy water. The drawing represented
a very young child, entirely naked, half nestling back against his
mother's gown, but with his two little arms outstretched, as if
in the act of benediction. It was executed with singular free-
dom and power, and yet seemed vivid with the sacred bloom of
infancy. A sort of dimpled elegance and grace, mingled with its
boldness, recalled the touch of Correggio. “That's what he can
do! ” said my hostess. "It's the blessed little boy whom I lost.
It's his very image, and the Signor Teobaldo gave it me as a
gift. He has given me many things beside ! »
((
a
## p. 8095 (#295) ###########################################
HENRY JAMES
8095
I looked at the picture for some time, and admired it vastly.
Turning back to Theobald, I assured him that if it were hung
among the drawings in the Uffizi and labeled with a glorious
name, it would hold its own. My praise seemed to give him
extreme pleasure; he pressed my hands, and his eyes filled with
tears. It moved him apparently with the desire to expatiate on
the history of the drawing; for he rose and made his adieux to
our companion, kissing her hand with the same mild ardor as
before. It occurred to me that the offer of a similar piece of
gallantry on my own part might help me to know what manner
of woman she was, When she perceived my intention, she with-
drew her hand, dropped her eyes solemnly, and made me a severe
courtesy. Theobald took my arm and led me rapidly into the
street.
“And what do you think of the divine Serafina ? ” he cried
with fervor.
“It's certainly good solid beauty! ” I answered.
He eyed me an instant askance, and then seemed hurried
along by the current of remembrance. « You should have seen
the mother and the child together, seen them as I first saw them,
-the mother with her head draped in a shawl, a divine trouble
in her face, and the bambino pressed to her bosom. You would
have said, I think, that Raphael had found his match in common
chance. I was coming in, one summer night, from a long walk
in the country, when I met this apparition at the city gate. The
woman held out her hand. I hardly knew whether to say, What
do you want? ) or to fall down and worship. She asked for a
little money. I saw that she was beautiful and pale. She might
have stepped out of the stable of Bethlehem! I gave her money
and helped her on her way into the town. I had guessed her
story. She too was a maiden mother, and she had been turned
out into the world in her shame. I felt in all my pulses that
here was my subject marvelously realized. I felt like one of the
old convent artists who had had a vision. I rescued the poor
creatures, cherished them, watched them as I would have done
some precious work of art, some lovely fragment of fresco dis-
covered in a moldering cloister. In a month as if to deepen
and consecrate the pathos of it all — the poor little child died.
When she felt that he was going, she held him up to me for ten
minutes, and I made that sketch. You saw a feverish haste in
it, I suppose: I wanted to spare the poor little mortal the pain
## p. 8096 (#296) ###########################################
8096
HENRY JAMES
of his position. After that, I doubly valued the mother. She is
the simplest, sweetest, most natural creature that ever bloomed
in this brave old land of Italy. She lives in the memory of her
child, in her gratitude for the scanty kindness I have been able
to show her, and in her simple religion! She's not even con-
scious of her beauty; my admiration has never made her vain.
Heaven knows I've made no secret of it. You must have
observed the singular transparency of her expression, the lovely
modesty of her glance. And was there ever such a truly vir-
ginal brow, such a natural classic elegance in the wave of the
hair and the arch of the forehead ? I've studied her; I may say
I know her. I've absorbed her little by little; my mind is
stamped and imbued, and I have determined now to clinch the
impression: I shall at last invite her to sit for me! ”
« (At last '—'at last'? ” I repeated in much amazement. Do
you mean that she has never done so yet ? ”
"I've not really had -a- a sitting,” said Theobald, speaking
very slowly. "I've taken notes, you know; I've got my grand
fundamental impression. That's the great thing! But I've not
actually had her as a model, posed and draped and lighted, before
my easel. ”
(
»
«Are you
What had become for the moment of my perception and my
tact, I am at a loss to say; in their absence I was unable to
repress headlong exclamation. I was destined to regret it. We
had stopped at a turning, beneath a lamp. "My poor friend,” I
exclaimed, laying my hand on his shoulder, "you've dawdled!
She's an old, old woman for a Madonna! ”
It was as if I had brutally struck him; I shall never forget
the long, slow, almost ghastly look of pain with which he
,
answered me. “Dawdled — old, old! ” he stammered.
joking ? ”
“Why, my dear fellow, I suppose you don't take the woman
for twenty ? ”
He drew a long breath and leaned against a house, looking at
me with questioning, protesting, reproachful eyes; at last, starting
forward and grasping my arm - "Answer me solemnly: does she
seem to you truly old ? Is she wrinkled, is she faded, am I
blind ? »
Then at last I understood the immensity of his illusion;
how one by one the noiseless years had ebbed away, and left
him brooding in charmed inaction, forever preparing for a work
## p. 8097 (#297) ###########################################
HENRY JAMES
8097
>
(
>
« Old
forever deferred. It seemed to me almost a kindness now to
tell him the plain truth. “I should be sorry to say you're blind,”
I answered, but I think you're deceived. You've lost time in
effortless contemplation. Your friend was once young and fresh
and virginal; but I protest that was some years ago. Still, she
has de beaux restes ! By all means make her sit for you! " I
broke down: his face was too horribly reproachful.
He took off his hat and stood passing his handkerchief me-
chanically over his forehead. “De beaux restes ? I thank you for
sparing me the plain English. I must make up my Madonna out
of de beaux restes! What a masterpiece she'll be! Old-old !
Old — old! ” he murmured.
“Never mind her age,” I cried, revolted at what I had done,
never mind my impression of her! You have your memory,
your notes, your genius. Finish your picture in a month. I pro-
claim it beforehand a masterpiece, and I hereby offer you for it
any sum you may choose to ask. ”
He stared, but he seemed scarcely to understand me.
- old! ” he kept stupidly repeating. "If she is old, what am I?
.
If her beauty has faded, where - where is my strength ? Has life
been a dream ? Have I worshiped too long, - have I loved too
well ? » The charm, in truth, was broken. That the chord of
illusion should have snapped at my light, accidental touch showed
how it had been weakened by excessive tension. The poor fellow's
sense of wasted time, of vanished opportunity, seemed to roll in
upon his soul in waves of darkness. He suddenly dropped his
head and burst into tears.
I led him homeward with all possible tenderness; but I at-
tempted neither to check his grief, to restore his equanimity, nor
to unsay the hard truth. When we reached my hotel I tried to
induce him to come in. « We'll drink a glass of wine," I said,
smiling, “to the completion of the Madonna. "
With a violent effort he held up his head, mused for a
moment with a formidably sombre frown, and then giving me
his hand, I'll finish it,” he cried, in a month! No, in a fort-
night! After all, I have it here ! ” and he tapped his forehead.
“Of course she's old! She can afford to have it said of her
a woman who has made twenty years pass like a twelvemonth!
Old-old! Why, sir, she shall be eternal! »
I wished to see him safely to his own door; but he waved me
back and walked away with an air of resolution, whistling and
XIV-507
## p. 8098 (#298) ###########################################
8098
HENRY JAMES
swinging his cane. I waited a moment, and then followed him
at a distance, and saw him proceed to cross the Santa Trinità
Bridge. When he reached the middle he suddenly paused, as if
his strength had deserted him, and leaned upon the parapet gaz-
ing over into the river. I was careful to keep him in sight; I
confess that I passed ten very nervous minutes. He recovered
himself at last, and went his way, slowly and with hanging head.
That I should have really startled poor Theobald into a bolder
use of his long-garnered stores of knowledge and taste, into the
vulgar effort and hazard of production, seemed at first reason
enough for his continued silence and absence; but as day fol-
lowed day without his either calling or sending me a line, and
without my meeting him in his customary haunts,-in the gal-
leries, in the chapel at San Lorenzo, or strolling between the
Arno-side and the great hedge screen of verdure which, along
the drive of the Cascine, throws the fair occupants of barouche
and phaeton into such becoming relief,- as for more than a week
I got neither tidings nor sight of him, I began to fear that I had
fatally offended him; and that instead of giving wholesome im-
petus to his talent, I had brutally paralyzed it. I had a wretched
I
suspicion that I had made him ill. My stay at Florence was
drawing to a close; and it was important that before resuming
my journey I should assure myself of the truth. Theobald to
the last had kept his lodging a mystery, and I was altogether at
a loss where to look for him. The simplest course was to make
inquiry of the beauty of the Mercato Vecchio; and I confess that
unsatisfied curiosity as to the lady herself counseled it as well.
Perhaps I had done her injustice, and she was as immortally
fresh and fair as he conceived her. I was at any rate anxious
to behold once more the ripe enchantress who had made twenty
years pass as a twelvemonth. I repaired accordingly one morn-
ing to her abode, climbed the interminable staircase, and reached
her door. It stood ajar; and as I hesitated whether to enter, a
little serving-maid came clattering out with an empty kettle, as
if she had just performed some savory errand. The inner door
too was open; so I crossed the little vestibule and entered the
room in which I had formerly been received. It had not its
evening aspect. The table, or one end of it, was spread for a
late breakfast; and before it sat a gentleman -- an individual
at least of the male sex - dealing justice upon a beefsteak and
onions and a bottle of wine. At his elbow, in friendly proximity,
## p. 8099 (#299) ###########################################
HENRY JAMES
8099
was placed the lady of the house. Her attitude as I entered was
not that of an enchantress. With one hand she held in her lap
a plate of smoking macaroni; with the other she had lifted high
in air one of the pendulous filaments of this succulent compound,
and was in the act of slipping it gently down her throat. On the
uncovered end of the table, facing her companion, were ranged
half a dozen small statuettes, of some snuff-colored substance re-
sembling terra-cotta. He, brandishing his knife with ardor, was
apparently descanting on their merits.
Evidently I darkened the door. My hostess dropped her mac-
aroni — into her mouth, and rose hastily with a harsh exclama-
tion and a flushed face. I immediately perceived that the Signora
Serafina's secret was even better worth knowing than I had sup-
posed, and that the way to learn it was to take it for granted.
I summoned my best Italian, I smiled and bowed and apologized
for my intrusion; and in a moment, whether or no I had dispelled
the lady's irritation, I had at least stimulated her prudence. I
was welcome, she said; I must take a seat.
This was another
friend of hers also an artist, she declared with a smile which
was almost amiable. Her companion wiped his mustache and
bowed with great civility. I saw at a glance that he was equal
to the situation. He was presumably the author of the statuettes
on the table, and he knew a money-spending forestiere when he
He was a small, wiry man, with a clever, impudent,
tossed-up nose, a sharp little black eye, and waxed ends to his
mustache. On the side of his head he wore jauntily a little crim-
son velvet smoking-cap, and I observed that his feet were incased
in brilliant slippers. On Serafina’s remarking with dignity that
I was the friend of Mr. Theobald, he broke out into that fantastic
French of which Italians are so insistently lavish, and declared
with fervor that Mr. Theobald was a magnificent genius.
"I'm sure I don't know," I answered with a shrug. "If you're
in a position to affirm it, you have the advantage of me. I've
seen nothing from his hand but the bambino yonder, which cer-
tainly is fine. ”
He declared that the bambino was a masterpiece, a pure Cor-
reggio. It was only a pity, he added with a knowing laugh, that
the sketch had not been made on some good bit of honeycombed
old panel.
The stately Serafina hereupon protested that Mr.
Theobald was the soul of honor, and that he would never lend
himself to a deceit. “I'm not a judge of genius,” she said, “and
saw one.
## p. 8100 (#300) ###########################################
8100
HENRY JAMES
»
I know nothing of pictures. I'm but a poor simple widow; but
I know that the Signor Teobaldo has the heart of an angel and
the virtue of a saint. —He's my benefactor,” she added senten-
tiously. The after-glow of the somewhat sinister flush with which
she had greeted me still lingered in her cheek, and perhaps did
not favor her beauty: I could not but fancy it a wise custom of
Theobald's to visit her only by candlelight. She was coarse, and
her poor adorer was a poet.
"I have the greatest esteem for him,” I said: “it is for this
reason that I have been uneasy at not seeing him for ten days.
Have you seen him ? Is he perhaps ill ? ”
“111! Heaven forbid ! ” cried Serafina, with genuine vehe-
mence.
Her companion uttered a rapid expletive, and reproached her
with not having been to see him. She hesitated a moment; then
she simpered the least bit and bridled. “He comes to see me
without reproach! But it would not be the same for me to go
to him, though indeed you may almost call him a man of holy
life. ”
« He has the greatest admiration for you,” I said, « He would
have been honored by your visit. ”
She looked at me a moment sharply. “More admiration than
you. Admit that! Of course I protested with all the eloquence
at my command; and my mysterious hostess then confessed that
she had taken no fancy to me on my former visit, and that,
Theobald not having returned, she believed I had poisoned his
mind against her. “It would be no kindness to the poor gentle-
man, I can tell you that,” she said. “He has come to see me
every evening for years. It's a long friendship! No one knows
him as well as I. ”
"I don't pretend to know him, or to understand him," I said.
He's a mystery! Nevertheless, he seems to me a little — » And
I touched my forehead and waved my hand in the air.
Serafina glanced at her companion a moment, as if for inspi-
ration. He contented himself with shrugging his shoulders, as
he filled his glass again. The padrona hereupon gave me a more
softly insinuating smile than would have seemed likely to bloom
on so candid a brow. “It's for that that I love him! ” she said.
The world has so little kindness for such persons. It laughs at
them, and despises them, and cheats them. He is too good for
this wicked life! It's his fancy that he finds a little Paradise up
(
6
## p. 8101 (#301) ###########################################
HENRY JAMES
8101
here in my poor apartment. If he thinks so, how can I help it ?
He has a strange belief — really, I ought to be ashamed to tell
you — that I resemble the Blessed Virgin: Heaven forgive me!
I let him think what he pleases, so long as it makes him happy.
He was very kind to me once, and I am not one that forgets
So I receive him every evening civilly, and ask after
his health, and let him look at me on this side and that! For
that matter, I may say it without vanity, I was worth looking at
once! And he's not always amusing, poor man! He sits some-
times for an hour without speaking a word, or else he talks
away, without stopping, on art and nature, and beauty and duty,
and fifty fine things that are all so much Latin to me.
I beg
you to understand that he has never said a word to me that I
mightn't decently listen to. He may be a little cracked, but he's
one of the saints. ”
"Eh! ” cried the man, “the saints were all a little cracked! ”
Serafina, I fancied, left part of her story untold; but she
told enough of it to make poor Theobald's own statement seem
intensely pathetic in its exalted simplicity. “It's a strange for-
tune, certainly,” she went on, “to have such a friend as this
a friend who's less than a lover and more than a
friend. " I glanced at her companion, who preserved an impene-
trable smile, twisted the end of his mustache, and disposed of a
copious mouthful. Was he less than a lover? “But what will
you have ? ” Serafina pursued. "In this hard world one mustn't
ask too many questions; one must take what comes and keep
what one gets. I've kept my good friend for twenty years, and
I do hope that at this time of day, signore, you've not come to
turn him against me! ”
I assured her that I had no such design, and that I should
vastly regret disturbing Mr. Theobald's habits or convictions.
On the contrary, I was alarmed about him, and I should imme-
diately go in search of him. She gave me his address, and a
florid account of her sufferings at his non-appearance. She had
not been to him, for various reasons; chiefly because she was
afraid of displeasing him, as he had always made such a mystery
of his home.
“You might have sent this gentleman ! ” I ventured to suggest.
"Ah,” cried the gentleman, “he admires the Signora Serafina,
but he wouldn't admire me. ” And then, confidentially, with his
finger on his nose, “He's a purist! »
dear man,
»
## p. 8102 (#302) ###########################################
8102
HENRY JAMES
I was about to withdraw, on the promise that I would in-
form the Signora Serafina of my friend's condition, when her
companion, who had risen from table and girded his loins appar-
ently for the onset, grasped me gently by the arm, and led me
before the row of statuettes. “I perceive by your conversation,
signore, that you are a patron of the arts. Allow me to request
your honorable attention for these modest products of my own
ingenuity. They are brand-new, fresh from my atelier, and have
never been exhibited in public. I have brought them here to
receive the verdict of this dear lady, who is a good critic, for all
she may pretend to the contrary. I am the inventor of this
peculiar style of statuette,- of subject, manner, material, every-
thing. Touch them, I pray you; handle them: you needn't fear.
Delicate as they look, it is impossible they should break! My
various creations have met with great success. They are espe-
cially admired by Americans. I have sent them all over Europe,
— to London, Paris, Vienna! You may have observed some little
specimens in Paris, on the Boulevard, in a shop of which they
constitute the specialty. There is always a crowd about the win-
dow. They form a very pleasing ornament for the mantel-shelf
of a gay young bachelor, for the boudoir of a pretty woman.
You couldn't make a prettier present to a person with whom you
wished to exchange a harmless joke. It is not classic art, signore,
of course; but between ourselves, isn't classic art sometimes
rather a bore ? Caricature, burlesque - la charge, as the French
say — has hitherto been confined to paper, to the pen and pencil.
Now, it has been my inspiration to introduce it into statuary.
For this purpose I have invented a peculiar plastic compound
which you will permit me not to divulge. That's my secret,
signore! It's as light, you perceive, as cork, and yet as firm as
alabaster! I frankly confess that I really pride myself as much
on this little stroke of chemical ingenuity as upon the other ele-
ment of novelty in my creations,— my types.
What do you say
to my types, signore ? The idea is bold: does it strike you as
happy? Cats and monkeys, monkeys and cats,- all human life
is there! Human life, of course I mean, viewed with the eye of
the satirist! To combine sculpture and satire, signore, has been
my unprecedented ambition. I flatter myself that I have not
egregiously failed. ”
As this jaunty Juvenal of the chimney-piece delivered him-
self of his persuasive allocution, he took up his little groups
## p. 8103 (#303) ###########################################
HENRY JAMES
8103
successively from the table, held them aloft, turned them about,
rapped them with his knuckles, and gazed at them lovingly with
his head on one side, They consisted each of a cat and a mon-
key, fantastically draped, in some preposterously sentimental con-
junction. They exhibited a certain sameness of motive, and
illustrated ,chiefly the different phases of what, in delicate terms,
may be called gallantry and coquetry; but they were strikingly
clever and expressive, and were at once very perfect cats and
monkeys and very natural men and women. I confess, however,
that they failed to amuse me. I was doubtless not in a mood to
enjoy them, for they seemed to me peculiarly cynical and vulgar.
Their imitative felicity was revolting. As I looked askance at
the complacent little artist, brandishing them between finger and
thumb, and caressing them with an amorous eye, he seemed to
me himself little more than an exceptionally intelligent ape. I
mustered an admiring grin, however, and he blew another blast.
“My figures are studied from life! I have a little menagerie
of monkeys whose frolics I contemplate by the hour. As for
the cats, one has only to look out of one's back window! Since
I have begun to examine these expressive little brutes, I have
made many profound observations. Speaking, signore, to a man
of imagination, I may say that my little designs are not without
a philosophy of their own. Truly, I don't know whether the cats
and monkeys imitate us, or whether it's we who imitate them. ”
I congratulated him on his philosophy, and he resumed. « You
will do me the honor to admit that I have handled my subjects
with delicacy. Eh, it was needed, signore! I have been free,
but not too free - eh ? Just a hint, you know! You may see as
much or as little as you please. These little groups, however,
are no measure of my invention. If you will favor me with a
call at my studio, I think that you will admit that my combina-
tions are really infinite. I likewise execute figures to command.
You have perhaps some little motive, – the fruit of your philoso-
phy of life, signore,— which you would like to have interpreted.
I can promise to work it up to your satisfaction; it shall be as
malicious as you please! Allow me to present you with my
card, and to remind you that my prices are moderate. Only
sixty francs for a little group like that. My statuettes are
durable as bronze,- ære perennius, signore, - and between our-
selves, I think they are more amusing! ”
As I pocketed his card I glanced at Madonna Serafina, won-
dering whether she had an eye for contrasts. She had picked
as
## p. 8104 (#304) ###########################################
8104
HENRY JAMES
up one of the little couples and was tenderly dusting it with a
feather broom.
What I had just seen and heard had so deepened my compas-
sionate interest in my deluded friend, that I took a summary
leave, and made my way directly to the house designated by this
remarkable woman. It was in an obscure corner of the opposite
side of the town, and presented a sombre and squalid appear-
ance. An old woman in the doorway, on my inquiring for Theo-
bald, ushered me in with a mumbled blessing and an expression
of relief at the poor gentleman having a friend. His lodging
seemed to consist of a single room at the top of the house. On
getting no answer to my knock, I opened the door, supposing
that he was absent; so that it gave me a certain shock to find
him sitting there helpless and dumb. He was seated near the
single window, facing an easel which supported a large canvas.
On my entering, he looked up at me blankly, without changing
his position, which was that of absolute lassitude and dejection,
his arms loosely folded, his legs stretched before him, his head
hanging on his breast. Advancing into the room, I perceived
that his face vividly corresponded with his attitude. He was
pale, haggard, and unshaven, and his dull and sunken eye gazed
at me without a spark of recognition. I had been afraid that
I
he would greet me with fierce reproaches, as the cruelly offi-
cious patron who had turned his peace to bitterness; and I was
relieved to find that my appearance awakened no visible resent-
ment. “Don't you know me? ” I asked as I put out my hand.
"Have you already forgotten me? ”
He made no response, kept his position stupidly, and left me
staring about the room. It spoke most plaintively for itself.
Shabby, sordid, naked, it contained, beyond the wretched bed, but
the scantiest provision for personal comfort. It was bedroom at
once and studio,- a grim ghost of a studio. A few dusty casts
and prints on the walls, three or four old canvases turned face
inward, and a rusty-looking color-box, formed, with the easel at
the window, the sum of its appurtenances. The place savored
horribly of poverty. Its only wealth was the picture on the easel,
presumably the famous Madonna. Averted as this was from the
door, I was unable to see its face; but at last, sickened by the
vacant misery of the spot, I passed behind Theobald, eagerly and
tenderly. I can hardly say that I was surprised at what I found:
a canvas that was a mere dead blank, cracked and discolored
by time.
This was his immortal work! Though not surprised,
## p. 8105 (#305) ###########################################
HENRY JAMES
8105
(
I confess I was powerfully moved, and I think that for five min-
utes I could not have trusted myself to speak. At last my silent
nearness affected him; he stirred and turned, and then rose and
looked at me with a slowly kindling eye. I murmured some
kind, ineffective nothings about his being ill and needing advice
and care; but he seemed absorbed in the effort to recall distinctly
what had last passed between us. “You were right,” he said
with a pitiful smile, «I'm a dawdler! I'm a failure! I shall do
nothing more in this world. You opened my eyes; and though
the truth is bitter, I bear you no grudge. Amen! I've been
sitting here for a week, face to face with the truth, with the past,
with my weakness and poverty and nullity. I shall never touch
a brush! I believe I've neither eaten nor slept. Look at that
canvas! he went on, as I relieved my emotion in the urgent
request that he would come home with me and dine.
« That was
to have contained my masterpiece! Isn't it a promising founda-
tion ? The elements of it are all here. " And he tapped his fore-
head with that mystic confidence which had marked the gesture
before. “If I could only transpose them into some brain that
had the hand, the will! Since I've been sitting here taking stock
of my intellects, I've come to believe that I have the material
for a hundred masterpieces. But my hand is paralyzed now, and
they'll never be painted. I never began! I waited and waited
!
to be worthier to begin, and wasted my life in preparation.
While I fancied my creation was growing, it was dying. I've
taken it all too hard! Michael Angelo didn't when he went at
the Lorenzo! He did his best at a venture, and his venture is
immortal. That's mine! » And he pointed, with a gesture I
shall never forget, at the empty canvas. "I suppose we're a
genus by ourselves in the providential scheme, - we talents that
can't act, that can't do nor dare! We take it out in talk, in
plans and promises, in study, in visions! But our visions, let me
tell you,” he cried with a toss of his head, “have a way of being
brilliant, and a man hasn't lived in vain who has seen the things
I have! Of course you'll not believe in them when that bit
of worm-eaten cloth is all I have to show for them; but to con-
vince you, to enchant and astound the world, I need only the
hand of Raphael. I have his brain. A pity, you'll say, I haven't
his modesty!
