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BOOK FIFTH II
On which Strether saw that Chad was again at hand, and he afterwards scarce knew,
absurd as it may seem, what had then quickly occurred.
The moment concerned him, he felt, more deeply than he could have explained, and he
had a subsequent passage of speculation as to whether, on walking off with Chad, he
hadn't looked either pale or red.
The only thing he was clear about was that, luckily, nothing indiscreet had in fact
been said and that Chad himself was more than ever, in Miss Barrace's great sense,
wonderful.
It was one of the connexions--though really why it should be, after all, was none so
apparent--in which the whole change in him came out as most striking.
Strether recalled as they approached the house that he had impressed him that first
night as knowing how to enter a box. Well, he impressed him scarce less now as
knowing how to make a presentation.
It did something for Strether's own quality--marked it as estimated; so that
our poor friend, conscious and passive, really seemed to feel himself quite handed
over and delivered; absolutely, as he would have said, made a present of, given away.
As they reached the house a young woman, about to come forth, appeared,
unaccompanied, on the steps; at the exchange with whom of a word on Chad's part
Strether immediately perceived that,
obligingly, kindly, she was there to meet them.
Chad had left her in the house, but she had afterwards come halfway and then the next
moment had joined them in the garden.
Her air of youth, for Strether, was at first almost disconcerting, while his
second impression was, not less sharply, a degree of relief at there not having just
been, with the others, any freedom used about her.
It was upon him at a touch that she was no subject for that, and meanwhile, on Chad's
introducing him, she had spoken to him, very simply and gently, in an English
clearly of the easiest to her, yet unlike any other he had ever heard.
It wasn't as if she tried; nothing, he could see after they had been a few minutes
together, was as if she tried; but her speech, charming correct and odd, was like
a precaution against her passing for a Pole.
There were precautions, he seemed indeed to see, only when there were really dangers.
Later on he was to feel many more of them, but by that time he was to feel other
things besides.
She was dressed in black, but in black that struck him as light and transparent; she
was exceedingly fair, and, though she was as markedly slim, her face had a roundness,
with eyes far apart and a little strange.
Her smile was natural and dim; her hat not extravagant; he had only perhaps a sense of
the clink, beneath her fine black sleeves, of more gold bracelets and bangles than he
had ever seen a lady wear.
Chad was excellently free and light about their encounter; it was one of the
occasions on which Strether most wished he himself might have arrived at such ease and
such humour: "Here you are then, face to
face at last; you're made for each other-- vous allez voir; and I bless your union."
It was indeed, after he had gone off, as if he had been partly serious too.
This latter motion had been determined by an enquiry from him about "Jeanne"; to
which her mother had replied that she was probably still in the house with Miss
Gostrey, to whom she had lately committed her.
"Ah but you know," the young man had rejoined, "he must see her"; with which,
while Strether pricked up his ears, he had started as if to bring her, leaving the
other objects of his interest together.
Strether wondered to find Miss Gostrey already involved, feeling that he missed a
link; but feeling also, with small delay, how much he should like to talk with her of
Madame de Vionnet on this basis of evidence.
The evidence as yet in truth was meagre; which, for that matter, was perhaps a
little why his expectation had had a drop.
There was somehow not quite a wealth in her; and a wealth was all that, in his
simplicity, he had definitely prefigured. Still, it was too much to be sure already
that there was but a poverty.
They moved away from the house, and, with eyes on a bench at some distance, he
proposed that they should sit down.
"I've heard a great deal about you," she said as they went; but he had an answer to
it that made her stop short.
"Well, about YOU, Madame de Vionnet, I've heard, I'm bound to say, almost nothing"--
those struck him as the only words he himself could utter with any lucidity;
conscious as he was, and as with more
reason, of the determination to be in respect to the rest of his business
perfectly plain and go perfectly straight. It hadn't at any rate been in the least his
idea to spy on Chad's proper freedom.
It was possibly, however, at this very instant and under the impression of Madame
de Vionnet's pause, that going straight began to announce itself as a matter for
care.
She had only after all to smile at him ever so gently in order to make him ask himself
if he weren't already going crooked.
It might be going crooked to find it of a sudden just only clear that she intended
very definitely to be what he would have called nice to him.
This was what passed between them while, for another instant, they stood still; he
couldn't at least remember afterwards what else it might have been.
The thing indeed really unmistakeable was its rolling over him as a wave that he had
been, in conditions incalculable and unimaginable, a subject of discussion.
He had been, on some ground that concerned her, answered for; which gave her an
advantage he should never be able to match. "Hasn't Miss Gostrey," she asked, "said a
good word for me?"
What had struck him first was the way he was bracketed with that lady; and he
wondered what account Chad would have given of their acquaintance.
Something not as yet traceable, at all events, had obviously happened.
"I didn't even know of her knowing you." "Well, now she'll tell you all.
I'm so glad you're in relation with her."
This was one of the things--the "all" Miss Gostrey would now tell him--that, with
every deference to present preoccupation, was uppermost for Strether after they had
taken their seat.
One of the others was, at the end of five minutes, that she--oh incontestably, yes--
DIFFERED less; differed, that is, scarcely at all--well, superficially speaking, from
Mrs. Newsome or even from Mrs. Pocock.
She was ever so much younger than the one and not so young as the other; but what WAS
there in her, if anything, that would have made it impossible he should meet her at
Woollett?
And wherein was her talk during their moments on the bench together not the same
as would have been found adequate for a Woollett garden-party?--unless perhaps
truly in not being quite so bright.
She observed to him that Mr. Newsome had, to her knowledge, taken extraordinary
pleasure in his visit; but there was no good lady at Woollett who wouldn't have
been at least up to that.
Was there in Chad, by chance, after all, deep down, a principle of aboriginal
loyalty that had made him, for sentimental ends, attach himself to elements, happily
encountered, that would remind him most of the old air and the old soil?
Why accordingly be in a flutter--Strether could even put it that way--about this
unfamiliar phenomenon of the femme du monde?
On these terms Mrs. Newsome herself was as much of one.
Little Bilham verily had testified that they came out, the ladies of the type, in
close quarters; but it was just in these quarters--now comparatively close--that he
felt Madame de Vionnet's common humanity.
She did come out, and certainly to his relief, but she came out as the usual
thing. There might be motives behind, but so could
there often be even at Woollett.
The only thing was that if she showed him she wished to like him--as the motives
behind might conceivably prompt--it would possibly have been more thrilling for him
that she should have shown as more vividly alien.
Ah she was neither Turk nor Pole!--which would be indeed flat once more for Mrs.
Newsome and Mrs. Pocock.
A lady and two gentlemen had meanwhile, however, approached their bench, and this
accident stayed for the time further developments.
They presently addressed his companion, the brilliant strangers; she rose to speak to
them, and Strether noted how the escorted lady, though mature and by no means
beautiful, had more of the bold high look,
the range of expensive reference, that he had, as might have been said, made his
plans for.
Madame de Vionnet greeted her as "Duchesse" and was greeted in turn, while talk started
in French, as "Ma toute-belle"; little facts that had their due, their vivid
interest for Strether.
Madame de Vionnet didn't, none the less, introduce him--a note he was conscious of
as false to the Woollett scale and the Woollett humanity; though it didn't prevent
the Duchess, who struck him as confident
and free, very much what he had obscurely supposed duchesses, from looking at him as
straight and as hard--for it WAS hard--as if she would have liked, all the same, to
know him.
"Oh yes, my dear, it's all right, it's ME; and who are YOU, with your interesting
wrinkles and your most effective (is it the handsomest, is it the ugliest?) of noses?"-
-some such loose handful of bright flowers
she seemed, fragrantly enough, to fling at him.
Strether almost wondered--at such a pace was he going--if some divination of the
influence of either party were what determined Madame de Vionnet's abstention.
One of the gentlemen, in any case, succeeded in placing himself in close
relation with our friend's companion; a gentleman rather stout and importantly
short, in a hat with a wonderful wide curl
to its brim and a frock coat buttoned with an effect of superlative decision.
His French had quickly turned to equal English, and it occurred to Strether that
he might well be one of the ambassadors.
His design was evidently to assert a claim to Madame de Vionnet's undivided
countenance, and he made it good in the course of a minute--led her away with a
trick of three words; a trick played with a
social art of which Strether, looking after them as the four, whose backs were now all
turned, moved off, felt himself no master.
He sank again upon his bench and, while his eyes followed the party, reflected, as he
had done before, on Chad's strange communities.
He sat there alone for five minutes, with plenty to think of; above all with his
sense of having suddenly been dropped by a charming woman overlaid now by other
impressions and in fact quite cleared and indifferent.
He hadn't yet had so quiet a surrender; he didn't in the least care if nobody spoke to
him more.
He might have been, by his attitude, in for something of a march so broad that the want
of ceremony with which he had just been used could fall into its place as but a
minor incident of the procession.
Besides, there would be incidents enough, as he felt when this term of contemplation
was closed by the reappearance of little Bilham, who stood before him a moment with
a suggestive "Well?" in which he saw
himself reflected as disorganised, as possibly floored.
He replied with a "Well!" intended to show that he wasn't floored in the least.
No indeed; he gave it out, as the young man sat down beside him, that if, at the worst,
he had been overturned at all, he had been overturned into the upper air, the sublimer
element with which he had an affinity and
in which he might be trusted a while to float.
It wasn't a descent to earth to say after an instant and in sustained response to the
reference: "You're quite sure her husband's living?"
"Oh dear, yes."
"Ah then--!" "Ah then what?"
Strether had after all to think. "Well, I'm sorry for them."
But it didn't for the moment matter more than that.
He assured his young friend he was quite content.
They wouldn't stir; were all right as they were.
He didn't want to be introduced; had been introduced already about as far as he could
go.
He had seen moreover an immensity; liked Gloriani, who, as Miss Barrace kept saying,
was wonderful; had made out, he was sure, the half-dozen other 'men who were
distinguished, the artists, the critics and
oh the great dramatist--HIM it was easy to spot; but wanted--no, thanks, really--to
talk with none of them; having nothing at all to say and finding it would do
beautifully as it was; do beautifully
because what it was--well, was just simply too late.
And when after this little Bilham, submissive and responsive, but with an eye
to the consolation nearest, easily threw off some "Better late than never!" all he
got in return for it was a sharp "Better early than late!"
This note indeed the next thing overflowed for Strether into a quiet stream of
demonstration that as soon as he had let himself go he felt as the real relief.
It had consciously gathered to a head, but the reservoir had filled sooner than he
knew, and his companion's touch was to make the waters spread.
There were some things that had to come in time if they were to come at all.
If they didn't come in time they were lost for ever.
It was the general sense of them that had overwhelmed him with its long slow rush.
"It's not too late for YOU, on any side, and you don't strike me as in danger of
missing the train; besides which people can be in general pretty well trusted, of
course--with the clock of their freedom
ticking as loud as it seems to do here--to keep an eye on the fleeting hour.
All the same don't forget that you're young--blessedly young; be glad of it on
the contrary and live up to it.
Live all you can; it's a mistake not to. It doesn't so much matter what you do in
particular, so long as you have your life. If you haven't had that what HAVE you had?
This place and these impressions--mild as you may find them to wind a man up so; all
my impressions of Chad and of people I've seen at HIS place--well, have had their
abundant message for me, have just dropped THAT into my mind.
I see it now.
I haven't done so enough before--and now I'm old; too old at any rate for what I
see. Oh I DO see, at least; and more than you'd
believe or I can express.
It's too late. And it's as if the train had fairly waited
at the station for me without my having had the gumption to know it was there.
Now I hear its faint receding whistle miles and miles down the line.
What one loses one loses; make no mistake about that.
The affair--I mean the affair of life-- couldn't, no doubt, have been different for
me; for it's at the best a tin mould, either fluted and embossed, with ornamental
excrescences, or else smooth and dreadfully
plain, into which, a helpless jelly, one's consciousness is poured--so that one
'takes' the form as the great cook says, and is more or less compactly held by it:
one lives in fine as one can.
Still, one has the illusion of freedom; therefore don't be, like me, without the
memory of that illusion.
I was either, at the right time, too stupid or too intelligent to have it; I don't
quite know which.
Of course at present I'm a case of reaction against the mistake; and the voice of
reaction should, no doubt, always be taken with an allowance.
But that doesn't affect the point that the right time is now yours.
The right time is ANY time that one is still so lucky as to have.
You've plenty; that's the great thing; you're, as I say, damn you, so happily and
hatefully young. Don't at any rate miss things out of
stupidity.
Of course I don't take you for a fool, or I shouldn't be addressing you thus awfully.
Do what you like so long as you don't make MY mistake.
For it was a mistake.
Live!" ...
Slowly and sociably, with full pauses and straight dashes, Strether had so delivered
himself; holding little Bilham from step to step deeply and gravely attentive.
The end of all was that the young man had turned quite solemn, and that this was a
contradiction of the innocent gaiety the speaker had wished to promote.
He watched for a moment the consequence of his words, and then, laying a hand on his
listener's knee and as if to end with the proper joke: "And now for the eye I shall
keep on you!"
"Oh but I don't know that I want to be, at your age, too different from you!"
"Ah prepare while you're about it," said Strether, "to be more amusing."
Little Bilham continued to think, but at last had a smile.
"Well, you ARE amusing--to ME." "Impayable, as you say, no doubt.
But what am I to myself?"
Strether had risen with this, giving his attention now to an encounter that, in the
middle of the garden, was in the act of taking place between their host and the
lady at whose side Madame de Vionnet had quitted him.
This lady, who appeared within a few minutes to have left her friends, awaited
Gloriani's eager approach with words on her lips that Strether couldn't catch, but of
which her interesting witty face seemed to give him the echo.
He was sure she was prompt and fine, but also that she had met her match, and he
liked--in the light of what he was quite sure was the Duchess's latent insolence--
the good humour with which the great artist asserted equal resources.
Were they, this pair, of the "great world"?--and was he himself, for the moment
and thus related to them by his observation, IN it?
Then there was something in the great world covertly tigerish, which came to him across
the lawn and in the charming air as a waft from the jungle.
Yet it made him admire most of the two, made him envy, the glossy male tiger,
magnificently marked.
These absurdities of the stirred sense, fruits of suggestion ripening on the
instant, were all reflected in his next words to little Bilham.
"I know--if we talk of that--whom I should enjoy being like!"
Little Bilham followed his eyes; but then as with a shade of knowing surprise:
"Gloriani?"
Our friend had in fact already hesitated, though not on the hint of his companion's
doubt, in which there were depths of critical reserve.
He had just made out, in the now full picture, something and somebody else;
another impression had been superimposed.
A young girl in a white dress and a softly plumed white hat had suddenly come into
view, and what was presently clear was that her course was toward them.
What was clearer still was that the handsome young man at her side was Chad
Newsome, and what was clearest of all was that she was therefore Mademoiselle de
Vionnet, that she was unmistakeably pretty-
-bright gentle shy happy wonderful--and that Chad now, with a consummate
calculation of effect, was about to present her to his old friend's vision.
What was clearest of all indeed was something much more than this, something at
the single stroke of which--and wasn't it simply juxtaposition?--all vagueness
vanished.
It was the click of a spring--he saw the truth.
He had by this time also met Chad's look; there was more of it in that; and the
truth, accordingly, so far as Bilham's enquiry was concerned, had thrust in the
answer.
"Oh Chad!"--it was that rare youth he should have enjoyed being "like."
The virtuous attachment would be all there before him; the virtuous attachment would
be in the very act of appeal for his blessing; Jeanne de Vionnet, this charming
creature, would be exquisitely, intensely now--the object of it.
Chad brought her straight up to him, and Chad was, oh yes, at this moment--for the
glory of Woollett or whatever--better still even than Gloriani.
He had plucked this blossom; he had kept it over-night in water; and at last as he held
it up to wonder he did enjoy his effect.
That was why Strether had felt at first the breath of calculation--and why moreover, as
he now knew, his look at the girl would be, for the young man, a sign of the latter's
success.
What young man had ever paraded about that way, without a reason, a maiden in her
flower? And there was nothing in his reason at
present obscure.
Her type sufficiently told of it--they wouldn't, they couldn't, want her to go to
Woollett.
Poor Woollett, and what it might miss!-- though brave Chad indeed too, and what it
might gain! Brave Chad however had just excellently
spoken.
"This is a good little friend of mine who knows all about you and has moreover a
message for you.
And this, my dear"--he had turned to the child herself--"is the best man in the
world, who has it in his power to do a great deal for us and whom I want you to
like and revere as nearly as possible as much as I do."
She stood there quite pink, a little frightened, prettier and prettier and not a
bit like her mother.
There was in this last particular no resemblance but that of youth to youth; and
here was in fact suddenly Strether's sharpest impression.
It went wondering, dazed, embarrassed, back to the woman he had just been talking with;
it was a revelation in the light of which he already saw she would become more
interesting.
So slim and fresh and fair, she had yet put forth this perfection; so that for really
believing it of her, for seeing her to any such developed degree as a mother,
comparison would be urgent.
Well, what was it now but fairly thrust upon him?
"Mamma wishes me to tell you before we go," the girl said, "that she hopes very much
you'll come to see us very soon.
She has something important to say to you." "She quite reproaches herself," Chad
helpfully explained: "you were interesting her so much when she accidentally suffered
you to be interrupted."
"Ah don't mention it!" Strether murmured, looking kindly from one
to the other and wondering at many things.
"And I'm to ask you for myself," Jeanne continued with her hands clasped together
as if in some small learnt prayer--"I'm to ask you for myself if you won't positively
come."
"Leave it to me, dear--I'll take care of it!"
Chad genially declared in answer to this, while Strether himself almost held his
breath.
What was in the girl was indeed too soft, too unknown for direct dealing; so that one
could only gaze at it as at a picture, quite staying one's own hand.
But with Chad he was now on ground--Chad he could meet; so pleasant a confidence in
that and in everything did the young man freely exhale.
There was the whole of a story in his tone to his companion, and he spoke indeed as if
already of the family.
It made Strether guess the more quickly what it might be about which Madame de
Vionnet was so urgent.
Having seen him then she had found him easy; she wished to have it out with him
that some way for the young people must be discovered, some way that would not impose
as a condition the transplantation of her daughter.
He already saw himself discussing with this lady the attractions of Woollett as a
residence for Chad's companion.
Was that youth going now to trust her with the affair--so that it would be after all
with one of his "lady-friends" that his mother's missionary should be condemned to
deal?
It was quite as if for an instant the two men looked at each other on this question.
But there was no mistaking at last Chad's pride in the display of such a connexion.
This was what had made him so carry himself while, three minutes before, he was
bringing it into view; what had caused his friend, first catching sight of him, to be
so struck with his air.
It was, in a word, just when he thus finally felt Chad putting things straight
off on him that he envied him, as he had mentioned to little Bilham, most.
The whole exhibition however was but a matter of three or four minutes, and the
author of it had soon explained that, as Madame de Vionnet was immediately going
"on," this could be for Jeanne but a ***.
They would all meet again soon, and Strether was meanwhile to stay and amuse
himself--"I'll pick you up again in plenty of time."
He took the girl off as he had brought her, and Strether, with the faint sweet
foreignness of her "Au revoir, monsieur!" in his ears as a note almost unprecedented,
watched them recede side by side and felt
how, once more, her companion's relation to her got an accent from it.
They disappeared among the others and apparently into the house; whereupon our
friend turned round to give out to little Bilham the conviction of which he was full.
But there was no little Bilham any more; little Bilham had within the few moments,
for reasons of his own, proceeded further: a circumstance by which, in its order,
Strether was also sensibly affected.