The Portrait of a Lady — Volume 1 by Henry James
CHAPTER VIII
As she was devoted to romantic effects Lord Warburton ventured toexpress a hope that she would come some day and see his house, a verycurious old place. He extracted from Mrs. Touchett a promise that shewould bring her niece to Lockleigh, and Ralph signified his willingnessto attend the ladies if his father should be able to spare him. LordWarburton assured our heroine that in the mean time his sisters wouldcome and see her. She knew something about his sisters, having soundedhim, during the hours they spent together while he was at Gardencourt,on many points connected with his family. When Isabel was interested sheasked a great many questions, and as her companion was a copious talkershe urged him on this occasion by no means in vain. He told her hehad four sisters and two brothers and had lost both his parents. Thebrothers and sisters were very good people--”not particularly clever,you know,” he said, ”but very decent and pleasant;” and he was so goodas to hope Miss Archer might know them well. One of the brothers was inthe Church, settled in the family living, that of Lockleigh, which wasa heavy, sprawling parish, and was an excellent fellow in spite of histhinking differently from himself on every conceivable topic. And thenLord Warburton mentioned some of the opinions held by his brother, whichwere opinions Isabel had often heard expressed and that she supposed tobe entertained by a considerable portion of the human family. Many ofthem indeed she supposed she had held herself, till he assured hershe was quite mistaken, that it was really impossible, that she haddoubtless imagined she entertained them, but that she might depend that,if she thought them over a little, she would find there was nothingin them. When she answered that she had already thought several of thequestions involved over very attentively he declared that she was onlyanother example of what he had often been struck with--the fact that,of all the people in the world, the Americans were the most grosslysuperstitious. They were rank Tories and bigots, every one of them;there were no conservatives like American conservatives. Her uncle andher cousin were there to prove it; nothing could be more medieval thanmany of their views; they had ideas that people in England nowadays wereashamed to confess to; and they had the impudence moreover, said hislordship, laughing, to pretend they knew more about the needs anddangers of this poor dear stupid old England than he who was born in itand owned a considerable slice of it--the more shame to him! From all ofwhich Isabel gathered that Lord Warburton was a nobleman of the newestpattern, a reformer, a radical, a contemner of ancient ways. His otherbrother, who was in the army in India, was rather wild and pig-headedand had not been of much use as yet but to make debts for Warburton topay--one of the most precious privileges of an elder brother. ”I don'tthink I shall pay any more,” said her friend; ”he lives a monstrous dealbetter than I do, enjoys unheard-of luxuries and thinks himself a muchfiner gentleman than I. As I'm a consistent radical I go in only forequality; I don't go in for the superiority of the younger brothers.”Two of his four sisters, the second and fourth, were married, one ofthem having done very well, as they said, the other only so-so.The husband of the elder, Lord Haycock, was a very good fellow, butunfortunately a horrid Tory; and his wife, like all good English wives,was worse than her husband. The other had espoused a smallish squirein Norfolk and, though married but the other day, had already fivechildren. This information and much more Lord Warburton imparted to hisyoung American listener, taking pains to make many things clear and tolay bare to her apprehension the peculiarities of English life. Isabelwas often amused at his explicitness and at the small allowance heseemed to make either for her own experience or for her imagination. ”Hethinks I'm a barbarian,” she said, ”and that I've never seen forks andspoons;” and she used to ask him artless questions for the pleasure ofhearing him answer seriously. Then when he had fallen into the trap,”It's a pity you can't see me in my war-paint and feathers,” sheremarked; ”if I had known how kind you are to the poor savages I wouldhave brought over my native costume!” Lord Warburton had travelledthrough the United States and knew much more about them than Isabel; hewas so good as to say that America was the most charming country in theworld, but his recollections of it appeared to encourage the idea thatAmericans in England would need to have a great many things explainedto them. ”If I had only had you to explain things to me in America!”he said. ”I was rather puzzled in your country; in fact I was quitebewildered, and the trouble was that the explanations only puzzled memore. You know I think they often gave me the wrong ones on purpose;they're rather clever about that over there. But when I explain youcan trust me; about what I tell you there's no mistake.” There was nomistake at least about his being very intelligent and cultivated andknowing almost everything in the world. Although he gave the mostinteresting and thrilling glimpses Isabel felt he never did it toexhibit himself, and though he had had rare chances and had tumbled in,as she put it, for high prizes, he was as far as possible from makinga merit of it. He had enjoyed the best things of life, but they had notspoiled his sense of proportion. His quality was a mixture of the effectof rich experience--oh, so easily come by!--with a modesty at timesalmost boyish; the sweet and wholesome savour of which--it was asagreeable as something tasted--lost nothing from the addition of a toneof responsible kindness.
”I like your specimen English gentleman very much,” Isabel said to Ralphafter Lord Warburton had gone.
”I like him too--I love him well,” Ralph returned. ”But I pity himmore.”
Isabel looked at him askance. ”Why, that seems to me his onlyfault--that one can't pity him a little. He appears to have everything,to know everything, to be everything.”
”Oh, he's in a bad way!” Ralph insisted.
”I suppose you don't mean in health?”
”No, as to that he's detestably sound. What I mean is that he's a manwith a great position who's playing all sorts of tricks with it. Hedoesn't take himself seriously.”
”Does he regard himself as a joke?”
”Much worse; he regards himself as an imposition--as an abuse.”
”Well, perhaps he is,” said Isabel.
”Perhaps he is--though on the whole I don't think so. But in that casewhat's more pitiable than a sentient, self-conscious abuse planted byother hands, deeply rooted but aching with a sense of its injustice?For me, in his place, I could be as solemn as a statue of Buddha.He occupies a position that appeals to my imagination. Greatresponsibilities, great opportunities, great consideration, greatwealth, great power, a natural share in the public affairs of a greatcountry. But he's all in a muddle about himself, his position, hispower, and indeed about everything in the world. He's the victim of acritical age; he has ceased to believe in himself and he doesn't knowwhat to believe in. When I attempt to tell him (because if I were he Iknow very well what I should believe in) he calls me a pampered bigot.I believe he seriously thinks me an awful Philistine; he says I don'tunderstand my time. I understand it certainly better than he, whocan neither abolish himself as a nuisance nor maintain himself as aninstitution.”
”He doesn't look very wretched,” Isabel observed.
”Possibly not; though, being a man of a good deal of charming taste, Ithink he often has uncomfortable hours. But what is it to say of a beingof his opportunities that he's not miserable? Besides, I believe he is.”
”I don't,” said Isabel.
”Well,” her cousin rejoined, ”if he isn't he ought to be!”
In the afternoon she spent an hour with her uncle on the lawn, where theold man sat, as usual, with his shawl over his legs and his large cupof diluted tea in his hands. In the course of conversation he asked herwhat she thought of their late visitor.
Isabel was prompt. ”I think he's charming.”
”He's a nice person,” said Mr. Touchett, ”but I don't recommend you tofall in love with him.”
”I shall not do it then; I shall never fall in love but on yourrecommendation. Moreover,” Isabel added, ”my cousin gives me rather asad account of Lord Warburton.”
”Oh, indeed? I don't know what there may be to say, but you mustremember that Ralph must talk.”
”He thinks your friend's too subversive--or not subversive enough! Idon't quite understand which,” said Isabel.
The old man shook his head slowly, smiled and put down his cup. ”I don'tknow which either. He goes very far, but it's quite possible he doesn'tgo far enough. He seems to want to do away with a good many things, buthe seems to want to remain himself. I suppose that's natural, but it'srather inconsistent.”
”Oh, I hope he'll remain himself,” said Isabel. ”If he were to be doneaway with his friends would miss him sadly.”
”Well,” said the old man, ”I guess he'll stay and amuse his friends.I should certainly miss him very much here at Gardencourt. He alwaysamuses me when he comes over, and I think he amuses himself as well.There's a considerable number like him, round in society; they're veryfashionable just now. I don't know what they're trying to do--whetherthey're trying to get up a revolution. I hope at any rate they'll put itoff till after I'm gone. You see they want to disestablish everything;but I'm a pretty big landowner here, and I don't want to bedisestablished. I wouldn't have come over if I had thought theywere going to behave like that,” Mr. Touchett went on with expandinghilarity. ”I came over because I thought England was a safe country. Icall it a regular fraud if they are going to introduce any considerablechanges; there'll be a large number disappointed in that case.”
”Oh, I do hope they'll make a revolution!” Isabel exclaimed. ”I shoulddelight in seeing a revolution.”
”Let me see,” said her uncle, with a humorous intention ”I forgetwhether you're on the side of the old or on the side of the new. I'veheard you take such opposite views.”
”I'm on the side of both. I guess I'm a little on the side ofeverything. In a revolution--after it was well begun--I think I shouldbe a high, proud loyalist. One sympathises more with them, and they've achance to behave so exquisitely. I mean so picturesquely.”
”I don't know that I understand what you mean by behaving picturesquely,but it seems to me that you do that always, my dear.”
”Oh, you lovely man, if I could believe that!” the girl interrupted.
”I'm afraid, after all, you won't have the pleasure of going gracefullyto the guillotine here just now,” Mr. Touchett went on. ”If you want tosee a big outbreak you must pay us a long visit. You see, when you cometo the point it wouldn't suit them to be taken at their word.”
”Of whom are you speaking?”
”Well, I mean Lord Warburton and his friends--the radicals of the upperclass. Of course I only know the way it strikes me. They talk about thechanges, but I don't think they quite realise. You and I, you know, weknow what it is to have lived under democratic institutions: I alwaysthought them very comfortable, but I was used to them from the first.And then I ain't a lord; you're a lady, my dear, but I ain't a lord. Nowover here I don't think it quite comes home to them. It's a matter ofevery day and every hour, and I don't think many of them would find itas pleasant as what they've got. Of course if they want to try, it'stheir own business; but I expect they won't try very hard.”
”Don't you think they're sincere?” Isabel asked.
”Well, they want to FEEL earnest,” Mr. Touchett allowed; ”but it seemsas if they took it out in theories mostly. Their radical views are akind of amusement; they've got to have some amusement, and they mighthave coarser tastes than that. You see they're very luxurious, and theseprogressive ideas are about their biggest luxury. They make them feelmoral and yet don't damage their position. They think a great deal oftheir position don't let one of them ever persuade you he doesn't, forif you were to proceed on that basis you'd be pulled up very short.”
Isabel followed her uncle's argument, which he unfolded with his quaintdistinctness, most attentively, and though she was unacquainted with theBritish aristocracy she found it in harmony with her general impressionsof human nature. But she felt moved to put in a protest on LordWarburton's behalf. ”I don't believe Lord Warburton's a humbug; I don'tcare what the others are. I should like to see Lord Warburton put to thetest.”
”Heaven deliver me from my friends!” Mr. Touchett answered. ”LordWarburton's a very amiable young man--a very fine young man. He has ahundred thousand a year. He owns fifty thousand acres of the soil ofthis little island and ever so many other things besides. He has half adozen houses to live in. He has a seat in Parliament as I have one at myown dinner-table. He has elegant tastes--cares for literature, for art,for science, for charming young ladies. The most elegant is his tastefor the new views. It affords him a great deal of pleasure--moreperhaps than anything else, except the young ladies. His old house overthere--what does he call it, Lockleigh?--is very attractive; but I don'tthink it's as pleasant as this. That doesn't matter, however--he hasso many others. His views don't hurt any one as far as I can see; theycertainly don't hurt himself. And if there were to be a revolution hewould come off very easily. They wouldn't touch him, they'd leave him ashe is: he's too much liked.”
”Ah, he couldn't be a martyr even if he wished!” Isabel sighed. ”That'sa very poor position.”
”He'll never be a martyr unless you make him one,” said the old man.
Isabel shook her head; there might have been something laughable in thefact that she did it with a touch of melancholy. ”I shall never make anyone a martyr.”
”You'll never be one, I hope.”
”I hope not. But you don't pity Lord Warburton then as Ralph does?”
Her uncle looked at her a while with genial acuteness. ”Yes, I do, afterall!”
As she was devoted to romantic effects Lord Warburton ventured toexpress a hope that she would come some day and see his house, a verycurious old place. He extracted from Mrs. Touchett a promise that shewould bring her niece to Lockleigh, and Ralph signified his willingnessto attend the ladies if his father should be able to spare him. LordWarburton assured our heroine that in the mean time his sisters wouldcome and see her. She knew something about his sisters, having soundedhim, during the hours they spent together while he was at Gardencourt,on many points connected with his family. When Isabel was interested sheasked a great many questions, and as her companion was a copious talkershe urged him on this occasion by no means in vain. He told her hehad four sisters and two brothers and had lost both his parents. Thebrothers and sisters were very good people--”not particularly clever,you know,” he said, ”but very decent and pleasant;” and he was so goodas to hope Miss Archer might know them well. One of the brothers was inthe Church, settled in the family living, that of Lockleigh, which wasa heavy, sprawling parish, and was an excellent fellow in spite of histhinking differently from himself on every conceivable topic. And thenLord Warburton mentioned some of the opinions held by his brother, whichwere opinions Isabel had often heard expressed and that she supposed tobe entertained by a considerable portion of the human family. Many ofthem indeed she supposed she had held herself, till he assured hershe was quite mistaken, that it was really impossible, that she haddoubtless imagined she entertained them, but that she might depend that,if she thought them over a little, she would find there was nothingin them. When she answered that she had already thought several of thequestions involved over very attentively he declared that she was onlyanother example of what he had often been struck with--the fact that,of all the people in the world, the Americans were the most grosslysuperstitious. They were rank Tories and bigots, every one of them;there were no conservatives like American conservatives. Her uncle andher cousin were there to prove it; nothing could be more medieval thanmany of their views; they had ideas that people in England nowadays wereashamed to confess to; and they had the impudence moreover, said hislordship, laughing, to pretend they knew more about the needs anddangers of this poor dear stupid old England than he who was born in itand owned a considerable slice of it--the more shame to him! From all ofwhich Isabel gathered that Lord Warburton was a nobleman of the newestpattern, a reformer, a radical, a contemner of ancient ways. His otherbrother, who was in the army in India, was rather wild and pig-headedand had not been of much use as yet but to make debts for Warburton topay--one of the most precious privileges of an elder brother. ”I don'tthink I shall pay any more,” said her friend; ”he lives a monstrous dealbetter than I do, enjoys unheard-of luxuries and thinks himself a muchfiner gentleman than I. As I'm a consistent radical I go in only forequality; I don't go in for the superiority of the younger brothers.”Two of his four sisters, the second and fourth, were married, one ofthem having done very well, as they said, the other only so-so.The husband of the elder, Lord Haycock, was a very good fellow, butunfortunately a horrid Tory; and his wife, like all good English wives,was worse than her husband. The other had espoused a smallish squirein Norfolk and, though married but the other day, had already fivechildren. This information and much more Lord Warburton imparted to hisyoung American listener, taking pains to make many things clear and tolay bare to her apprehension the peculiarities of English life. Isabelwas often amused at his explicitness and at the small allowance heseemed to make either for her own experience or for her imagination. ”Hethinks I'm a barbarian,” she said, ”and that I've never seen forks andspoons;” and she used to ask him artless questions for the pleasure ofhearing him answer seriously. Then when he had fallen into the trap,”It's a pity you can't see me in my war-paint and feathers,” sheremarked; ”if I had known how kind you are to the poor savages I wouldhave brought over my native costume!” Lord Warburton had travelledthrough the United States and knew much more about them than Isabel; hewas so good as to say that America was the most charming country in theworld, but his recollections of it appeared to encourage the idea thatAmericans in England would need to have a great many things explainedto them. ”If I had only had you to explain things to me in America!”he said. ”I was rather puzzled in your country; in fact I was quitebewildered, and the trouble was that the explanations only puzzled memore. You know I think they often gave me the wrong ones on purpose;they're rather clever about that over there. But when I explain youcan trust me; about what I tell you there's no mistake.” There was nomistake at least about his being very intelligent and cultivated andknowing almost everything in the world. Although he gave the mostinteresting and thrilling glimpses Isabel felt he never did it toexhibit himself, and though he had had rare chances and had tumbled in,as she put it, for high prizes, he was as far as possible from makinga merit of it. He had enjoyed the best things of life, but they had notspoiled his sense of proportion. His quality was a mixture of the effectof rich experience--oh, so easily come by!--with a modesty at timesalmost boyish; the sweet and wholesome savour of which--it was asagreeable as something tasted--lost nothing from the addition of a toneof responsible kindness.
”I like your specimen English gentleman very much,” Isabel said to Ralphafter Lord Warburton had gone.
”I like him too--I love him well,” Ralph returned. ”But I pity himmore.”
Isabel looked at him askance. ”Why, that seems to me his onlyfault--that one can't pity him a little. He appears to have everything,to know everything, to be everything.”
”Oh, he's in a bad way!” Ralph insisted.
”I suppose you don't mean in health?”
”No, as to that he's detestably sound. What I mean is that he's a manwith a great position who's playing all sorts of tricks with it. Hedoesn't take himself seriously.”
”Does he regard himself as a joke?”
”Much worse; he regards himself as an imposition--as an abuse.”
”Well, perhaps he is,” said Isabel.
”Perhaps he is--though on the whole I don't think so. But in that casewhat's more pitiable than a sentient, self-conscious abuse planted byother hands, deeply rooted but aching with a sense of its injustice?For me, in his place, I could be as solemn as a statue of Buddha.He occupies a position that appeals to my imagination. Greatresponsibilities, great opportunities, great consideration, greatwealth, great power, a natural share in the public affairs of a greatcountry. But he's all in a muddle about himself, his position, hispower, and indeed about everything in the world. He's the victim of acritical age; he has ceased to believe in himself and he doesn't knowwhat to believe in. When I attempt to tell him (because if I were he Iknow very well what I should believe in) he calls me a pampered bigot.I believe he seriously thinks me an awful Philistine; he says I don'tunderstand my time. I understand it certainly better than he, whocan neither abolish himself as a nuisance nor maintain himself as aninstitution.”
”He doesn't look very wretched,” Isabel observed.
”Possibly not; though, being a man of a good deal of charming taste, Ithink he often has uncomfortable hours. But what is it to say of a beingof his opportunities that he's not miserable? Besides, I believe he is.”
”I don't,” said Isabel.
”Well,” her cousin rejoined, ”if he isn't he ought to be!”
In the afternoon she spent an hour with her uncle on the lawn, where theold man sat, as usual, with his shawl over his legs and his large cupof diluted tea in his hands. In the course of conversation he asked herwhat she thought of their late visitor.
Isabel was prompt. ”I think he's charming.”
”He's a nice person,” said Mr. Touchett, ”but I don't recommend you tofall in love with him.”
”I shall not do it then; I shall never fall in love but on yourrecommendation. Moreover,” Isabel added, ”my cousin gives me rather asad account of Lord Warburton.”
”Oh, indeed? I don't know what there may be to say, but you mustremember that Ralph must talk.”
”He thinks your friend's too subversive--or not subversive enough! Idon't quite understand which,” said Isabel.
The old man shook his head slowly, smiled and put down his cup. ”I don'tknow which either. He goes very far, but it's quite possible he doesn'tgo far enough. He seems to want to do away with a good many things, buthe seems to want to remain himself. I suppose that's natural, but it'srather inconsistent.”
”Oh, I hope he'll remain himself,” said Isabel. ”If he were to be doneaway with his friends would miss him sadly.”
”Well,” said the old man, ”I guess he'll stay and amuse his friends.I should certainly miss him very much here at Gardencourt. He alwaysamuses me when he comes over, and I think he amuses himself as well.There's a considerable number like him, round in society; they're veryfashionable just now. I don't know what they're trying to do--whetherthey're trying to get up a revolution. I hope at any rate they'll put itoff till after I'm gone. You see they want to disestablish everything;but I'm a pretty big landowner here, and I don't want to bedisestablished. I wouldn't have come over if I had thought theywere going to behave like that,” Mr. Touchett went on with expandinghilarity. ”I came over because I thought England was a safe country. Icall it a regular fraud if they are going to introduce any considerablechanges; there'll be a large number disappointed in that case.”
”Oh, I do hope they'll make a revolution!” Isabel exclaimed. ”I shoulddelight in seeing a revolution.”
”Let me see,” said her uncle, with a humorous intention ”I forgetwhether you're on the side of the old or on the side of the new. I'veheard you take such opposite views.”
”I'm on the side of both. I guess I'm a little on the side ofeverything. In a revolution--after it was well begun--I think I shouldbe a high, proud loyalist. One sympathises more with them, and they've achance to behave so exquisitely. I mean so picturesquely.”
”I don't know that I understand what you mean by behaving picturesquely,but it seems to me that you do that always, my dear.”
”Oh, you lovely man, if I could believe that!” the girl interrupted.
”I'm afraid, after all, you won't have the pleasure of going gracefullyto the guillotine here just now,” Mr. Touchett went on. ”If you want tosee a big outbreak you must pay us a long visit. You see, when you cometo the point it wouldn't suit them to be taken at their word.”
”Of whom are you speaking?”
”Well, I mean Lord Warburton and his friends--the radicals of the upperclass. Of course I only know the way it strikes me. They talk about thechanges, but I don't think they quite realise. You and I, you know, weknow what it is to have lived under democratic institutions: I alwaysthought them very comfortable, but I was used to them from the first.And then I ain't a lord; you're a lady, my dear, but I ain't a lord. Nowover here I don't think it quite comes home to them. It's a matter ofevery day and every hour, and I don't think many of them would find itas pleasant as what they've got. Of course if they want to try, it'stheir own business; but I expect they won't try very hard.”
”Don't you think they're sincere?” Isabel asked.
”Well, they want to FEEL earnest,” Mr. Touchett allowed; ”but it seemsas if they took it out in theories mostly. Their radical views are akind of amusement; they've got to have some amusement, and they mighthave coarser tastes than that. You see they're very luxurious, and theseprogressive ideas are about their biggest luxury. They make them feelmoral and yet don't damage their position. They think a great deal oftheir position don't let one of them ever persuade you he doesn't, forif you were to proceed on that basis you'd be pulled up very short.”
Isabel followed her uncle's argument, which he unfolded with his quaintdistinctness, most attentively, and though she was unacquainted with theBritish aristocracy she found it in harmony with her general impressionsof human nature. But she felt moved to put in a protest on LordWarburton's behalf. ”I don't believe Lord Warburton's a humbug; I don'tcare what the others are. I should like to see Lord Warburton put to thetest.”
”Heaven deliver me from my friends!” Mr. Touchett answered. ”LordWarburton's a very amiable young man--a very fine young man. He has ahundred thousand a year. He owns fifty thousand acres of the soil ofthis little island and ever so many other things besides. He has half adozen houses to live in. He has a seat in Parliament as I have one at myown dinner-table. He has elegant tastes--cares for literature, for art,for science, for charming young ladies. The most elegant is his tastefor the new views. It affords him a great deal of pleasure--moreperhaps than anything else, except the young ladies. His old house overthere--what does he call it, Lockleigh?--is very attractive; but I don'tthink it's as pleasant as this. That doesn't matter, however--he hasso many others. His views don't hurt any one as far as I can see; theycertainly don't hurt himself. And if there were to be a revolution hewould come off very easily. They wouldn't touch him, they'd leave him ashe is: he's too much liked.”
”Ah, he couldn't be a martyr even if he wished!” Isabel sighed. ”That'sa very poor position.”
”He'll never be a martyr unless you make him one,” said the old man.
Isabel shook her head; there might have been something laughable in thefact that she did it with a touch of melancholy. ”I shall never make anyone a martyr.”
”You'll never be one, I hope.”
”I hope not. But you don't pity Lord Warburton then as Ralph does?”
Her uncle looked at her a while with genial acuteness. ”Yes, I do, afterall!”