The Golden Bowl by Henry James (free ebook reader for android TXT) π
Description
In The Golden Bowl, an impoverished Italian aristocrat comes to London to marry a wealthy American, but meets an old mistress before the wedding and spends time with her, helping her pick out a wedding gift. After their marriage, his wife maintains a close relationship with her father, while their own relationship becomes strained.
Completed in 1904, Henry James himself considered The Golden Bowl one of his best novels, and it remains one of criticsβ favorites. Along with The Wings of the Dove and The Ambassadors, the novel represents Jamesβ βmajor phase,β where he returned to the study of Americans abroad, which dominated his earlier career. The novel focuses almost entirely on four central characters, and explores themes of marriage and adultery in an intricate psychological study, which some critics have even suggested anticipates the style of stream-of-consciousness writing.
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- Author: Henry James
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βWould make me have to speak of him. And I canβt,β said Maggie, βspeak of him.β
βYou βcanβtββ β?β
βI canβt.β She said it as for definite notice, not to be repeated. βThere are too many things,β she nevertheless added. βHeβs too great.β
The Prince looked at his cigar-tip, and then as he put back the weed: βToo great for whom?β Upon which as she hesitated, βNot, my dear, too great for you,β he declared. βFor meβ βoh, as much as you like.β
βToo great for me is what I mean. I know why I think it,β Maggie said. βThatβs enough.β
He looked at her yet again as if she but fanned his wonder; he was on the very point, she judged, of asking her why she thought it. But her own eyes maintained their warning, and at the end of a minute he had uttered other words. βWhatβs of importance is that youβre his daughter. That at least weβve got. And I suppose that, if I may say nothing else, I may say at least that I value it.β
βOh yes, you may say that you value it. I myself make the most of it.β
This again he took in, letting it presently put forth for him a striking connection. βShe ought to have known you. Thatβs whatβs present to me. She ought to have understood you better.β
βBetter than you did?β
βYes,β he gravely maintained, βbetter than I did. And she didnβt really know you at all. She doesnβt know you now.β
βAh, yes she does!β said Maggie.
But he shook his headβ βhe knew what he meant. βShe not only doesnβt understand you more than I, she understands you ever so much less. Though even Iβ β!β
βWell, even you?β Maggie pressed as he paused. βEven I, even I even yetβ β!β Again he paused and the silence held them.
But Maggie at last broke it. βIf Charlotte doesnβt understand me, it is that Iβve prevented her. Iβve chosen to deceive her and to lie to her.β
The Prince kept his eyes on her. βI know what youβve chosen to do. But Iβve chosen to do the same.β
βYes,β said Maggie after an instantβ ββmy choice was made when I had guessed yours. But you mean,β she asked, βthat she understands you?β
βIt presents small difficulty!β
βAre you so sure?β Maggie went on.
βSure enough. But it doesnβt matter.β He waited an instant; then looking up through the fumes of his smoke, βSheβs stupid,β he abruptly opined.
βOβ βoh!β Maggie protested in a long wail.
It had made him in fact quickly change colour. βWhat I mean is that sheβs not, as you pronounce her, unhappy.β And he recovered, with this, all his logic. βWhy is she unhappy if she doesnβt know?β
βDoesnβt knowβ β?β She tried to make his logic difficult.
βDoesnβt know that you know.β
It came from him in such a way that she was conscious, instantly, of three or four things to answer. But what she said first was: βDo you think thatβs all it need take?β And before he could reply, βShe knows, she knows!β Maggie proclaimed.
βWell then, what?β
But she threw back her head, she turned impatiently away from him. βOh, I neednβt tell you! She knows enough. Besides,β she went on, βshe doesnβt believe us.β
It made the Prince stare a little. βAh, she asks too much!β That drew, however, from his wife another moan of objection, which determined in him a judgment. βShe wonβt let you take her for unhappy.β
βOh, I know better than anyone else what she wonβt let me take her for!β
βVery well,β said Amerigo, βyouβll see.β
βI shall see wonders, I know. Iβve already seen them, and Iβm prepared for them.β Maggie recalledβ βshe had memories enough. βItβs terribleββ βher memories prompted her to speak. βI see itβs always terrible for women.β
The Prince looked down in his gravity. βEverythingβs terrible, cara, in the heart of man. Sheβs making her life,β he said. βSheβll make it.β
His wife turned back upon him; she had wandered to a table, vaguely setting objects straight. βA little by the way then too, while sheβs about it, sheβs making ours.β At this he raised his eyes, which met her own, and she held him while she delivered herself of some thing that had been with her these last minutes.
βYou spoke just now of Charlotteβs not having learned from you that I βknow.β Am I to take from you then that you accept and recognise my knowledge?β
He did the inquiry all the honoursβ βvisibly weighed its importance and weighed his response. βYou think I might have been showing you that a little more handsomely?β
βIt isnβt a question of any beauty,β said Maggie; βitβs only a question of the quantity of truth.β
βOh, the quantity of truth!β the Prince richly, though ambiguously, murmured.
βThatβs a thing by itself, yes. But there are also such things, all the same, as questions of good faith.β
βOf course there are!β the Prince hastened to reply. After which he brought up more slowly: βIf ever a man, since the beginning of time, acted in good faith!β But he dropped it, offering it simply for that.
For that then, when it had had time somewhat to settle, like some handful of gold-dust thrown into the airβ βfor that then Maggie showed herself, as deeply and strangely taking it. βI see.β And she even wished this form to be as complete as she could make it. βI see.β
The completeness, clearly, after an instant, had struck him as divine. βAh, my dear, my dear, my dearβ β!β It was all he could say.
She wasnβt talking, however, at large. βYouβve kept up for so long a silenceβ β!β
βYes, yes, I know what Iβve kept up. But will you do,β he asked, βstill one thing more for me?β
It was as if, for an instant, with her new exposure, it had made her turn pale. βIs there even one thing left?β
βAh, my dear, my dear, my dear!ββ βit had pressed again in him the fine spring of the unspeakable. There was nothing, however, that the Princess herself couldnβt say. βIβll do anything, if youβll tell me what.β
βThen wait.β And his raised Italian hand, with its play of admonitory
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