History of a literary radical, and other essaysBourne, Randolph Silliman
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History of a literary radical, and other essays
Bourne, Randolph Silliman
American essays -- 20th century
Her blazing candor lighted up for me every part of her world. We
skirted abysses, but the language helped us wonderfully through. French
has worn tracks in so many fields of experience where English blunders
either boorishly or sentimentally. French is made for illumination and
clear expression; it has kept its purity and crispness and can express,
without shamefacedness or bungling, attitudes and interpretations which
the Anglo-Saxon fatuously hides.
My friend was dimly sensible of some such contrast. I think she had
as much difficulty in making me out as I had in making her out.
She was very curious as to how she compared with American girls.
She had once met one but had found her, though not a doll, yet not
_sympathique_ and little understandable. I had to tell my friend how
untranslatable she was. The Anglo-Saxon, I had to tell her, was apt to
be either a schoolchild or a middle-aged person. To the first, ideas
were strange and disturbing. To the second, they were a nuisance and
a bore. I almost assured her that in America she would be considered
a quite horrible portent. Her brimming idealism would make everybody
uncomfortable. The sensual delight which she took in thinking, the way
her ideas were all warmly felt and her feelings luminously expressed,
would adapt her badly to a world of school-children and tired business
men. I tried to go over for her the girls of her age whom I had
known. How charming they were to be sure, but, even when they had
ideas, how strangely inarticulate they sometimes were, and, if they
were articulate, how pedantic and priggish they seemed to the world
about them! And what forests of reticences and exaggerated values
there were, and curious illogicalities. How jealous they were of their
personalities, and what a suspicious and individualistic guard they
kept over their candor and sincerities! I was very gay and perhaps a
little cruel.
She listened eagerly, but I think she did not quite understand. If one
were not frankly a doll, was not life a great swirl to be grappled with
and clarified, and thought and felt about? And as for her personality,
the more she gave the more she had. She would take the high risks of
friendship.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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