The Princess Casamassima (Volume 1 of 2)James, Henry
General
The Princess Casamassima (Volume 1 of 2)
James, Henry
London (England) -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
It may easily be believed that he criticised his inclination even while
he gave himself up to it, and that he often wondered he should find so
much to attract in a girl in whom he found so much to condemn. She was
vulgar, clumsy and grotesquely ignorant; her conceit was proportionate
and she hadn’t a grain of tact or of quick perception. And yet there
was something so elementally free in her, by his loose measure,
she carried with such an air the advantages she did possess, that
her figure constantly mingled itself even with those bright visions
hovering before him after Paul Muniment had opened a queerly-placed
but far-reaching window. She was bold and generous and incalculable,
and if she was coarse she was neither false nor cruel. She laughed with
the laugh of the people and if you hit her hard enough would cry with
their tears. When he himself was not letting his imagination wander
among the haunts of the aristocracy and stretching it in the shadow
of an ancestral beech to read the last number of the _Revue des Deux
Mondes_ he was occupied with contemplations of a very different kind;
he was absorbed in the struggles and sufferings of the millions whose
life flowed in the same current as his and who, though they constantly
excited his disgust and made him shrink and turn away, had the power
to chain his sympathy, to raise it to passion, to convince him for the
time at least that real success in the world would be to do something
with them and for them. All this, strange to say, was never so vivid as
in Millicent’s company—which is a proof of his fantastic, erratic way
of seeing things. She had no such ideas about herself; they were almost
the only ideas she didn’t have. She had no theories about redeeming or
uplifting the people; she simply loathed them, for being so dirty, with
the outspoken violence of one who had known poverty and the strange
bedfellows it makes in a very different degree from Hyacinth, brought
up (with Pinnie to put sugar in his tea and let him never want for
neckties) like a regular little swell.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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