Henry James: Complete Stories 1864-1874 (31 page)

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Authors: Henry James

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Page 176
wisdom of the ages. The old lady did not defend herself from the compliment; she let it pass, with her motherly, tolerant smile; nor did Raymond attempt to defend her, for he felt the justice of his neighbour's description: Cousin Maria's good sense was incontestable, magnificent. She took an affectionate, indulgent view of most of the persons mentioned, and yet her tone was far from being vapid or vague. Madame de Brives usually remarked that they were coming very soon again to see her, she did them so much good. The freshness of your judgmentthe freshness of your judgment! she repeated, with a kind of glee, and she narrated that Eléonore (a personage unknown to Raymond) had said that she was a woman of Plutarch. Mrs. Temperly talked a great deal about the health of their friends; she seemed to keep the record of the influenzas and neuralgias of a numerous and susceptible circle. He did not find it in him quite to agreethe Marquise dropping the statement into his ear at a moment when their hostess was making some inquiry of Mademoiselle Bourdethat she was a nature absolutely marvellous; but he could easily see that to world-worn Parisians her quiet charities of speech and manner, with something quaint and rustic in their form, might be restorative and salutary. She allowed for everything, yet she was so good, and indeed Madame de Brives summed this up before they left the table in saying to her, Oh, you, my dear, your success, more than any other that has ever taken place, has been a
succès de bonté.
Raymond was greatly amused at this idea of Cousin Maria's
succès de bonté:
it seemed to him delightfully Parisian.
Before dinner was over she inquired of him how he had got on in his profession since they last met, and he was too proud, or so he thought, to tell her anything but the simple truth, that he had not got on very well. If he was to ask her again for Dora it would be just as he was, an honourable but not particularly successful man, making no show of lures and bribes. I am not a remarkably good painter, he said. I judge myself perfectly. And then I have been handicapped at home. I have had a great many serious bothers and worries.
Ah, we were so sorry to hear about your dear father.
The tone of these words was kind and sincere; still Raymond thought that in this case her
bonté
might have gone
 
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a little further. At any rate this was the only allusion that she made to his bothers and worries. Indeed, she always passed over such things lightly; she was an optimist for others as well as for herself, which doubtless had a great deal to do (Raymond indulged in the reflection) with the headway she made in a society tired of its own pessimism.
After dinner, when they went into the drawing-room, the young man noted with complacency that this apartment, vast in itself, communicated with two or three others into which it would be easy to pass without attracting attention, the doors being replaced by old tapestries, looped up and offering no barrier. With pictures and curiosities all over the place, there were plenty of pretexts for wandering away. He lost no time in asking Dora whether her mother would send Mademoiselle Bourde after them if she were to go with him into one of the other rooms, the same way she had donedidn't she remember?that last night in New York, at the hotel. Dora didn't admit that she remembered (she was too loyal to her mother for that, and Raymond foresaw that this loyalty would be a source of irritation to him again, as it had been in the past), but he perceived, all the same, that she had not forgotten. She raised no difficulty, and a few moments later, while they stood in an adjacent
salon
(he had stopped to admire a bust of Effie, wonderfully living, slim and juvenile, the work of one of the sculptors who are the pride of contemporary French art), he said to her, looking about him, How has she done it so fast?
Done what, Raymond?
Why, done everything. Collected all these wonderful things; become intimate with Madame de Brives and every one else; organised her lifethe life of all of youso brilliantly.
I have never seen mamma in a hurry, Dora replied.
Perhaps she will be, now that I have come, Raymond suggested, laughing.
The girl hesitated a moment Yes, she was, to invite youthe moment she knew you were here.
She has been most kind, and I talk like a brute. But I am liable to do worseI give you notice. She won't like it any more than she did before, if she thinks I want to make up to you.
 
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Don't, Raymonddon't! the girl exclaimed, gently, but with a look of sudden pain.
Don't what, Dora?don't make up to you?
Don't begin to talk of those things. There is no need. We can go on being friends.
I will do exactly as you prescribe, and heaven forbid I should annoy you. But would you mind answering me a question? It is very particular, very intimate. He stopped, and she only looked at him, saying nothing. So he went on: Is it an idea of your mother's that you should marrysome person here? He gave her a chance to reply, but still she was silent, and he continued: Do you mind telling me this? Could it ever be an idea of your own?
Do you mean some Frenchman?
Raymond smiled. Some protégé of Madame de Brives.
Then the girl simply gave a slow, sad head-shake which struck him as the sweetest, proudest, most suggestive thing in the world. Well, well, that's all right, he remarked, cheerfully, and looked again a while at the bust, which he thought extraordinarily clever. And haven't
you
been done by one of these great fellows?
Oh dear no; only mamma and Effie. But Tishy is going to be, in a month or two. The next time you come you must see her. She remembers you vividly.
And I remember her that last night, with her reticule. Is she always pretty?
Dora hesitated a moment. She is a very sweet little creature, but she is not so pretty as Effie.
And have none of them wished to do younone of the painters?
Oh, it's not a question of me. I only wish them to let me alone.
For me it would be a question of you, if you would sit for me. But I daresay your mother wouldn't allow that.
No, I think not, said Dora, smiling.
She smiled, but her companion looked grave. However, not to pursue the subject, he asked, abruptly, Who is this Madame de Brives?
If you lived in Paris you would know. She is very celebrated.
 
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Celebrated for what?
For everything.
And is she goodis she genuine? Raymond asked. Then, seeing something in the girl's face, he added: I told you I should be brutal again. Has she undertaken to make a great marriage for Effie?
I don't know what she has undertaken, said Dora, impatiently.
And then for Tishy, when Effie has been disposed of?
Poor little Tishy! the girl continued, rather inscrutably.
And can she do nothing for you? the young man inquired.
Her answer surprised himafter a moment. She has kindly offered to exert herself, but it's no use.
Well, that's good. And who is it the young man comes forthe secretary of embassy?
Oh, he comes for all of us, said Dora, laughing.
I suppose your mother would prefer a preference, Raymond suggested.
To this she replied, irrelevantly, that she thought they had better go back; but as Raymond took no notice of the recommendation she mentioned that the secretary was no one in particular. At this moment Effie, looking very rosy and happy, pushed through the
portière
with the news that her sister must come and bid good-bye to the Marquise. She was taking her to the Duchess'sdidn't Dora remember? To the
bal blanc
the
sauterie de jeunes filles.
I thought we should be called, said Raymond, as he followed Effie; and he remarked that perhaps Madame de Brives would find something suitable at the Duchess's.
I don't know. Mamma would be very particular, the girl rejoined; and this was said simply, sympathetically, without the least appearance of deflection from that loyalty which Raymond deplored.
IV
You must come to us on the 17th; we expect to have a few people and some good music, Cousin Maria said to him before he quitted the house; and he wondered whether, the 17th being still ten days off, this might not be an intimation that
 
Page 180
they could abstain from his society until then. He chose, at any rate, not to take it as such, and called several times in the interval, late in the afternoon, when the ladies would be sure to have come in.
They were always there, and Cousin Maria's welcome was, for each occasion, maternal, though when he took leave she made no allusion to future meetingsto his coming again; but there were always other visitors as well, collected at tea round the great fire of logs, in the friendly, brilliant drawing-room where the luxurious was no enemy to the casual and Mrs. Temperly's manner of dispensing hospitality recalled to our young man somehow certain memories of his youthful time: visits in New England, at old homesteads flanked with elms, where a talkative, democratic, delightful farmer's wife pressed upon her company rustic viands in which she herself had had a hand. Cousin Maria enjoyed the services of a distinguished
chef,
and delicious
petits fours
were served with her tea; but Raymond had a sense that to complete the impression hot home-made gingerbread should have been produced.
The atmosphere was suffused with the presence of Madame de Brives. She was either there or she was just coming or she was just gone; her name, her voice, her example and encouragement were in the air. Other ladies came and wentsometimes accompanied by gentlemen who looked worn out, had waxed moustaches and knew how to talkand they were sometimes designated in the same manner as Madame de Brives; but she remained the Marquise
par excellence,
the incarnation of brilliancy and renown. The conversation moved among simple but civilised topics, was not dull and, considering that it consisted largely of personalities, was not ill-natured. Least of all was it scandalous, for the girls were always there, Cousin Maria not having thought it in the least necessary, in order to put herself in accord with French traditions, to relegate her daughters to the middle distance. They occupied a considerable part of the foreground, in the prettiest, most modest, most becoming attitudes.
It was Cousin Maria's theory of her own behaviour that she did in Paris simply as she had always done; and though this would not have been a complete account of the matter Raymond could not fail to notice the good sense and good
 
Page 181
taste with which she laid down her lines and the quiet
bonhomic
of the authority with which she caused the tone of the American home to be respected. Scandal stayed outside, not simply because Effie and Tishy were there, but because, even if Cousin Maria had received alone, she never would have received evil-speakers. Indeed, for Raymond, who had been accustomed to think that in a general way he knew pretty well what the French capital was, this was a strange, fresh Paris altogether, destitute of the salt that seasoned it for most palates, and yet not insipid nor innutritive. He marvelled at Cousin Maria's air, in such a city, of knowing, of recognising nothing bad: all the more that it represented an actual state of mind. He used to wonder sometimes what she would do and how she would feel if some day, in consequence of researches made by the Marquise in the
grand monde,
she should find herself in possession of a son-in-law formed according to one of the types of which
he
had impressions. However, it was not credible that Madame de Brives would play her a trick. There were moments when Raymond almost wished she mightto see how Cousin Maria would handle the gentleman.
Dora was almost always taken up by visitors, and he had scarcely any direct conversation with her. She was there, and he was glad she was there, and she knew he was glad (he knew that), but this was almost all the communion he had with her. She was mild, exquisitely mildthis was the term he mentally applied to her nowand it amply sufficed him, with the conviction he had that she was not stupid. She attended to the tea (for Mademoiselle Bourde was not always free), she handed the
petits fours,
she rang the bell when people went out; and it was in connection with these offices that the idea came to him oncehe was rather ashamed of it afterwardthat she was the Cinderella of the house, the domestic drudge, the one for whom there was no career, as it was useless for the Marquise to take up her case. He was ashamed of this fancy, I say, and yet it came back to him; he was even surprised that it had not occurred to him before. Her sisters were neither ugly nor proud (Tishy, indeed, was almost touchingly delicate and timid, with exceedingly pretty points, yet with a little appealing, old-womanish look, as if, smallvery small

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