I have not read Henry James for years. As I've admitted previously, I've not much of a memory for books, no matter how much I enjoy them, so this is what I retain of James: very disturbing small children, in a story wrapped within a story that I loved (The Turn of the Screw). Italy, Madame Merle, unbearably irritating heroine (The Portrait of a Lady). Most of all, though, extremely long sentences.
I am very much minded to return to him as soon as possible, however, after I was pointed by a good friend towards this new blog post from the Edith Wharton Society, which quotes Wharton reminiscing in her autobiography A Backward Glance about a trip with the great man. Apologies to those who might have already seen it: I hadn't, and it has filled me with affection for James.
First of all, while "motoring in the west country", Wharton and her husband are entreated by James to let him guide them into Malvern, as he once spent a summer there and believes he will be able to find his way to their hotel.
"For an hour we circulated about above the outspread city, while James vainly tried to remember which particular street led down most directly to our hotel. At each corner (literally) he stopped the motor, and we heard a muttering, first confident and then anguished. 'This – this, my dear Cook, yes … this certainly is the right corner. But no; stay! A moment longer, please – in this light it's so difficult … appearances are so misleading … It may be …yes! I think it IS the next turn … a little farther lend thy guiding hand …that is, drive on; but slowly, please, my dear Cook; VERY slowly!' And at the next corner the same agitated monologue would be repeated; till at length Cook, the mildest of men, interrupted gently: 'I guess any turn'll get us down into the town, Mr James, and after that I can ask–' and late, hungry and exhausted we arrived at length at our destination, James still convinced that the next turn would have been the right one, if only we had been more patient."
Later, James and Wharton arrive in Windsor at night, and are unsure of how to direct their chauffeur to the King's Road. James, fortunately, spots an "ancient doddering man who had stopped in the rain to gaze at us", and asks him for help.
Wharton relates what he said. "My good man, if you'll be good enough to come here, please; a little nearer – so," and as the old man came up: "My friend, to put it to you in two words, this lady and I have just arrived here from SLOUGH; that is to say, to be more strictly accurate, we have recently PASSED THROUGH Slough on our way here, having actually motored to Windsor from Rye, which was our point of departure; and the darkness having overtaken us, we should be much obliged if you would tell us where we now are in relation, say, to the High Street, which, as you of course know, leads to the Castle, after leaving on the left hand the turn down to the railway station."
The old man is, obviously, stunned, or as Wharton puts it, "I was not surprised to have this extraordinary appeal met by silence, and a dazed expression on the old wrinkled face at the window."
James continues. "In short" (his invariable prelude to a fresh series of explanatory ramifications), "in short, my good man, what I want to put to you in a word is this: supposing we have already (as I have reason to think we have) driven past the turn down to the railway station (which, in that case, by the way, would probably not have been on our left hand, but on our right), where are we now in relation to …"
"Oh, please," I interrupted, feeling myself utterly unable to sit through another parenthesis, "do ask him where the King's Road is."
"Ah–? The King's Road? Just so! Quite right! Can you, as a matter of fact, my good man, tell us where, in relation to our present position, the King's Road exactly IS?"
"Ye're in it," said the aged face at the window."
Wonderful stuff, brilliantly told. Now to dig out my old copies of The Turn of the Screw and The Golden Bowl, and remind myself what such a mind wrought. And A Backward Glance will be next on my reading list.
