La lecture à portée de main
Vous pourrez modifier la taille du texte de cet ouvrage
Découvre YouScribe en t'inscrivant gratuitement
Je m'inscrisDécouvre YouScribe en t'inscrivant gratuitement
Je m'inscrisVous pourrez modifier la taille du texte de cet ouvrage
Description
Informations
Publié par | Pub One Info |
Date de parution | 27 septembre 2010 |
Nombre de lectures | 0 |
EAN13 | 9782819928508 |
Langue | English |
Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0050€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.
Extrait
HENRY JAMES, JR.
by
William Dean Howells
The events of Mr. James's life— as we agree tounderstand events— may be told in a very few words. His race isIrish on his father's side and Scotch on his mother's, to whichmingled strains the generalizer may attribute, if he likes, thatunion of vivid expression and dispassionate analysis which hascharacterized his work from the first. There are none of thoseearly struggles with poverty, which render the lives of so manydistinguished Americans monotonous reading, to record in his case:the cabin hearth-fire did not light him to the youthful pursuit ofliterature; he had from the start all those advantages which, whenthey go too far, become limitations.
He was born in New York city in the year 1843, andhis first lessons in life and letters were the best which themetropolis— so small in the perspective diminishing to that date—could afford. In his twelfth year his family went abroad, and aftersome stay in England made a long sojourn in France and Switzerland.They returned to America in 1860, placing themselves at Newport,and for a year or two Mr. James was at the Harvard Law School,where, perhaps, he did not study a great deal of law. His fatherremoved from Newport to Cambridge in 1866, and there Mr. Jamesremained till he went abroad, three years later, for the residencein England and Italy which, with infrequent visits home, hascontinued ever since.
It was during these three years of his Cambridgelife that I became acquainted with his work. He had already printeda tale— “The Story of a Year”— in the “Atlantic Monthly, ” when Iwas asked to be Mr. Fields's assistant in the management, and itwas my fortune to read Mr. James's second contribution inmanuscript. “Would you take it? ” asked my chief. “Yes, and all thestories you can get from the writer. ” One is much securer of one'sjudgment at twenty-nine than, say, at forty-five; but if this was amistake of mine I am not yet old enough to regret it. The story wascalled “Poor Richard, ” and it dealt with the conscience of a manvery much in love with a woman who loved his rival. He told thisrival a lie, which sent him away to his death on the field, — inthat day nearly every fictitious personage had something to do withthe war, — but Poor Richard's lie did not win him his love. Itstill seems to me that the situation was strongly and finely felt.One's pity went, as it should, with the liar; but the whole storyhad a pathos which lingers in my mind equally with a sense of thenew literary qualities which gave me such delight in it. I admired,as we must in all that Mr.