The Ambassadors

The Ambassadors

Nothing is more easy than to state the subject of The Ambassadors, which first appeared in twelve numbers of The North American Review (1903) and was published as a whole the same year. The situation involved is gathered up betimes, that is in the second chapter of Book Fifth, for the readers benefit, into as few words as possibleplanted or sunk, stiffly and saliently, in the centre of the current, almost perhaps to the obstruction of traffic. Never can a composition of this sort have sprung straighter from a dropped grain of suggestion, and never can that grain, developed, overgrown and smothered, have yet lurked more in the mass as an independent particle. The whole case, in fine, is in Lambert Strethers irrepressible outbreak to little Bilham on the Sunday afternoon in Glorianis garden, the candour with which he yields, for his young friends enlightenment, to the charming admonition of that crisis. The idea of the tale resides indeed in the very fact that an hour of such unprecedented ease should have been felt by him as a crisis, and he is at pains to express it for us as neatly as we could desire. The remarks to which he thus gives utterance contain the essence of The Ambassadors, his fingers close, before he has done, round the stem of the full-blown flower; which, after that fashion, he continues officiously to present to us. Live all you can; its a mistake not to. It doesnt so much matter what you do in particular so long as you have your life. If you havent had that what have you had? Im too oldtoo old at any rate for what I see. What one loses one loses; make no mistake about that. Still, we have the illusion of freedom; therefore dont, like me to-day, be without the memory of that illusion. I was either, at the right time, too stupid or too intelligent to have it, and now Im a case of reaction against the mistake. Do what you like so long as you dont make it. For it was a mistake. Live, live! Such is the gist of Strethers appeal to the impressed youth, whom he likes and whom he desires to befriend; the word mistake occurs several times, it will be seen, in the course of his remarkswhich gives the measure of the signal warning he feels attached to his case. He has accordingly missed too much, though perhaps after all constitutionally qualified for a better part, and he wakes up to it in conditions that press the spring of a terrible question. Would there yet perhaps be time for reparation?reparation, that is, for the injury done his character; for the affront, he is quite ready to say, so stupidly put upon it and in which he has even himself had so clumsy a hand? The answer to which is that he now at all events sees; so that the business of my tale and the march of my action, not to say the precious moral of everything, is just my demonstration of this process of vision. Nothing can exceed the closeness with which the whole fits again into its germ. That had been given me bodily, as usual, by the spoken word, for I was to take the image over exactly as I happened to have met it. A friend had repeated to me, with great appreciation, a thing or two said to him by a man of distinction, much his senior, and to which a sense akin to that of Strethers melancholy eloquence might be imputedsaid as chance would have, and so easily might, in Paris, and in a charming old garden attached to a house of art, and on a Sunday afternoon of summer, many persons of great interest being present. The observation there listened to and gathered up had contained part of the note that I was to recognise on the spot as to my purposehad contained in fact the greater part; the rest was in the place and the time and the scene they sketched: these constituents clustered and combined to give me further support, to give me what I may call the note absolute. There it stands, accordingly, full in the tideway; driven in, with hard taps, like some strong stake for the noose of a cable, the swirl of the current roundabout it. What amplified the hint to more than the bulk of hints in general was the gift with it of the old Paris garden, for in that token were sealed up values infinitely precious. There was of course the seal to break and each item of the packet to count over and handle and estimate; but somehow, in the light of the hint, all the elements of a situation of the sort most to my taste were there. I could even remember no occasion on which, so confronted, I had found it of a livelier interest to take stock, in this fashion, of suggested wealth. For I think, verily, that there are degrees of merit in subjectsin spite of the fact that to treat even one of the most ambiguous with due decency we must for the time, for the feverish and prejudiced hour, at least figure its merit and its dignity as possibly absolute. What it comes to, doubtless, is that even among the supremely goodsince with such alone is it ones theory of ones honour to be concernedthere is an ideal beauty of goodness the invoked action of which is to raise the artistic faith to its maximum. Then truly, I hold, ones theme may be said to shine, and that of The Ambassadors, I confess, wore this glow for me from beginning to end. Fortunately thus I am able to estimate this as, frankly, quite the best, all round, of all my productions; any failure of that justification would have made such an extreme of complacency publicly fatuous. I recall then in this connexion no moment of subjective intermittence, never one of those alarms as for a suspected hollow beneath ones feet, a felt ingratitude in the scheme adopted, under which confidence fails and opportunity seems but to mock. If the motive of The Wings of the Dove, as I have noted, was to worry me at moments by a sealing-up of its facethough without prejudice to its again, of a sudden, fairly grimacing with expressionso in this other business I had absolute conviction and constant clearness to deal with; it had been a frank proposition, the whole bunch of data, installed on my premises like a monotony of fine weather. (The order of composition, in these things, I may mention, was reversed by the order of publication; the earlier written of the two books having appeared as the later.) Even under the weight of my heros years I could feel my postulate firm; even under the strain of the difference between those of Madame de Vionnet and those of Chad Newsome, a difference liable to be denounced as shocking, I could still feel it serene. Nothing resisted, nothing betrayed, I seem to make out, in this full and sound sense of the matter; it shed from any side I could turn it to the same golden glow. I rejoiced in the promise of a hero so mature, who would give me thereby the more to bite intosince its only into thickened motive and accumulated character, I think, that the painter of life bites more than a little. My poor friend should have accumulated character, certainly; or rather would be quite naturally and handsomely possessed of it, in the sense that he would have, and would always have felt he had, imagination galore, and that this yet wouldnt have wrecked him. It was immeasurable, the opportunity to do a man of imagination, for if there mightnt be a chance to bite, where in the world might it be? This personage of course, so enriched, wouldnt give me, for his type, imagination in predominance or as his prime faculty, nor should I, in view of other matters, have found that convenient. So particular a luxurysome occasion, that is, for study of the high gift in supreme command of a case or of a careerwould still doubtless come on the day I should be ready to pay for it; and till then might, as from far back, remain hung up well in view and just out of reach. The comparative case meanwhile would serveit was only on the minor scale that I had treated myself even to comparative cases. ......Buy Now (To Read More)

Product details

Ebook Number: 432
Author: James, Henry
Release Date: Feb 1, 1996
Format: eBook
Language: English