DOI article:
James, Henry: The death of the lion
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.20196#0021
By Henry James 15
You think ef more and more all the while. That's what makes
you, if you will pardon my familiarity, so respectable. At a time
when so many people are spent you come into your second wind.
But, thank God, all the same, you're better ! Thank God, too,
you're not, as you were telling me yesterday,' successful.' If you
weren't a failure, what would be the use of trying ? That's my
one reserve on the subject of your recovery—that it makes you
' score,' as the newspapers say. It looks well in the newspapers,
and almost anything that does that is horrible. ' We are happy
to announce that Mr. Paraday, the celebrated author, is again in
the enjoyment of excellent health.' Somehow I shouldn't likc to
see it."
" You won't see it; I'm not in the least celebrated—my
obscurity protects me. But couldn't you bear even to sec I was
dying or dead ? " my companion asked.
"Dead—passe encore; there's nothing so safe. One never
knows what a living artist may do—one has mourned so many.
However, one must make the worst of it; you must be as dead as
you can."
" Don't I meet that condition in having just published a
book ?"
"Adequately, let us hope ; for the book is verily a master-
piece."
At this moment the parlour-maid appeared in the door that
opened into the garden : Paraday lived at no great cost, and the
frisk of petticoats, with a timorous " Sherry, sir ? " was about his
modest mahogany. He allowed half his income to his wife, from
whom he had sueeeeded in separating without redundancyof legend.
I had a general faith in his having behaved well, and I had once, in
London, taken Mrs. Paraday down to dinner. He now turned to
speak to the maid, who offered him, on a tray, some card or note,
while
You think ef more and more all the while. That's what makes
you, if you will pardon my familiarity, so respectable. At a time
when so many people are spent you come into your second wind.
But, thank God, all the same, you're better ! Thank God, too,
you're not, as you were telling me yesterday,' successful.' If you
weren't a failure, what would be the use of trying ? That's my
one reserve on the subject of your recovery—that it makes you
' score,' as the newspapers say. It looks well in the newspapers,
and almost anything that does that is horrible. ' We are happy
to announce that Mr. Paraday, the celebrated author, is again in
the enjoyment of excellent health.' Somehow I shouldn't likc to
see it."
" You won't see it; I'm not in the least celebrated—my
obscurity protects me. But couldn't you bear even to sec I was
dying or dead ? " my companion asked.
"Dead—passe encore; there's nothing so safe. One never
knows what a living artist may do—one has mourned so many.
However, one must make the worst of it; you must be as dead as
you can."
" Don't I meet that condition in having just published a
book ?"
"Adequately, let us hope ; for the book is verily a master-
piece."
At this moment the parlour-maid appeared in the door that
opened into the garden : Paraday lived at no great cost, and the
frisk of petticoats, with a timorous " Sherry, sir ? " was about his
modest mahogany. He allowed half his income to his wife, from
whom he had sueeeeded in separating without redundancyof legend.
I had a general faith in his having behaved well, and I had once, in
London, taken Mrs. Paraday down to dinner. He now turned to
speak to the maid, who offered him, on a tray, some card or note,
while