Front matter (continued 2)

One pauses, horrified to find oneself ticking off these masterpieces on one's fingers, as though they were so many books by Mrs Humphry Ward or buns by Lyons. And yet what can one do? Criticism must break down when it comes to masterpieces. For if one is creative one wants to go away and spend oneself utterly on this sacred business of creation, wring out of oneself every drop of this inestimable thing art; and if one is not creative one can only put out a tremulous finger to touch the marvellous shining crystal, and be silent with wonder. Deep wonder, since these are not, as fools have pretended, merely rich treatments of the trivial. For although he could not grasp a complicated abstraction, was teased by the implications of a great cause, and angered by an idea that could be understood only by the synthesis of many references, he could dive down serenely, like a practised diver going under the sea for pearls, into the twilit depths of the heart to seize his secrets. There is in humanity an instinct for ritual, there lies in all of us a desire to commemorate our deep emotions, that would otherwise glow in our bosoms and die down for ever, by some form that adds to the beauty of the world; but there is only one expression of it in literature that is not poisonously silly. Newman and the Tractarians and Monsignor Benson make the ritualist seem as big a fool as the old woman who carries a potato in her pocket to ward off rheumatism. Sabatier makes him seem the kind of person who takes sugar in his tea, paints in water-colour and likes The Roadmender. But there is a story by Henry James called The Altar of the Dead, rejected again and again by the caste of cretins who edit the magazines and reviews of this unhappy country, although of so perfect a beauty that one can read every separate paragraph every day of one's life for the music of the sentences and the loveliness of the presented images, which takes ritual from the trembling hands of the coped old men and exhibits it as something that those who love the natural frame of things and hate superstition need not fear to accept. It tells how an ageing man acquires an altar in a Roman Catholic church and burns at it candles to his many dead, and by worshipping there keeps so close company with their charity and sweetness that, at his end, the blaze of white lights inspires him to a last supreme act of forgiveness to an enemy; and the beautiful recital makes one's mind no longer fear to admit that the splendour of a Cathedral Mass may, although one's unbelief fly like an arrow through the show and transfix even the Cross itself, fulfil a noble need. Once at least Henry James poured into his crystal goblet the red wine that nourishes the soul.

And it held, too, a liberal draught of the least trivial distillation of man's mind, which is tragedy, in The Wings of the Dove (1902). That story is the perfect example of what he had declared in The Tragic Muse the artistic performance should always be: "the application, clear and calculated, crystal-firm, as it were, of the idea conceived in the glow of experience, of suffering, of joy." For Milly Theale, the American heiress, "who had arts and idiosyncrasies of which no great account could have been given, but which were a daily grace if you lived with them; such as the art of being almost tragically impatient and yet making it light as air; of being inexplicably sad and yet making it clear as noon; of being unmistakably sad and yet making it soft as dusk," whose hopeful progress through Europe stops suddenly at the dark portal in Harley Street, is but the ghost of Mary Temple, whose death thirty years before had been felt by Henry and William James as the end of their youth. All those years he had held in his heart the memory of that poor girl, "conscious of a great capacity for life, but early stricken and doomed, condemned to die under short respite while also enamoured of the world; aware, moreover, of the condemnation and passionately desiring to 'put in' before extinction as many of the finer vibrations as possible and so achieve, however briefly and brokenly, the sense of having lived"; but with the prescience of the artist he had delayed until he had perfected his art to undertake the heavy task of presenting her tragedy without mitigation and yet making it bearable and beautiful. Then he lavished his technical resources on her history as he might have laid flowers on her grave. There is nothing more miraculous in all his works than the way he contrives that, when her agony becomes too great to be directly represented and has to be suggested by its effect upon others, he yet breaks no link of the intimacy between the reader and his heroine, but provides that her increasing physical absence shall be so compensated for by her spiritual presence that her rare appearances are like long-expected visits from a distant friend. One's knowledge of her glows into love when one sees her holding a reception in the faded golden splendours of the Venetian palace to which she has dragged herself to die, smiling bravely at her guests, bidding musicians strike up to keep them gay, playing, to preserve her hands from any gesture of anguish or appearance of lassitude, with the rope of pearls that seems to weigh down her wasted body. Yet one gets one's vision through the hard, envious eyes of Kate Croy, who is the hawk circling over the poor dying dove, and the appalled gaze of Merton Densher, Kate's secret lover, whom she has trapped into a profession of love for Milly so that the deluded girl will leave him her fortune. And one sees her most radiantly of all in the interview which she grants to Densher when she has discovered the cruel fraud practised on her and is dying of the knowledge, although one is told no more than that "she received me just as usual, in that glorious great salone, in the dress she always wears, from her inveterate corner of her sofa." From the love it lit in his heart, a love so great that for very shame Kate cannot marry him even when her machinations have achieved complete success at Milly's death, one perceives that this was the dying girl's assumption, that her sweetness and strength must at that hour have flowered so divinely that the skies opened and they were no longer matter for a human history. But about this masterpiece, too, there can be nothing said. One just sits and looks up, while the Master lifts his old grief, changed by his craftsmanship into eternal beauty as the wafer is changed to the Host by the priest's liturgy, enclosed from decay, prisoned in perfection, in the great shining crystal bowl of his art.

V THE GOLDEN BOWL

THE signs of age appeared in Mr James' work like white streaks in a black beard; between two vital and vigorous books there would appear one that in its garrulity and complacent surrender to mannerism predicted decay. It became clear, first of all, that he was no longer able to bear up with serenity under his deep sense that life was a vale of tears. How much he wished it would all stop is manifest in that strangest of all visions of Paradise, The Great Good Place (1900). We all have our hopes of what gifts the hereafter may bring us, and in most cases we desire some compensation for the limitations of our human knowledge; we promise ourselves that when we lean over the gold bar of heaven a competent angel will bustle up, clasping innumerable divinely clear text-books under its wings, to tell us absolutely everything about physics, with special reference to the movements of the heavenly bodies spinning below. But it is the essence of Mr James' Paradise that there is nothing there at all but a climate, a sweet soft climate in which the most that happens is one of those summer sprinkles that brings out smells. This fatigue of life, this hunger for the peace of nothingness, showed itself in his increasing preference for laying the scene of his novels in the great good places of this earth, where there is nothing more dangerous in the parks and on the terraces than deer and peacocks, and nothing more disturbing to the soul in the high rooms and interminable galleries than well-bred women. It was not a gain to his art; under its influence he committed the twittering over teacups which compose the collection of short stories called The Better Sort (1903), and the incidentally beautiful but devastatingly artificial The Awkward Age (1899), in which the reader is perpetually confused because Nanda Brookenham, one of the most charming of Mr James' "pure in heart," is wept over as though she had been violated body and soul, when all that has happened is that she has been brought up in a faster set than the world thinks desirable for a young unmarried girl. And it was peculiarly unfortunate that, while his subjects grew flimsier and his settings more impressive, his style became more and more elaborate. With sentences vast as the granite blocks of the Pyramids and a scene that would have made a site for a capital he set about constructing a story the size of a hen-house. The type of these unhappier efforts of Mr James' genius is The Sacred Fount (1901), where, with a respect for the mere gross largeness and expensiveness of the country house which almost makes one write the author Mr Jeames, he records how a week-end visitor spends more intellectual force than Kant can have used on The Critique of Pure Reason in an unsuccessful attempt to discover whether there exists between certain of his fellow-guests a relationship not more interesting among these vacuous people than it is among sparrows. The finely wrought descriptions of the leisured life make one feel as though one sat in a beautiful old castle, granting its beauty but not pleased, because one is a prisoner, while the small, mean story worries one like a rat nibbling at the wainscot. One takes it as significant that the unnamed host and hostess of the party never appear save to "give signals." The tiny, desperate figures this phrase shows to the mind's eye, semaphoring to each other across incredibly extended polished vistas to keep up their courage under these looming, soaring vaults, may be taken as symbols of the heart and intellect which Mr James had now forgotten in his elaboration of their social envelope.

But with this method, as in every form of literary activity save only playwriting, in which he was rather worse than Sidney Grundy in much the same way, Mr James gained his radiant triumphs. There could be nothing more trivial than the donnée of The Ambassadors (1903); there is no dignity or significance in the situation of Lambert Strether, an American who is engaged, in that odd way common to Mr James' characters, to a woman whom he certainly does not love and hardly seems to like, and goes at her bidding to Paris to cut her cubbish son clear from an entanglement with a Frenchwoman. And yet so artfully is the tale displayed in the setting of lovely, clean, white Paris and green France, lifting her poplars into the serene strong light of the French sky, that the reader holds his breath over the story of how Strether "had come with a view that might have been figured by a clear, green liquid, say, in a neat glass phial; and the liquid, once poured into the open cup of application, once exposed to the action of another air, had begun to turn from green to red, or whatever, and might, for all he knew, be on its way to purple, to black, to yellow"; how, in fact, the old "international situation" acted on the new generation of Americans. But that book is not typical of this period, for it is singularly free from those great sentences which sprawl over the pages of The Golden Bowl with such an effect of rank vegetable growth that one feels that if one took cuttings of them one could raise a library in the garden. And it is those sentences which absorb, at the last, the whole of Mr James' attention.

For he ceased, as time went on, to pay any attention to the emotional values of his stories; it is one of the strangest things about The Golden Bowl that the frame on which there hangs the most elaborate integument of suggestion and exposition ever woven by the mind of man is an ugly and incompletely invented story about some people who are sexually mad. Adam Verver, an American millionaire, buys an Italian prince for his daughter Maggie, and in her turn she arranges a marriage between her father and Charlotte, her school friend, because she thinks he may be lonely without her. And although it is plain that people who buy "made-up" marriages are more awful than the admittedly awful people who buy "made-up" ties, they are presented to one as vibrating exquisitely to every fine chord of life, as thinking about each other with the anxious subtlety of lovers, as so steeped in a sense of one another that they invent a sea of poetic phrases, beautiful images, discerning metaphors that break on the reader's mind like the unceasing surf. And when one tries to discover from the recorded speeches of these people whether there was no palliation of their ugly circumstances one finds that the dialogue, usually so compact a raft for the conveyance of the meaning of Mr James' novels, has been smashed up on this sea of phrases and drifts in, a plank at a time, on the copious flood:

"Maggie happened to learn, by some other man's greeting of him, in the bright Roman way, from a street corner as we passed, that one of the Prince's baptismal names, the one always used for him among his relations, was Amerigo; which—as you probably don't know, however, even after a lifetime of me—was the name, four hundred years ago, or whenever, of the pushing man who followed, across the sea, in the wake of Columbus and succeeded, where Columbus had failed, in becoming godfather, or name-father, to the new continent; so the thought of any connection with him can even now thrill our artless breasts."

And as if it was not enough that these people should say literally unspeakable sentences like that, and do incredible things, the phrases make them do things which they never did. For the metaphors are so beautifully and completely presented to the mind that it retains them as having as real and physical an existence as the facts. When we learn that the relationship between Charlotte and the Prince had reared itself in Maggie's life like "some wonderful, beautiful, but outlandish pagoda, a structure plated with hard, bright porcelain, coloured and figured and adorned, at the overhanging eaves, with silver bells that tinkled ever so charmingly, when stirred by chance airs," and the simile is cunningly developed for seven or eight hundred words, one is left with a confused impression that a pagoda formed part of the furniture at Portland Place and that Maggie oddly elected to keep her husband inside it. And to cap it all these people are not even human, for their thoughts concerning their relationships are so impassioned and so elaborate that they can never have had either energy or time for the consideration of anything else in the world. A race of creatures so inveterately specialist as Maggie Verver could never have attained man's mastery over environment, but would still be specialising on the cocoa-nut or some such simple form of diet.

Decidedly The Golden Bowl is not good as a novel; but what it is supremely good as can be discovered when one learns how, in these later days, Mr James used to compose his novels. He began by dictating a short draft which, even in the case of such a cartload of apes and ivory as The Golden Bowl, might be no longer than thirty thousand words. Then he would take this draft in his hand and would dictate it all over again with what he intended to be enlightening additions, but which, since the mere act of talking set all his family on to something quite different from the art of letters, made it less and less of a novel. For the James family had, as was shown by their father's many reported phrases, by William James' charm as a lecturer, and by the social greatness of Robertson James, a genius for conversation. For long years it had remained latent in Henry James, who had in youth suffered much from that stockishness which often comes to those who are burning all their energy for creative purposes and have none left for personal display; but latterly it had been liberated by the consciousness of maturity and fame. At last it became a passion with him, and he decided to converse, not only with his friends, but with his public. This was bad for his novels, so long as one considered them as such, since a novel should be the presentation and explanation of a subject while a conversation is a fantasia of entertaining phrases on themes the essentials of which are to some extent already in the possession of the interlocutors. But once one considers them as a flow of bright things said about people Mr James knows and that one rather thinks one has met, but is not quite sure, one perceives that the crystal bowl of Mr James' art was not, as one had feared, broken. He had but gilded its clear sides with the gold of his genius for phrase-making, and now, instead of lifting it with a priest-like gesture to exhibit a noble subject, held it on his knees as a treasured piece of bric-à-brac and tossed into it, with an increasing carelessness, any sort of subject—a jewel, a rose, a bit of string, a visiting-card—confident that the surrounding golden glow would lend it beauty. Indiscriminately he dropped into it his precious visions of his revisited motherland, in The American Scene (1907); the dry little anecdotes of The Finer Grain (1910); the tittering triviality of The Outcry (1911); and his judgment of his own works in the prefaces to the New York edition of the Novels and Tales of Henry James (1908-1909).

Always it was good, rambling talk, although fissured now and then with an old man's lapses into tiresomeness, when he split hairs until there were no longer any hairs to split and his mental gesture became merely the making of agitated passes over a complete baldness.

And here and there the prose achieves a beauty of its own; but it is no longer the beauty of a living thing, but rather the "made" beauty which bases its claims to admiration chiefly on its ingenuity, like those crystal clocks with jewelled works and figures moving as the hours chimed, which were the glory of mediæval palaces.

William James died in 1910, and Henry James, who had already begun to savour the bitterness of outliving brothers and friends and pets, whiled away the next few years of separation from his adored brother in the composition of two beautiful books about their childhood and youth, A Small Boy (1913), and Notes of a Son and Brother (1914), and a third autobiographical volume which is not yet published. Then came the European War, in which he enlisted as a spiritual soldier. By innumerable beautiful acts, by kindly visits to French and Belgian refugees and wounded soldiers, by gifts of money and writings to war charities, he raised an altar to the dead who had died for the countries which he had always loved at the hands of the country which, ever since he was a student at Bonn, he had always loathed. In July, 1915, he took the great step, fraught for him with the deepest emotions, of renouncing his American citizenship and becoming a naturalised British subject; and in January, 1916, he did England the further honour of accepting the Order of Merit. And on 28th February, 1916, he died, leaving the white light of his genius to shine out for the eternal comfort of the mind of man.

A SHORT BIBLIOGRAPHY OF MR HENRY JAMES' PRINCIPAL WORKS

[A complete bibliography of the works of Mr James would form a much thicker volume than this book. A useful bibliography up to 1906, compiled by Mr. Frederick Allen King, is included as an appendix in Miss Elisabeth Luther Cary's The Novels of Henry James (Putnam); and a complete bibliography covering the same period, which gives an interesting list of his early unsigned contributions to periodicals, has been compiled by Mr Leroy Phillips and published by Messrs Constable. The following bibliography records only the first editions of publications in book form.]

The American (Ward, Lock). 1877.

French Poets and Novelists (Macmillan). 1878.

The Europeans (Macmillan). 1878.

Roderick Hudson (Macmillan). 1879.

Daisy Miller. An International Episode. Four Meetings (Macmillan). 1879.

The Madonna of the Future. Longstaff's Marriage. Madame de Mauves. Eugene Pickering. The Diary of a Man of Fifty. Benvolio (Macmillan). 1879.

Hawthorne (Macmillan). Included in English Men of Letters Series, edited by John Morley. 1879.

Confidence (Chatto & Windus). 1880.

Washington Square. The Pension Beaurepas. A Bundle of Letters (Macmillan). 1881.

The Portrait of a Lady (Macmillan). 1881.

Portraits of Places (Macmillan). 1883.

Tales of Three Cities: The Impressions of a Cousin. Lady Barbarina. A New England Winter (Macmillan). 1884.

Stories Revived: Vol. I. The Author of Beltraffio. Pandora. The Path of Duty. A Day of Days. A Light Man. Vol. II. Georgina's Reasons. A Passionate Pilgrim. A Landscape Painter. Rose-Agathe. Vol. III. Poor Richard. The Last of the Valerii. Master Eustace. The Romance of Certain Old Clothes. A Most Extraordinary Case (Macmillan). 1885.

The Bostonians (Macmillan). 1886.

The Princess Casamassima (Macmillan). 1886.

The Reverberator (Macmillan). 1888.

The Aspern Papers. Louisa Pallant. The Modern Warning (Macmillan). 1888.

Partial Portraits (Macmillan). 1888.

A London Life. The Patagonia. The Liar. Mrs Temperley (Macmillan). 1889.

The Tragic Muse (Macmillan). 1890.

The Lesson of the Master. The Marriages. The Pupil. Brooksmith. The Solution. Sir Edmund Orme (Macmillan). 1892.

The Real Thing. Sir Dominick Ferrand. Nona Vincent. The Chaperon. Greville Fane (Macmillan). 1893.

The Private Life. The Wheel of Time. Lord Beaupré. The Visits. Collaboration. Owen Wingrave (Osgood, McIlvaine). 1893.

Essays in London (Osgood, McIlvaine). 1893.

Theatricals: Two Comedies. Tenants. Disengaged (Osgood, McIlvaine). 1894.

Theatricals: Second Series. The Album. The Reprobate (Osgood, McIlvaine). 1895.

Terminations: The Death of the Lion. The Coxon Fund. The Middle Years. The Altar of the Dead (Heinemann). 1895.

Embarrassments: The Figure in the Carpet. Glasses. The Next Time. The Way it Came (Heinemann) 1896.

The Other House (Heinemann). 1896.

The Spoils of Poynton (Heinemann). 1897.

What Maisie Knew (Heinemann). 1897.

In the Cage (Duckworth). 1898.

The Two Magics. The Turn of the Screw. Covering End (Macmillan). 1898.

The Awkward Age (Heinemann). 1899.

The Soft Side: The Great Good Place. "Europe." Paste. The Real Right Thing. The Great Condition. The Tree of Knowledge. The Abasement of the Northmores. The Given Case. John Delavoy. The Third Person. Maud-Evelyn. Miss Gunton of Poughkeepsie (Methuen). 1900.

The Sacred Fount (Methuen). 1901.

The Wings of the Dove (Constable). 1902.

The Better Sort: Broken Wings. The Beldonald Holbein. The Two Faces. The Tone of Time. The Special Type. Mrs Medwin. Flickerbridge. The Story in It. The Beast in the Jungle. The Birthplace. The Papers (Methuen). 1903.

The Ambassadors (Methuen). 1903.

William Wetmore Story and his Friends (Blackwood). 1903.

The Golden Bowl (Methuen). 1905.

English Hours (Heinemann). 1905.

The American Scene (Chapman & Hall). 1907.

Italian Hours (Heinemann). 1909.

The Finer Grain: The Velvet Glove. Mora Montravers. A Round of Visits. Crapy Cornelia. The Bench of Desolation (Methuen). 1910.

The Outcry (Methuen). 1911.

A Small Boy (Macmillan). 1913.

Notes of a Son and Brother (Macmillan). 1914.

Notes on Novelists (Dent). 1914.

A Collection of Novels and Tales by Henry James was published by Messrs Macmillan in 1883. This consisted of reprints of The Portrait of a Lady, Roderick Hudson, The American, Washington Square, The Europeans, Confidence, Madame de Mauves, An International Episode, The Pension Beaurepas, Daisy Miller, Four Meetings, Longstaff's Marriage, Benvolio, The Madonna of the Future, A Bundle of Letters, The Diary of a Man of Fifty, and Eugene Pickering; and two stories, The Siege of London and The Point of View, which had not before been published in England.

The New York Edition of the Novels and Tales of Mr Henry James was published by Messrs Macmillan during 1908-1909. Each novel and each volume of short stories has a critical preface by the author, and each volume has a photograph by Alvin Langdon Coburn as frontispiece. The following is the order:—

1. Roderick Hudson. 2. The American. 3, 4. The Portrait of a Lady. 5, 6. The Princess Casamassima. 7, 8. The Tragic Muse. 9. The Awkward Age. 10. The Spoils of Poynton; A London Life; The Chaperon. 11. What Maisie Knew; In the Cage; The Pupil. 12. The Aspern Papers; The Turn of the Screw; The Liar; The Two Faces. 13. The Reverberator; Madame de Mauves; A Passionate Pilgrim; The Madonna of the Future; Louisa Pallant. 14. Lady Barbarina; The Siege of London; An International Episode; The Pension Beaurepas; A Bundle of Letters; The Point of View. 15. The Lesson of the Master; The Death of the Lion; The Next Time; The Figure in the Carpet; The Coxon Fund. 16. The Author of Beltraffio; The Middle Years; Greville Fane; Broken Wings; The Tree of Knowledge; The Abasement of the Northmores; The Great Good Place; Four Meetings; Paste; Europe; Miss Gunton of Poughkeepsie; Fordham Castle. 17. The Altar of the Dead; The Beast in the Jungle; The Birthplace; The Private Life; Owen Wingrave; The Friends of the Friends; Sir Edmund Orme; The Real Right Thing; The Jolly Corner; Julia Bride. 18. Daisy Miller; Pandora; The Patagonia; The Marriages; The Real Thing; Brooksmith; The Beldonald Holbein; The Story in It; Flickerbridge; Mrs Medwin. 19, 20. The Ambassadors. 21, 22. The Wings of the Dove. 23, 24. The Golden Bowl.

Fordham Castle, The Jolly Corner and Julia Bride had not previously been published. All the early works have been subjected to a revision which in several cases, notably Daisy Miller and Four Meetings, amounts to their ruin.

AMERICAN BIBLIOGRAPHY

[When the contents of collections of short stories have been given in full in the English bibliography they are entered here by their title only.]

A Passionate Pilgrim and Other Tales: The Last of the Valerii. Eugene Pickering. The Madonna of the Future. The Romance of Certain Old Clothes. Madame de Mauves (James R. Osgood; present publisher, Houghton, Mifflin). 1875.

Transatlantic Sketches: Articles reprinted from The Nation, The Atlantic Monthly, and The Galaxy (James R. Osgood; present publishers, Houghton, Mifflin). 1875.

Roderick Hudson (James R. Osgood; present publisher, Houghton, Mifflin). 1876.

The American (James R. Osgood; present publisher, Houghton, Mifflin). 1877.

Watch and Ward (Houghton, Osgood; present publisher, Houghton, Mifflin). 1878.

The Europeans (Houghton, Osgood; present publisher, Houghton, Mifflin). 1878.

Daisy Miller (Harper). 1878.

An International Episode (Harper). 1878.

Hawthorne (Harper). 1880.

The Diary of a Man of Fifty and A Bundle of Letters (Harper). 1880.

Confidence (Houghton, Osgood; present publisher, Houghton Mifflin). 1880.

Washington Square. Illustrated by George du Maurier (Harper). 1881.

The Portrait of a Lady (Houghton, Mifflin). 1881.

Daisy Miller: A Comedy. Privately printed. 1882.

The Siege of London, The Pension Beaurepas, and The Point of View (James R. Osgood; present publisher, Houghton, Mifflin). 1883.

Portraits of Places (James R. Osgood; present publisher, Houghton, Mifflin). 1883.

Tales of Three Cities (James R. Osgood; present publisher, Houghton, Mifflin). 1884.

A Little Tour in France (James R. Osgood; present publisher, Houghton, Mifflin). 1884.

The Author of Beltraffio. Pandora. Georgina's Reasons. The Path of Duty. Four Meetings (James R. Osgood; present publisher, Houghton, Mifflin). 1885.

The Bostonians (Macmillan). 1886.

The Princess Casamassima (Macmillan). 1886.

The Reverberator (Macmillan). 1888.

The Aspern Papers (Macmillan). 1888.

Partial Portraits (Macmillan). 1888.

A London Life (Macmillan). 1889.

The Tragic Muse (Houghton, Mifflin). 1890.

The Lesson of the Master (Macmillan). 1892.

The Real Thing (Macmillan). 1893.

The Private Life. Lord Beaupré. The Visits (Harper). 1893.

The Wheel of Time. Collaboration. Owen Wingrave (Harper). 1893.

Picture and Text. Essays on Art (Harper). 1893.

Essays in London (Harper). 1893.

Theatricals (Harper). 1894.

Theatricals: Second Series (Harper). 1895.

Terminations (Harper). 1895.

Embarrassments (Macmillan). 1896.

The Other House (Macmillan). 1896.

The Spoils of Poynton (Houghton, Mifflin). 1897.

What Maisie Knew (Herbert S. Stone). 1897.

In the Cage (Herbert S. Stone). 1898.

The Two Magics (Macmillan). 1898.

The Awkward Age (Harper). 1899.

The Soft Side (Macmillan). 1900.

The Sacred Fount (Scribner's). 1901.

The Wings of the Dove (Scribner's). 1902.

The Better Sort (Scribner's). 1903.

The Ambassadors (Harper). 1903.

William Wetmore Story (Houghton, Mifflin). 1903.

The Golden Bowl (Scribner's). 1904.

English Hours (Houghton, Mifflin). 1905.

The Question of our Speech. The Lesson of Balzac (Houghton, Mifflin). 1905.

The American Scene (Harper). 1907.

Italian Hours (Houghton. Mifflin). 1909.

The Finer Grain (Scribner's). 1910.

The Outcry (Scribner's). 1911.

A Small Boy (Scribner's). 1913.

Notes of a Son and Brother (Scribner's). 1914.

Notes on Novelists (Scribner's). 1914.

The New York Edition of the Novels and Tales of Mr Henry James was published in America by Messrs Scribner's Sons.

INDEX

Altar of the Dead, The, 100

Ambassadors, The, 108-110

American Scene, The, 115

American, The, 38-40

Aspern Papers, The, 88-89

Atlantic Monthly, The, 21, 24

Author of Beltraffio, The, 78-80

Awkward Age, The, 106-107

Better Sort, The, 106

Bostonians, The, 71-72

Civil War, 19, 21

Coxon Fund, The, 92

Criticism, 63-71

Daisy Miller, 44-48

Death of the Lion, The, 92-93

Decadent Movement, 79-84, 90

Eliot, George, 22, 82

Emerson, 10, 72

Essays in London, 66

European War, 117

Europeans, The, 41-44

Finer Grain, The, 115

Flaubert, 58, 63, 65-66

French literature, 38, 52, 58, 91

French Poets and Novelists, 37, 64

Galaxy, The, 24

Golden Bowl, The, 25, 93, 95, 110-113

Great Good Place, The, 105

Hawthorne, 10, 24, 31

Historic sense, 60-63

International situation, 30-33, 109

In the Cage, 98

James, Rev. Henry, 12-13, 17-19, 114

Lady Barbarina, 49

Lesson of the Master, The, 92

Little Tour in France, A, 60-61

London Life, A, 50, 54

Madame de Mauves, 28-30

Madonna of the Future, The, 28

Middle Years, The, 92

Naturalisation, 117

Next Time, The, 92

New York Edition of, Novels and Tales, The, 115

Notes of a Son and Brother, 116

Notes on Novelists, 64

Other House, The, 96

Outcry, The, 115

Pandora, 49

Partial Portraits, 67

Passionate Pilgrim, The, 25-27, 61

Pension Beaurepas, The, 48

Playwriting, 108

Portrait of a Lady, The, 67-70

Princess Casamassima, The, 73-78

Religion, 17-19, 93, 99-101, 105-106

Reverberator, The, 50

Roderick Hudson, 33-36

Romance of Certain Old Clothes, 24

Sacred Fount, The, 107

Siege of London, The, 48

Small Boy, A, 116

Spoils of Poynton, The, 97

Temple, Mary, 23, 102

Tragic Muse, The, 84, 101

Turgeniev, 56-59, 91

Turn of the Screw, The, 97

Velasquez, 86

Ward, Mrs Humphry, 66

Washington Square, 55-59

What Maisie Knew, 97

Wings of the Dove, 101, 104