Page 98 - the-portrait-of-a-lady

tricks with it. He doesn’t take himself seriously.’
‘Does he regard himself as a joke?’
‘Much worse; he regards himself as an imposition—as an
abuse.’
‘Well, perhaps he is,’ said Isabel.
‘Perhaps he is—though on the whole I don’t think so.
But in that case what’s more pitiable than a sentient, self-
conscious abuse planted by other hands, deeply rooted but
aching with a sense of its injustice? For me, in his place, I
could be as solemn as a statue of Buddha. He occupies a
position that appeals to my imagination. Great responsibili-
ties, great opportunities, great consideration, great wealth,
great power, a natural share in the public affairs of a great
country. But he’s all in a muddle about himself, his position,
his power, and indeed about everything in the world. He’s
the victim of a critical age; he has ceased to believe in him-
self and he doesn’t know what to believe in. When I attempt
to tell him (because if I were he I know very well what I
should believe in) he calls me a pampered bigot. I believe he
seriously thinks me an awful Philistine; he says I don’t un-
derstand my time. I understand it certainly better than he,
who can neither abolish himself as a nuisance nor maintain
himself as an institution.’
‘He doesn’t look very wretched,’ Isabel observed.
‘Possibly not; though, being a man of a good deal of
charming taste, I think he often has uncomfortable hours.
But what is it to say of a being of his opportunities that he’s
not miserable? Besides, I believe he is.’
‘I don’t,’ said Isabel.

98 The Portrait of a Lady