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Updated: June 20, 2025
That spot of blood, that light but guilty streak, Had banish'd all the beauty from her cheek!" The Corsair's misanthropy had not destroyed him. Small creatures alone are wholly converted into spite and scepticism by disappointment and repulse. Those who are larger avenge themselves by devotion. Conrad's love for Medora was intensified and exalted by his hatred of the world.
"Dogged if I know what to make of it," sighed Fulkerson, "but I guess he's been having a talk with Conrad that's soured on him. I reckon maybe he came back expecting to find that boy reconciled to the glory of this world, and Conrad's showed himself just as set against it as ever." "It might have been that," March admitted, pensively.
Conrad will drift into discovery, Henry James will sail more cunningly to his end with chart and compass. One is aware of a certain deliberate indolent hither-and-thitherness in the psychological progress of Mr. Conrad's Under Western Eyes, for instance, which is never to be found even in the most elusive of Henry James's novels. Both of them are, of course, in love with the elusive.
This was the story of King Conrad; and much as Odo loved the clash of arms and joyous feats of paladins rescuing fair maids in battle, yet Conrad's seemed to him, even then, a braver deed than these.
I've been longing for this opportunity to read Henry James, knowing that he was Joseph Conrad's master. "The Spoils of Poynton" has given me a foretaste of the pleasure I'm to have. A prisoner of war has his compensations.
Conrad's coat was of modern texture and cut, and was buttoned about him as if it concealed a bad conscience within its lapels; he met March with his entreating smile, and he seemed no more capable of coping with the situation than his father. They both waited for Fulkerson, who went about and did his best to keep life in the party during the half-hour that passed before they sat down at dinner.
Death is peace and pardon. I only wish poor old Lindau was as well out of it as Conrad there." "Ah, Lindau! He has done harm enough," said Mrs. March. "I hope he will be careful after this." March did not try to defend Lindau against her theory of the case, which inexorably held him responsible for Conrad's death. "Lindau's going to come out all right, I guess," said Fulkerson.
The duke grieved at this. But as the weeks wore away Conrad's color came back to his cheeks and his old-time vivacity to his eye, and he administered the government with a clear and steadily ripening wisdom. Presently a strange whisper began to be heard about the palace. It grew louder; it spread farther. The gossips of the city got hold of it. It swept the dukedom.
Then came a blast of wind and carried off Conrad's hat, so that he had to run far away, while the maiden quietly went on combing and plaiting her hair, all of which the King observed. Then, quite unseen, he went away, and when the goose-girl came home in the evening, he called her aside, and asked why she did all these things.
Poor Conrad had begged, as for his very life, that he might be spared the misery of sitting in judgment upon his cousin's crime, but it did not avail. The saddest heart in all that great assemblage was in Conrad's breast.
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