Transcriber’s Note:
Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
“accordeon” should possibly be “accordion”.
THE PRINCESS CASAMASSIMA
MACMILLAN AND CO., Limited
LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA · MADRAS
MELBOURNE
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO
DALLAS · SAN FRANCISCO
THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd.
TORONTO
THE PRINCESS
CASAMASSIMA
BY
HENRY JAMES
IN TWO VOLUMES
VOL. I
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
ST. MARTIN’S STREET LONDON
1921
COPYRIGHT
First published in 1886
PREFACE
The simplest account of the origin of The PrincessCasamassima is, I think, that this fiction proceededquite directly, during the first year of a long residencein London, from the habit and the interestof walking the streets. I walked a great deal—forexercise, for amusement, for acquisition, and aboveall I always walked home at the evening’s end, whenthe evening had been spent elsewhere, as happenedmore often than not; and as to do this was toreceive many impressions, so the impressions workedand sought an issue, so the book after a time wasborn. It is a fact that, as I look back, the attentiveexploration of London, the assault directly made bythe great city upon an imagination quick to react,fully explains a large part of it. There is a minorelement that refers itself to another source, of whichI shall presently speak; but the prime idea wasunmistakably the ripe round fruit of perambulation.One walked of course with one’s eyes greatly open,and I hasten to declare that such a practice, carriedon for a long time and over a considerable space,positively provokes, all round, a mystic solicitation,the urgent appeal, on the part of everything, tobe interpreted and, so far as may be, reproduced.vi“Subjects” and situations, character and history,the tragedy and comedy of life, are things of whichthe common air, in such conditions, seems pungentlyto taste; and to a mind curious, before the humanscene, of meanings and revelations the great greyBabylon easily becomes, on its face, a garden bristlingwith an immense illustrative flora. Possible stories,presentable figures, rise from the thick jungle as theobserver moves, fluttering up like startled game,and before he knows it indeed he has fairly to guardhimself against the brush of importunate wings.He goes on as with his head in a cloud of hummingpresences—especially during the younger, the initiatorytime, the fresh, the sharply-apprehensive monthsor years, more or less numerous. We use ourmaterial up, we use up even the thick tribute ofthe London streets—if perception and attention butsufficiently light our steps. But I think of themas lasting, for myself, quite sufficiently long; Ithink of them as even still—dreadfully changed forthe worse in respect to any romantic idea as I findthem—breaking out on occasion into eloquence,throwing out deep notes from their