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Henry James

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Jeanne Delbaere-Garant

III. The Novelist

The Tragic Muse (1890). Artists and Philistines

Texte intégral

  • 1 Matthew Arnold, Lectures and Essays in Criticism, p. 111.
  • 2 Henry James, The Scenic Art, p. 44.

Philistinism!—we have not the expression in English. Perhaps we have not the word because we have so much of the thing.1
The theatre is an essential part of French civilization in regard to which it keeps up a lively process of action and reaction. It is not a mere amusement, as it is in other countries; it is an interest, an institution, connected through a dozen open doors with literature, art, and society.2

  • 3 Preface to The Tragic Muse. The Art of the Novel, p. 79.
  • 4 The Tragic Muse, I, 12.

1The conflict between art and the world had always struck James as “one of the half-dozen great primary motives.”3 He had long wanted to “do something about art.” “All art is one,” Nick tells his sister at the beginning of The Tragic Muse, “any spark that’s struck in any province is of use and suggestion to all the others. We’re all in the same boat.”4

  • 5 Ibid., p. 255.

2This was also James’s conviction, and the two fields of art explored in this novel were of immense suggestion for his own craft. From the stage he learned the art of foreshortening that could give the novel the close and compact organization he so much admired in French plays. From the painter he learned to fuse all his elements into a beautiful whole in order to create the illusion of life. This problem of fusion was particularly difficult to solve in The Tragic Muse since James wanted to use two different and parallel stories, that of the painter and that of the actress, and to weave them together. He tried to emulate Tintoretto who had blended different pictorial themes in one of his Crucifixions. It is indeed of a Tintoretto that the novel reminds us with its inconclusive ending losing itself in a vague infinite as does the table of the “Last Supper” in San Giorgio Maggiore. Like the old Abbey at Beauclere, which suggested to James the image of “a great wreck, of the indestructible vessel of a faith,”5 The Tragic Muse is the vessel of his own faith in Art.

3A regular playgoer and a fervent admirer of the Comédie Française James wrote many articles on the theatre which emphasize the poverty of the English stage. In an article entitled “The London Theatres” and published in 1880 James wrote:

  • 6 The Scenic Art, p. 133.

There are a great many theatres in London, enjoying various degrees of credit and prosperity; but there is nothing cynical in saying that there is no such thing in existence as an English stage. The stage is a collective organism, composed of the harmonious vitality diffused through a number of individual play-houses, which are nourished by a dramatic literature native to the country, and expressing its manners and feelings, and which work together to an effective end. When it substantially exists, it is usually summed up, typified to the world, in a theatre more distinguished than the rest, in which the education of the actor has reached its highest point, and in which it is the supreme ambition of the dramatic authors of the country to see their productions represented. There is a stage in France, of which the Comédie Française is the richest expression.6

  • 7 Ibid., p. 124.

4This clearly summarizes the situation. The lack of centralization made the theatre in England very poor and provincial. There was no school for training actors in London similar to the Conservatoire de Paris and no exemplary stage that could match the Théâtre Français. Neither was there any standard of taste. People went to the theatre because it was the fashion, a respectable and expensive pastime, a kind of social luxury and not, as in France, an artistic necessity and a part of the national life. For these uncritical and genteel audiences the quality of the seats mattered more than that of the play or of the acting. Besides, their delicate stomachs could not have digested the hard meat that was served on the French stage, and since no good plays were produced in England they had to content themselves with adaptations from French plays which in the process had become “diluted in British propriety,”7 thereby losing not only their savour but all interest:

  • 8 Ibid., p. 123.

Coarse adaptations of French comedies, with their literary savor completely evaporated, and their form and proportions quite sacrificed to the queer obeisances they are obliged to make to that incongruous phantom of a morality which has not wit enough to provide itself with an entertainment conceived in its own image.8

  • 9 The Tragic Muse, II, 43.

5In the novel James transcribes his notes almost literally. When Miriam Rooth appears for the first time on an English theatre the play in which she acts is “a more or less idiotised version of a new French piece, a thing that had taken in Paris at a third-rate theatre and was now proving itself in London good enough for houses mainly made up of ten-shilling stalls.”9

  • 10 The Scenic Art, p. 161.

6With nothing but such meagre material to exert themselves upon, with nothing resembling a school of training or a general standard of taste, English actors could never hope to compete with the French. They remained eccentric and individualistic, and Henry Irving was a good example of how an incomplete and amateurish actor could yet be the first tragic actor in England. The situation was still worse with actresses. In 1880 James wrote that the best actress in England was an American, Geneviève Ward, and that the most successful event of the theatrical season was the appearance of Madame Modjeska in Schiller’s Mary Stuart. Her success, he wrote to conclude his article, “only points the moral of these desultory remarks that the principal ornament of the English stage just now should be a Polish actress in a German play.”10 Apart from the contemporary situation, which made it impossible for James to use London as a setting for Miriam Rooth’s glorious career, there was, James thought, something in the English mind that prevented this nation from being really theatrical. The English had “too stern a sense of duty” and were “too highly moral to be histrionic.” Even when they spoke of creating a training-school for young actors in London James remained sceptical about the possible results:

  • 11 Ibid., pp. 162-163.

It will take more, however, than even the hottest histrionic forcing-house to make an English school of actors which shall rival the French; it will take a transformation of English life, of the English temperament, of the English tongue.11

  • 12 Ibid., p. 3.
  • 13 Ibid., p. 90.
  • 14 Ibid., p. 121.

7These were reasons enough for James to choose Paris as his setting and a cosmopolitan half Jewess for his Tragic Muse. If there was no stage to speak of in England there was one in France, one that “[threw] into relief the best gifts of the French mind” and that found its best expression in the Théâtre Français, “not only the most amiable but the most characteristic of French institutions.” 12 There, everything was centralized, regulated. The actor’s art was like a “manufacture of old lace and old brocade,”13 some ancient trade with its mystery, its “technical secrets and special knowledge.”14 The traditions, “preserved, transmitted, respected, cherished, until they form the very atmosphere, the vital air, of the establishment,” that is, of the Comédie Française, gave the foreigner a sense of perfection in the execution which he would never dream of elsewhere:

  • 15 Ibid., p. 72.

Never has he seen anything so smooth and harmonious, so artistic and completed. He has heard all his life of attention to detail, and now, for the first time, he sees something that deserves that name. He sees dramatic effort refined to a point with which the English stage is unacquainted…. He is in an ideal and exemplary world—a world that has managed to attain all the felicities that the world we live in misses.15

  • 16 Ibid., p. 50.
  • 17 The Tragic Muse, I, 60.
  • 18 Ibid., II, 127.

8An immense aesthetic pleasure and a real intellectual profit can be derived from watching a great actor or a great actress. The perfection of Madame Plessy’s acting made James reflect on “all the experience, the observation, the reflection, the contact with life and art which are summed up in such a mellow maturity of skill.”16 Remembering the actresses he had seen as well as those he had only heard of, James created Madame Carré, “the Balzac… of actresses,”17 as Peter Sherringham calls her, and like her creator, Miriam Rooth will learn the lesson of Balzac. Thanks to the seriousness of the old actress, to the exemplary stage on which she can draw again and again and to her own indefatiguable efforts, the girl will finally become a “priestess of harmony.”18

  • 19 Ibid., I, 116.
  • 20 Ibid., I, 114.

9When she is introduced for the first time to the great Honorine Carré, Miriam is still a neutral blank sheet: she has no style at all and recites everything in the same monotonous tone, “a solemn, droning, dragging measure suggestive of an exhortation from the pulpit and adopted evidently with the ‘affecting’ intention and from a crude idea of ‘style’.”19 She has no country, no house, nothing that might suggest an axis, a standard, or a minimum of roots. She travels a lot and speaks many languages with the same facility. The first thing the old actress will teach her is that she can get nowhere if she goes on dissipating her efforts in many directions instead of directing them all to a single purpose. When she hears that Miriam and her mother have no permanent abode to stay at, Madame Carré exclaims that the English are “d’une légèreté à faire frémir.”20 The question at issue is not morality but art, and in France art is a religion, and Madame Carré a high priestess. She is the depositary of certain traditions and she cannot bear to see outsiders take them lightly. James uses many images that suggest religious rites and he often compares the theatre with a church, with a temple of art. When he takes Miriam and her mother to Mlle Voisin’s loge Peter Sherringham feels like

  • 21 Ibid., I, 314.

a cicerone showing a church to a party of provincials; and indeed there was a grave hospitality in the air, mingled with something academic and important, the tone of an institution, a temple which made them all, out of respect and delicacy, hold their breath a little and thread the shining floors with discretion.21

  • 22 Ibid., I, 304.
  • 23 This was James’s idea of the perfect actor. He wrote on Coquelin: “It is exactly by being fixed so (...)

10Miriam’s ambition is to become another priestess in this temple of Art. Gradually she loses her provinciality by keeping to a very strict standard and ignoring all that is not relevant to her art. When Peter Sherringham sees her again after having been abroad for some time he notices “an immense increase of this good-humoured inattention to detail—all detail save that of her work, to which she was ready to sacrifice holocausts of feeling when the feelings were other people’s.”22 She sticks to her centre and everything becomes grist to her mill.23

  • 24 The Tragic Muse, I, 194.

11Mrs. Rooth, Miriam’s patronizing mother, is a representative of the English audience and shares its prejudices. She is very “moral” and has a particular taste for edification and for beautiful characters. She never fails to direct her daughter’s attention to these and “to remind her that there is nothing in life so grand as a sublime act, above all when sublimely explained.”24 She is only interested in the plot and in the moral comfort that may be derived from the contents of the plot, whereas Miriam only cares for her “form,” for the perfect rendering of appearances which alone produces the illusion of life. Her plasticity is similar to that of the narrator’s models in The Real Thing but her mother, like the Monarchs, has no plasticity at all:

  • 25 Loc. cit.

The poor lady never could have been accused of successful deceit, whereas the triumph of fraud was exactly what her clever child achieved. She made even the true seem fictive, while Miriam’s effort was to make the fictive true.25

  • 26 Ibid., I, 110.

12When Mrs. Rooth expresses to Madame Carré doubts about the morality of the French stage the old actress reacts violently and tells her that Miriam will find nothing in France that she cannot see, hear, and learn elsewhere and that the only difference is that they are “better done, they’re better said, above all they’re better taught”26 than anywhere else. She reproaches Mrs. Rooth with mixing things up as the English usually do, which is highly prejudicial to both their morality and their artistic achievements:

  • 27 Ibid., I, 111.

To be too respectable to go where things are done best is in my opinion to be very vicious indeed; and to do them badly in order to preserve your virtue is to fall into a grossness more shocking than any other. To do them well is virtue enough, and not to make a mess of it the only respectability. That’s hard enough to merit Paradise. Everything else is base humbug!27

  • 28 The Scenic Art. p. 108.

13Although she is French, Madame Carré is James’s mouthpiece: “the only immorality I know on the stage,” he wrote, “is the production of an ill-made play.”28

  • 29 At the time when he wrote The Tragic Muse James was more and more interested in the theatre. He wa (...)

14The many discussions about art and especially about the theatre29 in The Tragic Muse sometimes make the “carpet” appear less closely woven than it is in James’s other great novels. Our first impression on reading the book is that James knew the subject too well and was too much immersed in it to give it the same tight construction as he gave the works whose subject made a greater demand on his imagination. This, however, is only a first and quite superficial impression due to the fact that, unlike James’s other novels, The Tragic Muse is not ambiguous at all. Actually the novel is built with the greatest care and it is not by mere chance that James’s famous passage about the art of foreshortening appears in the Preface to it:

  • 30 Preface to The Tragic Muse, The Art of the Novel, pp. 87-88.

Therein lies the secret of the appeal, to his mind, of the successfully foreshortened thing, where representation is arrived at, as I have already elsewhere had occasion to urge, not by the addition of items… but by the art of figuring synthetically, a compactness into which the imagination may cut thick, as into the rich density of wedding-cake.30

  • 31 Ernest H. Lockridge: “A vision of Art: Henry James’s The Tragic Muse,” Modern Fiction Studies, XII (...)

15Indeed we can cut almost everywhere in The Tragic Muse to get the rich compact and all-enclosing slice. In an article in Modern Fiction Studies Ernest H. Lockridge has studied one such passage, namely, Nick’s stroll to the old abbey on Mr. Carteret’s estate, and has shown that it was “the molecule whose minute structure is duplicated by the crystal of which it forms a part.”31 I propose to do the same with the first book, which is a foreshortening of the whole novel and which throws light on the particular meaning of Paris as an alternative setting to London.

16When the curtain rises on the first page a living group blends with the figures, monuments, and busts exhibited in the garden of the Salon de l’Industrie in Paris. Nothing could better set off the Dormer family’s motionless verticality than the distorted statues of the young French school of sculpture. They attract notice and constitute in themselves “a successful plastic fact”:

  • 32 The Tragic Muse, I, 4.

The fresh diffused light of the Salon made them clear and important; they were finished creations, in their way, and, ranged there motionless on their green bench, were almost as much on exhibition as if they had been hung on the line.32

  • 33 Loc. cit.
  • 34 Ibid., p. 12.
  • 35 Ibid., p. 16. She resembles Florentia in “After the Play” who goes to the Theatre Libre in the aft (...)

17The French passers-by consider ironically the “superior features” of this rare and typically English family which has, however, “neglected a fine opportunity for completing these features with an expression.”33 But the impression of these French people does not go beyond their retina and they prove quite superficial when they see nothing in the group but the features of the mother reproduced in different shades on her three children’s faces. Indeed as soon as they begin to move the four persons fall into two contrasted groups with a stronger and a weaker element in each: Lady Agnes and her elder daughter Grace on the one hand, Nick and his sister Biddy on the other. The differences between these two groups immediately appear from their reactions to the works of art exhibited in the garden: Lady Agnes calls them “dreadful” while Nick cannot contain his admiration. “This place is an immense stimulus to me,” he tells his mother, “it refreshes me, excites me—it’s such an exhibition of artistic life. It’s full of ideas, full of refinements; it gives one such an impression of artistic experience.”34But Lady Agnes is shocked and saddened by her son’s enthusiasm. She has inherited “the fine old superstition that art’s pardonable only so long as it’s bad—so long as it’s done at odd hours, for a little distraction, like a game of tennis or of whist.”35 This opposition between the practical, positive mind of the mother supported by the elder daughter, and the artistic mind of the son, backed up, for symmetry’s sake, by Biddy, constitutes the musical theme which will be amplified all through the novel and which is already sounded here in a major key (Lady Agnes and Nick) and in a minor (Grace and Biddy).

18While Lady Agnes and her elder daughter sit down to lunch Nick and Biddy come to the foreground and look at the works of art exhibited at the Salon. For both but especially for Nick these are an immense excitement:

  • 36 The Tragic Muse, I, 19.

The precinct of the marbles and bronzes spoke to him especially to-day; the glazed garden, not florally rich, with its new productions alternating with perfunctory plants and its queer, damp smell, partly the odour of plastic clay, of the studios of sculptors, put forth the voice of old associations, of other visits, of companionships now ended—an insinuating eloquence which was at the same time somehow identical with the general sharp contagion of Paris. There was youth in the air, and a multitudinous newness, for ever reviving, and the diffusion of a hundred talents, ingenuities, experiments. The summer clouds made shadows on the roof of the great building; the white images, hard in their crudity, spotted the place with provocations; the rattle of plates at the restaurant sounded sociable in the distance, and our young man congratulated himself more than ever that he had not missed his chance.36

19As appears from this passage the exhibition is only a miniature Paris. It quickens the young man’s senses and induces in him reflexions, associations and observations; it epitomizes a particular attitude to life that is fundamentally different from that represented by Lady Agnes.

20Nick is at a turning point in his life: he still hesitates between marrying the beautiful Julia Dallow and sitting in the House of Commons, or giving up public life in order to devote himself entirely to Art. At that crucial moment Gabriel Nash enters the scene, like the very deus ex machina needed by the young man. He is accompanied by Miriam Rooth and her mother. While the elderly woman goes on looking at the statues her daughter, all dark hair and widely-gazing eyes, lingers in front of the rosy grey-eyed Biddy, who feels like a lamb facing a wolf or “a tigress about to spring”:

  • 37 Ibid., p. 23.

Biddy had a momentary sense of being a figure in a ballet, a dramatic ballet—a subordinate motionless figure, to be dashed at to music or strangely capered up to. It would be a very dramatic ballet indeed if this young person were the heroine.37

21Biddy senses danger and recognizes a rival in the unknown girl. In the great ballet of Art she is and will remain a subordinate figure. She has not Miriam’s sacred rage, which alone leads to the very best. The two foreigners leave the scene while Nick, Biddy and Nash join Lady Agnes and Grace in the restaurant where Peter Sherringham is waiting for them. The symmetry of the beginning is re-established and the musical theme is now amplified, each of the two newly arrived persons beautifully falling into each of the two existing groups. Ironically, Peter Sherringham, who professes to be on the side of art, is in fact on the side of “society” as it is less ambiguously represented by Lady Agnes. Of the two absent characters, Miriam Rooth and Julia Dallow, the former is as clearly on the side of Art as the latter is on the side of the “world.” The two tendencies have thus an equal number of representatives. Here, however, the light is no longer projected on Nick as it was at the exhibition (the world of art) but on Lady Agnes, who is the most prominent figure in the restaurant, the world of “society.” Her helplessness among the statues suddenly and almost miraculously gives way to a remarkable gift for organization. She imposes her ideas on the waiter and her cold authority is strongly set off against the man’s agitation and verbiage:

  • 38 Ibid., p. 33.

Lady Agnes had ideas, and, though it had suited her humour ten minutes before to profess herself helpless in such a case, the manner in which she imposed them on the waiter as original, practical, and economical, showed the high executive woman, the mother of children, the daughter of earls, the consort of an official, the dispenser of hospitality, looking back upon a lifetime of luncheons.38

  • 39 Ibid., p. 77.

22After the meal the various characters leave the stage and scatter about the city. Their attitude is hardly different from their attitude at the exhibition: Nash disappears as mysteriously as he had come and vanishes in the ambient air, Lady Agnes and her elder daughter are bored with the town, whereas Nick relishes the quickening effect of Paris on his mind and senses and the extreme sociability of its inhabitants. He enjoys everything, the “shop-windows on the quays, the old books on the parapet, the gaiety of the river, the grandeur of the Louvre, every fine feature of that prodigious face.”39 Although France is not a revelation for him as it was for Hyacinth Robinson and as it will be for Maisie, his pleasure is revived each time he comes back. Significantly again, Peter Sherringham does not look at anything and smiles at Nick’s childish and “insular” pleasure.

23In the next and last scene of the first book the characters (except Nash and the two ladies) are together again, seated round a table. They are waiting for Julia Dallow, who last enters the stage like the main actress and attracts much notice:

  • 40 Ibid., p. 79.

The dame de comptoir ducked and re-ducked, the people looked round, Peter and Nick got up, there was a shuffling of chairs—Julia had come.40

  • 41 Ibid., p. 80.
  • 42 Ibid., p. 87.

24The first words she utters at once shed light on her practical mind: “Oh dear, why didn’t you have a private room?”41 she exclaims, thereby disclosing her dislike of the promiscuity of public places. Her brother answers that they haven’t because Biddy likes to see the world and especially the coming and going of the Parisian crowd. Julia’s gift for organization is even superior to Lady Agnes’s and she arranges everything for the evening in her easy grand style. Well dressed, beautiful and educated, she is a paragon of social behaviour: “When Mrs. Dallow put her elbows on the table one felt she could be trusted to get them safely off again.”42 At the end of the dinner all the characters part again, and James follows Nick and Julia in the streets of the French capital. The young man is still very excited by Paris but his companion is weary of it. The disagreement between mother and son at the beginning is amplified and reproduced all through the novel. Nick stands for Art and Lady Agnes for “Society.” Nick admires the sculptures, Paris, France and all that is associated with art; Lady Agnes hates art, finds Paris boring and can only be happy in England, especially if she can manage to have enough money and a son in the House of Commons. All the characters of the novel appear in this first book, which is a kind of play within the novel. Only Miriam Rooth has a secondary role since the novel is the story of her successful ascension and since she is still quite unknown at the beginning. Later she will have the whole stage to herself. All through the novel she will be seen through the eyes of her spectators as she already is through Nick’s and Biddy’s in the first pages.

  • 43 Like Hyacinth Robinson, Milly Theale is condemned to die under short respite but she is placed aga (...)

25In this novel Paris is the very scene on which the characters —all of them English—act their parts. This appears clearly from the first book, in which they are seen either in a restaurant (“society”) or at an exhibition (art) and scatter about in the streets of Paris every time they leave the stage. The interest of the characters in the town is in inverse proportion to their interest in material success. Paris has no longer the definite meaning James gave to it in The Princess Casamassima, where it symbolized life and represented the furthest stage of the hero’s exploration into himself. Here the French capital is a vaguer presence and forms a background to the novel similar to the one formed by Venice in The Wings of the Dove.43 The first half of the novel mostly takes place in Paris and the second half in England. James’s balancing of his action between the two settings is also a balancing between two different and irreconcilable worlds. the world of art and the world of money. Paris and London represent two different attitudes to life. Paris is the true home of the Miriam Rooths and the Nick Dormers, those who are ready to sacrifice everything for art, who are not interested in social success and for whom money never constitutes an aim in itself. London, on the other hand, is the true home of those for whom art is nothing but an innocent pastime, those who cannot do without money and who are ready to sacrifice everything for worldly success, brilliant careers and comfortable country-houses. Although James tries to remain impartial all through and to present his “worldly” characters in as favourable a light as the artistically-minded, it is easy to see on which side he himself stands. For the first time his admiration for France is not qualified because the novel is not concerned with morality but with art, and for art there is no place like France and no lightroom for the rest of the world except beautiful artistic Paris. In art the only immorality is lack of seriousness and in this respect England is far more immoral than France. The fact that all the characters are English and yet so different shows that James has ceased to care for international contrasts and strictly national idiosyncrasies. There can be artists and Philistines within the same country and impassable gulfs between them as deep as the Channel.

Notes

1 Matthew Arnold, Lectures and Essays in Criticism, p. 111.

2 Henry James, The Scenic Art, p. 44.

3 Preface to The Tragic Muse. The Art of the Novel, p. 79.

4 The Tragic Muse, I, 12.

5 Ibid., p. 255.

6 The Scenic Art, p. 133.

7 Ibid., p. 124.

8 Ibid., p. 123.

9 The Tragic Muse, II, 43.

10 The Scenic Art, p. 161.

11 Ibid., pp. 162-163.

12 Ibid., p. 3.

13 Ibid., p. 90.

14 Ibid., p. 121.

15 Ibid., p. 72.

16 Ibid., p. 50.

17 The Tragic Muse, I, 60.

18 Ibid., II, 127.

19 Ibid., I, 116.

20 Ibid., I, 114.

21 Ibid., I, 314.

22 Ibid., I, 304.

23 This was James’s idea of the perfect actor. He wrote on Coquelin: “It is exactly by being fixed so firm at his centre that he is able to reach out, reach ever so far, to the perfect Jean Dacier one night and to the perfect Don Annibal another” (The Scenic Art, pp. 204-5).

24 The Tragic Muse, I, 194.

25 Loc. cit.

26 Ibid., I, 110.

27 Ibid., I, 111.

28 The Scenic Art. p. 108.

29 At the time when he wrote The Tragic Muse James was more and more interested in the theatre. He was not only a regular playgoer but also wanted to write for the stage. After the publication of The Tragic Muse he devoted ten years of his life to the theatre.

30 Preface to The Tragic Muse, The Art of the Novel, pp. 87-88.

31 Ernest H. Lockridge: “A vision of Art: Henry James’s The Tragic Muse,” Modern Fiction Studies, XII (Spring 1966), 83.

32 The Tragic Muse, I, 4.

33 Loc. cit.

34 Ibid., p. 12.

35 Ibid., p. 16. She resembles Florentia in “After the Play” who goes to the Theatre Libre in the afternoon because she cannot spare an evening for a play. The essay was published in the same year as The Tragic Muse (1889) and is reprinted in The Scenic Art, pp. 226-242.

36 The Tragic Muse, I, 19.

37 Ibid., p. 23.

38 Ibid., p. 33.

39 Ibid., p. 77.

40 Ibid., p. 79.

41 Ibid., p. 80.

42 Ibid., p. 87.

43 Like Hyacinth Robinson, Milly Theale is condemned to die under short respite but she is placed against the background of Venice, not of Paris. Indeed, Paris is never associated with death in James’s mind. On the contrary it is the very city of life and its vital energy would have made Milly come back to life. But she turns her young face to the wall in the decaying city whose beauty has so often been associated with death, e.g., by Chateaubriand in his Mémoires, by D’Annunzio in Il Fuoco, by Thomas Mann in Der Tod in Venedig. Besides what holds her to life is her love for Merton Densher. It has nothing to do with art or ideas. What is involved is her heart, not her mind.

© Presses universitaires de Liège, 1970

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