Mr. Devenish said nothing for some time. His expression, grave and tensely pensive, was that of one unaccustomed to such flights of high seriousness as his companion had just undertaken, and who must have a moment in which to adjust his own plumage so as to be able to ascend sufficiently far to join her in those heady heights. At last he spoke.
“This is—and here I am going to employ a term which the world nowadays would put in quotation marks, but I do not—this is a noble offer, and one that I readily accept, and thank you for.”
“I can see you are wondering if I will be equal to the task. I have attended other deathbeds, I have witnessed other deaths. My little son died—there was a fire to temper a soul. You may trust me. I shall not falter. I shall not fail you—I mean, I shall not fail your aunt.”
“I believe it, dear Mrs. Osmond,” he said, with almost an overflow of conviction. “I believe it.” Here he frowned, taking on an air of deeper earnestness that made him seem all at once very young. “Do you think, if I were to ask you to address me by my first name, that you might allow me to address you by yours? I am aware,” he hastened to add, “that this is only the second time we have met.”
Isabel looked away. “I wonder if that might not be a little too much tutoyer-ing for one day,” she murmured, but gently.
“Yes, of course, I understand,” Mr. Devenish said, colouring, and frowning all the harder.
“But perhaps we may come to it,” Isabel went on, to console him. “Who knows? These things must occur naturally, don’t you think?”
“I do think so, certainly. But will you permit me, if only inwardly, to think of you as Isabel? In the way of practice, you understand.” The lightness of this last was only a little marred by his getting stuck on the awkward plosive at the start of that word “practice.”
Now all at once they had reached their destination, and Isabel tapped the roof of the cab to signal to the driver, perched high behind them, to stop. Mr. Devenish—Myles—craned forward to see where they were. “Why, it’s Paddington!” he declared, and turned to the woman at his side. “Do you mean to take me on a journey?”
They got down from the cab and walked forward a little way, to the corner of the broad thoroughfare that led down into the dark depths of the station, which from here were impenetrable to the eye, and Isabel put a hand on her companion’s arm and drew him to a stop. This was the place where the weeping man had stood, that morning when she had come up from Gardencourt after her cousin’s death; she described now, to Mr. Devenish, how lost and desolate the unfortunate fellow had sounded, like a child bereft of its parents.
“You didn’t expect him to be here still, did you?” Mr. Devenish asked, with an incredulous smile.
“No, of course not,” Isabel answered. “I only wanted to see the place again, and I wanted you to see it, too. I did nothing to help the poor creature in his distress, and I have not forgiven myself for it.” She turned to face him, animated suddenly, and unaccountably so, as it seemed to him. “Tell me, Mr. Devenish, what, had you been in my place, you would have done,” she demanded gravely. “For I’m sure you would have done something.”
The young man glanced this way and that, passing the tip of his tongue along his lower lip. He was conscious of the weight of the moment, as he stood there with Isabel’s eyes earnestly fixed on him, but he could not have said what it was exactly that would warrant such weight.
“I don’t know what there would have been to do,” he said, struggling not to stammer. “Our task, it seems to me, is to look beyond the individual case, and aim to make a world that will not any longer allow of the wretchedness you witnessed in that poor man’s plight.” He stopped, irresolute; he could see, from the way the light faded in her eye, that he had given the wrong answer. “I mean,” he said, ready to try again, “I mean I—” But it was too late.
They turned together and walked away from the station entrance. He thought to link his arm in hers, but then thought better of it. He told her, as they went along, how it was his aunt’s wish to set up a radical journal in New York, with him as its editor, and, as Isabel heard it wordlessly implied, with her—with Mrs. Osmond’s—fortune to support it.
He had meant his words, shy and tentative as they had been, to convey an explorative note, a note of invitation, even, which he hoped Isabel would meet, and answer; but Isabel said nothing, nothing at all.
A NOTE ABOUT THE AUTHOR
John Banville, the author of sixteen novels, has been the recipient of the Man Booker Prize, the James Tait Black Memorial Prize, the Guardian Fiction Award, the Franz Kafka Prize, the Lannan Literary Award for Fiction, and the Prince of Asturias Award for Literature. He lives in Dublin.
Mrs. Osmond
By John Banville
The questions, discussion topics, and reading list that follow are intended to enhance your reading group’s discussion of Mrs. Osmond, the sequel to Henry James’s The Portrait of a Lady by Man Booker Prize–winner John Banville.
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
1. Have you read The Portrait of a Lady? How does this sequel compare to your interpretation of James’s ambiguous ending?
2. Banville chose as his epigraph an excerpt from James’s novel: “Deep in her soul—deeper than any appetite for renunciation—was the sense that life would be her business for a long time to come.” What does this sentence mean? Why did Banville choose this particular passage?
3. Our first glimpse of Isabel’s character comes through her maid, Staines, on this page, who feels vexed by “what she considered her mistress’s willful credulousness, deplorable gullibility and incurably soft heart.” Does this strike you as an accurate assessment? How does Isabel change over the course of the novel?
4. At several points, Isabel considers her fortune to be a burden. Why? How might her life be different if she hadn’t come into this inheritance?
5. Certain scenes have comedic undertones. How does Banville use humor to advance the story?
6. Why does Isabel attempt to make her relationship with Staines more egalitarian?
7. The behavior of several characters seems to be influenced by their location—in Rome vs. Florence, for instance. Why does it matter where conversations and confrontations take place?
8. On this page, Isabel’s aunt tells her, “Advice is another term for mischief-making, and anyone who asks for it deserves the consequences. One cannot be told how to live, my girl—and one shouldn’t wish to be.” How does this advice against advice prove useful to Isabel?
9. A vein of feminism runs throughout the story. How does it compare to your understanding of the time period, and to The Portrait of a Lady?
10. Why does Serena Merle accept Isabel’s proposition?
11. We don’t learn the whereabouts of the satchel of cash until relatively late in the novel. Why does Banville withhold this information?
12. How does Isabel’s final disposition of the money demonstrate how she has grown?
13. As the novel progresses, Isabel finds herself able to hold her own against both Gilbert Osmond and Serena Merle. What is the source of this newfound strength?
14. Discuss Isabel’s final encounter with Countess Gemini and Pansy. Why does Pansy act so cool toward Isabel? How did you respond to the Countess’s insinuations about Pansy?
15. The idea of freedom is a major theme of the novel. At what point does Isabel become free? How does she achieve freedom?
16. In the final scene, Isabel takes Myles Devenish to Paddington Station. Why? His response disappoints Isabel: “Our task, it seems to me, is to look beyond the individual case, and aim to make a world that will not any longer allow of the wretchedness you witnessed in that poor man’s plight” (this page). Why does this change her attitude toward him?
17. Banville ends the novel as enigmatically, as James did with The Portrait of a Lady: “He had meant his words, shy and tentative as they had been, to convey an explorative note, a note of invitation, even, which he hoped Isabel would meet, and ans
wer; but Isabel said nothing, nothing at all” (this page). How do you interpret this?
SUGGESTED READING
The Portrait of a Lady by Henry James
Eligible by Curtis Sittenfeld
Longbourn by Jo Baker
The Lost Child by Caryl Phillips
The Hours by Michael Cunningham
A Thousand Acres by Jane Smiley
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