The Madonna of the Future | Page 3

medium if you either delete this "Small Print!" and all
other references to Project Gutenberg, or:
[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this requires that
you do not remove, alter or modify the etext or this "small print!"
statement. You may however, if you wish, distribute this etext in
machine readable binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form,

including any form resulting from conversion by word pro- cessing or
hypertext software, but only so long as *EITHER*:
[*] The etext, when displayed, is clearly readable, and does *not*
contain characters other than those intended by the author of the work,
although tilde (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may be used
to convey punctuation intended by the author, and additional characters
may be used to indicate hypertext links; OR
[*] The etext may be readily converted by the reader at no expense into
plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent form by the program that displays
the etext (as is the case, for instance, with most word processors); OR
[*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at no additional
cost, fee or expense, a copy of the etext in its original plain ASCII form
(or in EBCDIC or other equivalent proprietary form).
[2] Honor the etext refund and replacement provisions of this "Small
Print!" statement.
[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Project of 20% of the net profits
you derive calculated using the method you already use to calculate
your applicable taxes. If you don't derive profits, no royalty is due.
Royalties are payable to "Project Gutenberg
Association/Carnegie-Mellon University" within the 60 days following
each date you prepare (or were legally required to prepare) your annual
(or equivalent periodic) tax return.
WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU
DON'T HAVE TO?
The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time, scanning
machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty free copyright
licenses, and every other sort of contribution you can think of. Money
should be paid to "Project Gutenberg Association / Carnegie-Mellon
University".
*END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN

ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END*

This etext was prepared by David Price, email [email protected]
from the 1887 Macmillan and Co. edition. Proofing was by Jennifer
Austin.

THE MADONNA OF THE FUTURE
by Henry James

We had been talking about the masters who had achieved but a single
masterpiece--the artists and poets who but once in their lives had
known the divine afflatus and touched the high level of perfection. Our
host had been showing us a charming little cabinet picture by a painter
whose name we had never heard, and who, after this single spasmodic
bid for fame, had apparently relapsed into obscurity and mediocrity.
There was some discussion as to the frequency of this phenomenon;
during which, I observed, H- sat silent, finishing his cigar with a
meditative air, and looking at the picture which was being handed
round the table. "I don't know how common a case it is," he said at last,
"but I have seen it. I have known a poor fellow who painted his one
masterpiece, and"--he added with a smile-- "he didn't even paint that.
He made his bid for fame and missed it." We all knew H- for a clever
man who had seen much of men and manners, and had a great stock of
reminiscences. Some one immediately questioned him further, and
while I was engrossed with the raptures of my neighbour over the little
picture, he was induced to tell his tale. If I were to doubt whether it
would bear repeating, I should only have to remember how that
charming woman, our hostess, who had left the table, ventured back in
rustling rose-colour to pronounce our lingering a want of gallantry, and,
finding us a listening circle, sank into her chair in spite of our cigars,
and heard the story out so graciously that, when the catastrophe was
reached, she glanced across at me and showed me a tear in each of her
beautiful eyes.
It relates to my youth, and to Italy: two fine things! (H- began). I had
arrived late in the evening at Florence, and while I finished my bottle of

wine at supper, had fancied that, tired traveller though I was, I might
pay the city a finer compliment than by going vulgarly to bed. A
narrow passage wandered darkly away out of the little square before
my hotel, and looked as if it bored into the heart of Florence. I followed
it, and at the end of ten minutes emerged upon a great piazza, filled
only with the mild autumn moonlight. Opposite rose the Palazzo
Vecchio, like some huge civic fortress, with the great bell-tower
springing from its embattled verge as a mountain- pine from the edge
of a cliff. At its