When the affected young poet pretended to be used up and
worn out, one knew there was vitality under it all. But when I see a
cheerful young man shrieking about how full of life he is, banging on a
drum, and blowing on a tin trumpet, and speaking of his good spirits, it
depresses me, since naturally it gives the contrary impression. It can't
be real. It ought to be but it isn't. If the noisy person meant what he
said, he wouldn't say it.'
'I see. The modern _poseurs_ aren't so good as the old ones. Odle is not
so clever as Beardsley.'
'Of course not. Beardsley had the gift of line--though he didn't always
know where to draw it--but his illustrations to Wilde's work were
unsuitable, because Beardsley wanted everything down in black and white,
and Wilde wanted everything in purple and gold. But both had their
restraints, and their pose was reserve, not flamboyance.'
'I think you mean that if people are so sickening as to have an
affectation at all, you would rather they kept it quiet,' said Edith.
'Exactly! At least, it brings a smile to one's lips to see a very young
man pretend he is bored with life. I have often wondered what the answer
would be from one of these chaps, and what he would actually say, if you
held a loaded pistol to his head--I mean the man who says he doesn't
think life worth living.
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