Лучшее из «Саги о Форсайтах» / The Best of The Forsyte Saga. Джон Голсуорси

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СКАЧАТЬ He had a reason of his own connected with a pet building scheme, for observing Bosinney. The architect might do for his purpose; he looked clever, as he sat leaning back in his chair, moodily making little ramparts with bread-crumbs. Soames noted his dress clothes to be well cut, but too small, as though made many years ago.

      He saw him turn to Irene and say something and her face sparkle as he often saw it sparkle at other people – never at himself. He tried to catch what they were saying, but Aunt Juley was speaking.

      Hadn’t that always seemed very extraordinary to Soames? Only last Sunday dear Mr. Scole, had been so witty in his sermon, so sarcastic, “For what,” he had said, “shall it profit a man if he gain his own soul, but lose all his property?” That, he had said, was the motto of the middle-class; now, what had he meant by that? Of course, it might be what middle-class people believed – she didn’t know; what did Soames think?

      He answered abstractedly: “How should I know? Scoles is a humbug, though, isn’t he?” For Bosinney was looking round the table, as if pointing out the peculiarities of the guests, and Soames wondered what he was saying. By her smile Irene was evidently agreeing with his remarks. She seemed always to agree with other people.

      Her eyes were turned on himself; Soames dropped his glance at once. The smile had died off her lips.

      A humbug? But what did Soames mean? If Mr. Scoles was a humbug, a clergyman – then anybody might be – it was frightful!

      “Well, and so they are!” said Soames.

      During Aunt Juley’s momentary and horrified silence he caught some words of Irene’s that sounded like: ‘Abandon hope, all ye who enter here!’

      But Swithin had finished his ham.

      “Where do you go for your mushrooms?” he was saying to Irene in a voice like a courtier’s; “you ought to go to Smileybob’s – he’ll give ’em you fresh. These little men, they won’t take the trouble!”

      Irene turned to answer him, and Soames saw Bosinney watching her and smiling to himself. A curious smile the fellow had. A half-simple arrangement, like a child who smiles when he is pleased. As for George’s nickname – ‘The Buccaneer’ – he did not think much of that. And, seeing Bosinney turn to June, Soames smiled too, but sardonically – he did not like June, who was not looking too pleased.

      This was not surprising, for she had just held the following conversation with James:

      “I stayed on the river on my way home, Uncle James, and saw a beautiful site for a house.”

      James, a slow and thorough eater, stopped the process of mastication.

      “Eh?” he said. “Now, where was that?”

      “Close to Pangbourne.”

      James placed a piece of ham in his mouth, and June waited.

      “I suppose you wouldn’t know whether the land about there was freehold?” he asked at last. “You wouldn’t know anything about the price of land about there?”

      “Yes,” said June; “I made inquiries.” Her little resolute face under its copper crown was suspiciously eager and aglow.

      James regarded her with the air of an inquisitor.

      “What? You’re not thinking of buying land!” he ejaculated, dropping his fork.

      June was greatly encouraged by his interest. It had long been her pet plan that her uncles should benefit themselves and Bosinney by building country-houses.

      “Of course not,” she said. “I thought it would be such a splendid place for – you or – someone to build a country-house!”

      James looked at her sideways, and placed a second piece of ham in his mouth….

      “Land ought to be very dear about there,” he said.

      What June had taken for personal interest was only the impersonal excitement of every Forsyte who hears of something eligible in danger of passing into other hands. But she refused to see the disappearance of her chance, and continued to press her point.

      “You ought to go into the country, Uncle James. I wish I had a lot of money, I wouldn’t live another day in London.”

      James was stirred to the depths of his long thin figure; he had no idea his niece held such downright views.

      “Why don’t you go into the country?” repeated June; “it would do you a lot of good.”

      “Why?” began James in a fluster. “Buying land – what good d’you suppose I can do buying land, building houses? – I couldn’t get four per cent. for my money!”

      “What does that matter? You’d get fresh air.”

      “Fresh air!” exclaimed James; “what should I do with fresh air,”

      “I should have thought anybody liked to have fresh air,” said June scornfully.

      James wiped his napkin all over his mouth.

      “You don’t know the value of money,” he said, avoiding her eye.

      “No! and I hope I never shall!” and, biting her lip with inexpressible mortification, poor June was silent.

      Why were her own relations so rich, and Phil never knew where the money was coming from for to-morrow’s tobacco. Why couldn’t they do something for him? But they were so selfish. Why couldn’t they build country-houses? She had all that naive dogmatism which is so pathetic, and sometimes achieves such great results. Bosinney, to whom she turned in her discomfiture, was talking to Irene, and a chill fell on June’s spirit. Her eyes grew steady with anger, like old Jolyon’s when his will was crossed.

      James, too, was much disturbed. He felt as though someone had threatened his right to invest his money at five per cent. Jolyon had spoiled her. None of his girls would have said such a thing. James had always been exceedingly liberal to his children, and the consciousness of this made him feel it all the more deeply. He trifled moodily with his strawberries, then, deluging them with cream, he ate them quickly; they, at all events, should not escape him.

      No wonder he was upset. Engaged for fifty-four years (he had been admitted a solicitor on the earliest day sanctioned by the law) in arranging mortgages, preserving investments at a dead level of high and safe interest, conducting negotiations on the principle of securing the utmost possible out of other people compatible with safety to his clients and himself, in calculations as to the exact pecuniary possibilities of all the relations of life, he had come at last to think purely in terms of money. Money was now his light, his medium for seeing, that without which he was really unable to see, really not cognisant of phenomena; and to have this thing, “I hope I shall never know the value of money!” said to his face, saddened and exasperated him. He knew it to be nonsense, or it would have frightened him. What was the world coming to! Suddenly recollecting the story of young Jolyon, however, he felt a little comforted, for what could you expect with a father like that! This turned his thoughts into a channel still less pleasant. What was all this talk about Soames and Irene?

      As in all self-respecting families, an emporium had been established where family secrets were bartered, and family stock priced. It was known on Forsyte ’Change that Irene regretted her marriage. Her regret was disapproved of. She ought to have known her own mind; no dependable woman made these mistakes.

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