Of all quarters in the queer adventurous1 amalgam2 called London, Soho is perhaps least suited to the Forsyte spirit. ‘So-ho, my wild one!’ George would have said if he had seen his cousin going there. Untidy, full of Greeks, Ishmaelites, cats, Italians, tomatoes, restaurants, organs, coloured stuffs, queer names, people looking out of upper windows, it dwells remote from the British Body Politic3. Yet has it haphazard4 proprietary5 instincts of its own, and a certain possessive prosperity which keeps its rents up when those of other quarters go down. For long years Soames’ acquaintanceship with Soho had been confined to its Western bastion, Wardour Street. Many bargains had he picked up there. Even during those seven years at Brighton after Bosinney’s death and Irene’s flight, he had bought treasures there sometimes, though he had no place to put them; for when the conviction that his wife had gone for good at last became firm within him, he had caused a board to be put up in Montpellier Square:
FOR SALE
THE LEASE OF THIS DESIRABLE RESIDENCE
Enquire6 of Messrs. Lesson and Tukes,
Court Street, Belgravia.
It had sold within a week — that desirable residence, in the shadow of whose perfection a man and a woman had eaten their hearts out.
Of a misty7 January evening, just before the board was taken down, Soames had gone there once more, and stood against the Square railings, looking at its unlighted windows, chewing the cud of possessive memories which had turned so bitter in the mouth. Why had she never loved him? Why? She had been given all she had wanted, and in return had given him, for three long years, all he had wanted — except, indeed, her heart. He had uttered a little involuntary groan8, and a passing policeman had glanced suspiciously at him who no longer possessed9 the right to enter that green door with the carved brass10 knocker beneath the board ‘For Sale!’ A choking sensation had attacked his throat, and he had hurried away into the mist. That evening he had gone to Brighton to live. . . .
Approaching Malta Street, Soho, and the Restaurant Bretagne, where Annette would be drooping11 her pretty shoulders over her accounts, Soames thought with wonder of those seven years at Brighton. How had he managed to go on so long in that town devoid12 of the scent13 of sweetpeas, where he had not even space to put his treasures? True, those had been years with no time at all for looking at them — years of almost passionate14 money-making, during which Forsyte, Bustard and Forsyte had become solicitors15 to more limited Companies than they could properly attend to. Up to the City of a morning in a Pullman car, down from the City of an evening in a Pullman car. Law papers again after dinner, then the sleep of the tired, and up again next morning. Saturday to Monday was spent at his Club in town — curious reversal of customary procedure, based on the deep and careful instinct that while working so hard he needed sea air to and from the station twice a day, and while resting must indulge his domestic affections. The Sunday visit to his family in Park Lane, to Timothy’s, and to Green Street; the occasional visits elsewhere had seemed to him as necessary to health as sea air on weekdays. Even since his migration16 to Mapledurham he had maintained those habits until — he had known Annette.
Whether Annette had produced the revolution in his outlook, or that outlook had produced Annette, he knew no more than we know where a circle begins. It was intricate and deeply involved with the growing consciousness that property without anyone to leave it to is the negation17 of true Forsyteism. To have an heir, some continuance of self, who would begin where he left off — ensure, in fact, that he would not leave off — had quite obsessed18 him for the last year and more. After buying a bit of Wedgwood one evening in April, he had dropped into Malta Street to look at a house of his father’s which had been turned into a restaurant — a risky19 proceeding20, and one not quite in accordance with the terms of the lease. He had stared for a little at the outside painted a good cream colour, with two peacock-blue tubs containing little bay-trees in a recessed21 doorway22 — and at the words ‘Restaurant Bretagne’ above them in gold letters, rather favourably23 impressed. Entering, he had noticed that several people were already seated at little round green tables with little pots of fresh flowers on them and Brittany-ware plates, and had asked of a trim waitress to see the proprietor24. They had shown him into a back room, where a girl was sitting at a simple bureau covered with papers, and a small round, table was laid for two. The impression of cleanliness, order, and good taste was confirmed when the girl got up, saying, “You wish to see Maman, Monsieur?” in a broken accent.
“Yes,” Soames had answered, “I represent your landlord; in fact, I’m his son.”
“Won’t you sit down, sir, please? Tell Maman to come to this gentleman.”
He was pleased that the girl seemed impressed, because it showed business instinct; and suddenly he noticed that she was remarkably25 pretty — so remarkably pretty that his eyes found a difficulty in leaving her face. When she moved to put a chair for him, she swayed in a curious subtle way, as if she had been put together by someone with a special secret skill; and her face and neck, which was a little bared, looked as fresh as if they had been sprayed with dew. Probably at this moment Soames decided26 that the lease had not been violated; though to himself and his father he based the decision on the efficiency of those illicit27 adaptations in the building, on the signs of prosperity, and the obvious business capacity of Madame Lamotte. He did not, however, neglect to leave certain matters to future consideration, which had necessitated28 further visits, so that the little back room had become quite accustomed to his spare, not unsolid, but unobtrusive figure, and his pale, chinny face with clipped moustache and dark hair not yet grizzling at the sides.
“Un Monsieur tres distingue,” Madame Lamotte found him; and presently, “Tres amical, tres gentil,” watching his eyes upon her daughter.
She was one of those generously built, fine-faced, dark-haired Frenchwomen, whose every action and tone of voice inspire perfect confidence in the thoroughness of their domestic tastes, their knowledge of cooking, and the careful increase of their bank balances.
After those visits to the Restaurant Bretagne began, other visits ceased — without, indeed, any definite decision, for Soames, like all Forsytes, and the great majority of their countrymen, was a born empiricist. But it was this change in his mode of life which had gradually made him so definitely conscious that he desired to alter his condition from that of the unmarried married man to that of the married man remarried.
Turning into Malta Street on this evening of early October, 1899, he bought a paper to see if there were any after-development of the Dreyfus case — a question which he had always found useful in making closer acquaintanceship with Madame Lamotte and her daughter, who were Catholic and anti-Dreyfusard.
Scanning those columns, Soames found nothing French, but noticed a general fall on the Stock Exchange and an ominous29 leader about the Transvaal. He entered, thinking: ‘War’s a certainty. I shall sell my consols.’ Not that he had many, personally, the rate of interest was too wretched; but he should advise his Companies — consols would assuredly go down. A look, as he passed the doorways30 of the restaurant, assured him that business was good as ever, and this, which in April would have pleased him, now gave him a certain uneasiness. If the steps which he had to take ended in his marrying Annette, he would rather see her mother safely back in France, a move to which the prosperity of the Restaurant Bretagne might become an obstacle. He would have to buy them out, of course, for French people only came to England to make money; and it would mean a higher price. And then that peculiar31 sweet sensation at the back of his throat, and a slight thumping32 about the heart, which he always experienced at the door of the little room, prevented his thinking how much it would cost.
Going in, he was conscious of an abundant black skirt vanishing through the door into the restaurant, and of Annette with her hands up to her hair. It was the attitude in which of all others he admired her — so beautifully straight and rounded and supple33. And he said:
“I just came in to talk to your mother about pulling down that partition. No, don’t call her.”
“Monsieur will have supper with us? It will be ready in ten minutes.” Soames, who still held her hand, was overcome by an impulse which surprised him.
“You look so pretty to-night,” he said, “so very pretty. Do you know how pretty you look, Annette?”
Annette withdrew her hand, and blushed. “Monsieur is very good.”
“Not a bit good,” said Soames, and sat down gloomily.
Annette made a little expressive34 gesture with her hands; a smile was crinkling her red lips untouched by salve.
And, looking at those lips, Soames said:
“Are you happy over here, or do you want to go back to France?”
“Oh, I like London. Paris, of course. But London is better than Orleans, and the English country is so beautiful. I have been to Richmond last Sunday.”
Soames went through a moment of calculating struggle. Mapledurham! Dared he? After all, dared he go so far as that, and show her what there was to look forward to! Still! Down there one could say things. In this room it was impossible.
“I want you and your mother,” he said suddenly, “to come for the afternoon next Sunday. My house is on the river, it’s not too late in this weather; and I can show you some good pictures. What do you say?”
Annette clasped her hands.
“It will be lovelee. The river is so beautiful”
“That’s understood, then. I’ll ask Madame.”
He need say no more to her this evening, and risk giving himself away. But had he not already said too much? Did one ask restaurant proprietors35 with pretty daughters down to one’s country house without design? Madame Lamotte would see, if Annette didn’t. Well! there was not much that Madame did not see. Besides, this was the second time he had stayed to supper with them; he owed them hospitality.
Walking home towards Park Lane — for he was staying at his father’s — with the impression of Annette’s soft clever hand within his own, his thoughts were pleasant, slightly sensual, rather puzzled. Take steps! What steps? How? Dirty linen36 washed in public? Pah! With his reputation for sagacity, for far-sightedness and the clever extrication37 of others, he, who stood for proprietary interests, to become the plaything of that Law of which he was a pillar! There was something revolting in the thought! Winifred’s affair was bad enough! To have a double dose of publicity38 in the family! Would not a liaison39 be better than that — a liaison, and a son he could adopt? But dark, solid, watchful40, Madame Lamotte blocked the avenue of that vision. No! that would not work. It was not as if Annette could have a real passion for him; one could not expect that at his age. If her mother wished, if the worldly advantage were manifestly great — perhaps! If not, refusal would be certain. Besides, he thought: ‘I’m not a villain41. I don’t want to hurt her; and I don’t want anything underhand. But I do want her, and I want a son! There’s nothing for it but divorce — somehow — anyhow — divorce!’ Under the shadow of the plane-trees, in the lamplight, he passed slowly along the railings of the Green Park. Mist clung there among the bluish tree shapes, beyond range of the lamps. How many hundred times he had walked past those trees from his father’s house in Park Lane, when he was quite a young man; or from his own house in Montpellier Square in those four years of married life! And, to-night, making up his mind to free himself if he could of that long useless marriage tie, he took a fancy to walk on, in at Hyde Park Corner, out at Knightsbridge Gate, just as he used to when going home to Irene in the old days. What could she be like now?— how had she passed the years since he last saw her, twelve years in all, seven already since Uncle Jolyon left her that money? Was she still beautiful? Would he know her if he saw her? ‘I’ve not changed much,’ he thought; ‘I expect she has. She made me suffer.’ He remembered suddenly one night, the first on which he went out to dinner alone — an old Malburian dinner — the first year of their marriage. With what eagerness he had hurried back; and, entering softly as a cat, had heard her playing. Opening the drawing-room door noiselessly, he had stood watching the expression on her face, different from any he knew, so much more open, so confiding42, as though to her music she was giving a heart he had never seen. And he remembered how she stopped and looked round, how her face changed back to that which he did know, and what an icy shiver had gone through him, for all that the next moment he was fondling her shoulders. Yes, she had made him suffer! Divorce! It seemed ridiculous, after all these years of utter separation! But it would have to be. No other way! ‘The question,’ he thought with sudden realism, ‘is — which of us? She or me? She deserted43 me. She ought to pay for it. There’ll be someone, I suppose.’ Involuntarily he uttered a little snarling44 sound, and, turning, made his way back to Park Lane.
收听单词发音 |
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adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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amalgam
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| n.混合物；汞合金 | |
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politic
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| adj.有智虑的；精明的；v.从政 | |
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haphazard
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| adj.无计划的，随意的，杂乱无章的 | |
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proprietary
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| n.所有权，所有的；独占的；业主 | |
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enquire
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| v.打听，询问；调查，查问 | |
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misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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11
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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14
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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solicitors
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| 初级律师( solicitor的名词复数 ) | |
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migration
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| n.迁移，移居，（鸟类等的）迁徙 | |
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negation
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| n.否定；否认 | |
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obsessed
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| adj.心神不宁的,鬼迷心窍的,沉迷的 | |
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19
risky
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| adj.有风险的，冒险的 | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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recessed
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| v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的过去式和过去分词 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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favourably
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| adv. 善意地，赞成地 =favorably | |
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proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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illicit
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| adj.非法的，禁止的，不正当的 | |
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necessitated
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| 使…成为必要，需要( necessitate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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doorways
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| n.门口，门道( doorway的名词复数 ) | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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thumping
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| adj.重大的，巨大的；重击的；尺码大的；极好的adv.极端地；非常地v.重击(thump的现在分词)；狠打；怦怦地跳；全力支持 | |
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supple
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| adj.柔软的，易弯的，逢迎的，顺从的，灵活的；vt.使柔软，使柔顺，使顺从；vi.变柔软，变柔顺 | |
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expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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proprietors
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| n.所有人，业主( proprietor的名词复数 ) | |
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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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extrication
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| n.解脱；救出，解脱 | |
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publicity
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| n.众所周知，闻名；宣传，广告 | |
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liaison
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| n.联系，（未婚男女间的）暖昧关系，私通 | |
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watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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confiding
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| adj.相信人的，易于相信的v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的现在分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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44
snarling
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的现在分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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