The Forsyte Saga John Galsworthy (hot novels to read TXT) đ
- Author: John Galsworthy
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Young Jolyon also was silent; he had quickly penetrated his fatherâs thought, for, dethroned from the high seat of an obvious and uncomplicated view of things, he had become both perceptive and subtle.
The attitude he had adopted towards sexual matters fifteen years before, however, was too different from his fatherâs. There was no bridging the gulf.
He said coolly: âI suppose heâs fallen in love with some other woman?â
Old Jolyon gave him a dubious look: âI canât tell,â he said; âthey say so!â
âThen, itâs probably true,â remarked young Jolyon unexpectedly; âand I suppose theyâve told you who she is?â
âYes,â said old Jolyon, âSoamesâ wife!â
Young Jolyon did not whistle: The circumstances of his own life had rendered him incapable of whistling on such a subject, but he looked at his father, while the ghost of a smile hovered over his face.
If old Jolyon saw, he took no notice.
âShe and June were bosom friends!â he muttered.
âPoor little June!â said young Jolyon softly. He thought of his daughter still as a babe of three.
Old Jolyon came to a sudden halt.
âI donât believe a word of it,â he said, âitâs some old womanâs tale. Get me a cab, Jo, Iâm tired to death!â
They stood at a corner to see if an empty cab would come along, while carriage after carriage drove past, bearing Forsytes of all descriptions from the Zoo. The harness, the liveries, the gloss on the horsesâ coats, shone and glittered in the May sunlight, and each equipage, landau, sociable, barouche, Victoria, or brougham, seemed to roll out proudly from its wheels:
âI and my horses and my men you know,
Indeed the whole turnout have cost a pot.
But we were worth it every penny. Look
At Master and at Missis now, the dawgs!
Ease with securityâ âah! thatâs the ticket!â
And such, as everyone knows, is fit accompaniment for a perambulating Forsyte.
Amongst these carriages was a barouche coming at a greater pace than the others, drawn by a pair of bright bay horses. It swung on its high springs, and the four people who filled it seemed rocked as in a cradle.
This chariot attracted young Jolyonâs attention; and suddenly, on the back seat, he recognised his Uncle James, unmistakable in spite of the increased whiteness of his whiskers; opposite, their backs defended by sunshades, Rachel Forsyte and her elder but married sister, Winifred Dartie, in irreproachable toilettes, had posed their heads haughtily, like two of the birds they had been seeing at the Zoo; while by Jamesâ side reclined Dartie, in a brand-new frock-coat buttoned tight and square, with a large expanse of carefully shot linen protruding below each wristband.
An extra, if subdued, sparkle, an added touch of the best gloss or varnish characterized this vehicle, and seemed to distinguish it from all the others, as though by some happy extravaganceâ âlike that which marks out the real âwork of artâ from the ordinary âpictureââ âit were designated as the typical car, the very throne of Forsytedom.
Old Jolyon did not see them pass; he was petting poor Holly who was tired, but those in the carriage had taken in the little group; the ladiesâ heads tilted suddenly, there was a spasmodic screening movement of parasols; Jamesâ face protruded naively, like the head of a long bird, his mouth slowly opening. The shield-like rounds of the parasols grew smaller and smaller, and vanished.
Young Jolyon saw that he had been recognised, even by Winifred, who could not have been more than fifteen when he had forfeited the right to be considered a Forsyte.
There was not much change in them! He remembered the exact look of their turnout all that time ago: Horses, men, carriageâ âall different now, no doubtâ âbut of the precise stamp of fifteen years before; the same neat display, the same nicely calculated arrogance ease with security! The swing exact, the pose of the sunshades exact, exact the spirit of the whole thing.
And in the sunlight, defended by the haughty shields of parasols, carriage after carriage went by.
âUncle James has just passed, with his female folk,â said young Jolyon.
His father looked black. âDid your uncle see us? Yes? Hmph! Whatâs he want, coming down into these parts?â
An empty cab drove up at this moment, and old Jolyon stopped it.
âI shall see you again before long, my boy!â he said. âDonât you go paying any attention to what Iâve been saying about young Bosinneyâ âI donât believe a word of it!â
Kissing the children, who tried to detain him, he stepped in and was borne away.
Young Jolyon, who had taken Holly up in his arms, stood motionless at the corner, looking after the cab.
VII Afternoon at TimothyâsIf old Jolyon, as he got into his cab, had said: âI wonât believe a word of it!â he would more truthfully have expressed his sentiments.
The notion that James and his womankind had seen him in the company of his son had awakened in him not only the impatience he always felt when crossed, but that secret hostility natural between brothers, the roots of whichâ âlittle nursery rivalriesâ âsometimes toughen and deepen as life goes on, and, all hidden, support a plant capable of producing in season the bitterest fruits.
Hitherto there had been between these six brothers no more unfriendly feeling than that caused by the secret and natural doubt that the others might be richer than themselves; a feeling increased to the pitch of curiosity by the approach of deathâ âthat end of all handicapsâ âand the great âclosenessâ of their man of business, who, with some sagacity, would profess to Nicholas ignorance of Jamesâ income, to James ignorance of old Jolyonâs, to Jolyon ignorance of Rogerâs, to Roger ignorance of Swithinâs, while to Swithin he would say most irritatingly that Nicholas must be a rich man. Timothy alone was exempt, being in gilt-edged securities.
But now, between two of them at least, had arisen a very different sense of injury. From the moment when James had the impertinence to pry into his affairsâ âas he put itâ âold Jolyon no
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