Citat
The inner decoration favoured the First Empire and William Morris. For its size, the house was commodious; there were countless nooks resembling birds’ nests, and little things made of silver were deposited like eggs.
In this general perfection two kinds of fastidiousness were at war. There lived here a mistress who would have dwelt daintily on a desert island; a master whose daintiness was, as it were, an investment, cultivated by the owner for his advancement, in accordance with the laws of competition. This competitive daintiness had caused Soames in his Marlborough days to be the first boy into white waistcoats in summer, and corduroy waistcoats in winter, had prevented him from ever appearing in public with his tie climbing up his collar, and induced him to dust his patent leather boots before a great multitude assembled on Speech Day to hear him recite Moliere.
Skin-like immaculateness had grown over Soames, as over many Londoners; impossible to conceive of him with a hair out of place, a tie deviating one-eighth of an inch from the perpendicular, a collar unglossed! He would not have gone without a bath for worlds—it was the fashion to take baths; and how bitter was his scorn of people who omitted them!
But Irene could be imagined, like some nymph, bathing in wayside streams, for the joy of the freshness and of seeing her own fair body.
In this conflict throughout the house the woman had gone to the wall. As in the struggle between Saxon and Celt still going on within the nation, the more impressionable and receptive temperament had had forced on it a conventional superstructure.
Thus the house had acquired a close resemblance to hundreds of other houses with the same high aspirations, having become: “That very charming little house of the Soames Forsytes, quite individual, my dear—really elegant.”
Як і тисячі освічених людей свого класу і покоління в цьому великому місті Лондоні, які більше не вірять у стільці з червоного оксамиту і знають, що групи з сучасного італійського мармуру - це "старий прийом", Сомс Форсайт жив у будинку, який робив все, що міг. У ньому був мідний Дверний молоток індивідуального дизайну, вікна, які були перероблені так, щоб відкриватися назовні, висіли квіткові ящики, наповнені фуксиями, а в задній частині (відмінна особливість) був невеликий дворик, викладений нефритово-зеленою плиткою і оточений рожевими гортензіями в павиних блакитних діжках. Тут, під японським парасолькою пергаментного кольору, що закриває весь кінець, жителі або відвідувачі могли сховатися від цікавих очей, поки пили чай і на дозвіллі розглядали останню з маленьких срібних коробочок Сомса.
Внутрішнє оздоблення віддавало перевагу Першої імперії і Вільяму Моррісу. Для своїх розмірів будинок був просторим; в ньому було незліченна безліч затишних куточків, що нагадують пташині гнізда, а маленькі срібні штучки зберігалися як яйця.
У цьому загальному досконалості боролися два види вибагливості. Тут жила господиня, яка вишукано жила б на безлюдному острові; господар, чия вишуканість була, так би мовити, інвестицією, культивованої власником для його просування відповідно до законів конкуренції. Це змагальне витонченість призвело до того, що Сомс за часів Мальборо був першим хлопчиком, який влітку носив білі жилети, а взимку - вельветові, завадило йому коли-небудь з'являтися на публіці з краваткою, задравшимся за комір, і змусило його витирати пил з лакованих черевиків перед величезним натовпом, що зібрався в День виступу послухати, як він декламує Мольєра.
Бездоганність шкіри опанувала Сомс, як і багато лондонців; неможливо уявити його з розпатланим волоссям, краваткою, що відхиляється на одну восьму дюйма від перпендикуляра, комірцем без блиску! Він ні за що на світі не залишився б без ванни — така була мода приймати ванни; і як гірко було його презирство до людей, які їх не приймали!
Але Ірен можна було уявити, як якась німфа купається в придорожніх струмках, радіючи свіжості і споглядаючи власне прекрасне тіло.
У цьому конфлікті по всьому будинку жінка відійшла до стіни. Як і в боротьбі між саксами і кельтами, все ще триває всередині нації, більш вразливий і сприйнятливий темперамент нав'язав їй традиційну надбудову.
Таким чином, будинок придбав близьку схожість з сотнями інших будинків з такими ж високими прагненнями, перетворившись на:"цей дуже чарівний маленький будинок Сомса Форсайта, абсолютно індивідуальний, моя дорога, по—справжньому елегантний".
In silence the soup was finished—excellent, if a little thick; and fish was brought. In silence it was handed.
Bosinney ventured: “It’s the first spring day.”
Irene echoed softly: “Yes—the first spring day.”
“Spring!” said June: “there isn’t a breath of air!” No one replied.
The fish was taken away, a fine fresh sole from Dover. And Bilson brought champagne, a bottle swathed around the neck with white. …
Soames said: “You’ll find it dry.”
Cutlets were handed, each pink-frilled about the legs. They were refused by June, and silence fell.
Soames said: “You’d better take a cutlet, June; there’s nothing coming.”
But June again refused, so they were borne away. And then Irene asked: “Phil, have you heard my blackbird?”
Bosinney answered: “Rather—he’s got a hunting-song. As I came round I heard him in the Square.”
“He’s such a darling!”
“Salad, sir?” Spring chicken was removed.
But Soames was speaking: “The asparagus is very poor. Bosinney, glass of sherry with your sweet? June, you’re drinking nothing!”
June said: “You know I never do. Wine’s such horrid stuff!”
An apple charlotte came upon a silver dish, and smilingly Irene said: “The azaleas are so wonderful this year!”
To this Bosinney murmured: “Wonderful! The scent’s extraordinary!”
June said: “How can you like the scent? Sugar, please, Bilson.”
Sugar was handed her, and Soames remarked: “This charlotte’s good!”
The charlotte was removed. Long silence followed. Irene, beckoning, said: “Take out the azalea, Bilson. Miss June can’t bear the scent.”
“No; let it stay,” said June.
Olives from France, with Russian caviare, were placed on little plates. And Soames remarked: “Why can’t we have the Spanish?” But no one answered.
The olives were removed. Lifting her tumbler June demanded: “Give me some water, please.” Water was given her. A silver tray was brought, with German plums. There was a lengthy pause. In perfect harmony all were eating them.
Bosinney counted up the stones: “This year—next year—some time.”
Irene finished softly: “Never! There was such a glorious sunset. The sky’s all ruby still—so beautiful!”
He answered: “Underneath the dark.”
Their eyes had met, and June cried scornfully: “A London sunset!”
Egyptian cigarettes were handed in a silver box. Soames, taking one, remarked: “What time’s your play begin?”
No one replied, and Turkish coffee followed in enamelled cups.
Irene, smiling quietly, said: “If only—”
“Only what?” said June.
Brandy was handed; it was pale and old.
Soames said: “Bosinney, better take some brandy.”
Bosinney took a glass; they all arose.
“You want a cab?” asked Soames.
June answered: “No! My cloak, please, Bilson.” Her cloak was brought.
Irene, from the window, murmured: “Such a lovely night! The stars are coming out!”
Soames added: “Well, I hope you’ll both enjoy yourselves.”
From the door June answered: “Thanks. Come, Phil.”
Bosinney cried: “I’m coming.”
Soames smiled a sneering smile, and said: “I wish you luck!”
And at the door Irene watched them go.
Bosinney called: “Good night!”
“Good night!” she answered softly. …
June made her lover take her on the top of a ’bus, saying she wanted air, and there sat silent, with her face to the breeze.
The driver turned once or twice, with the intention of venturing a remark, but thought better of it. They were a lively couple! The spring had got into his blood, too; he felt the need for letting steam escape, and clucked his tongue, flourishing his whip, wheeling his horses, and even they, poor things, had smelled the spring, and for a brief half-hour spurned the pavement with happy hoofs.
The whole town was alive; the boughs, curled upward with their decking of young leaves, awaited some gift the breeze could bring. New-lighted lamps were gaining mastery, and the faces of the crowd showed pale under that glare, while on high the great white clouds slid swiftly, softly, over the purple sky.