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Файл:The Forsyte Saga. Awakening & To Let. Volume III
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AWAKENING TO LET
the only other country where he could live well. June had
dwelt unhappily on him in her lonely moments, standing before his creations – frightening, but powerful and symbolic
once they had been explained! That he, haloed by bright hair
like an early Italian painting, and absorbed in his genius to the
exclusion of all else – the only sign of course by which real genius could be told – should still be a "lame duck" agitated her
warm heart almost to the exclusion of Paul Post. And she had
begun to take steps to clear her Gallery, in order to fill it with
Strumolowski masterpieces. She had at once encountered trouble. Paul Post had kicked; Vospovitch had stung. With all the
emphasis of a genius which she did not as yet deny them, they
had demanded another six weeks at least of her Gallery. The
American stream, still flowing in, would soon be flowing out.
The American stream was their right, their only hope, their salvation – since nobody in this "beastly" country cared for Art.
June had yielded to the demonstration. After all Boris would
not mind their having the full benefit of an American stream,
which he himself so violently despised.
This evening she had put that to Boris with nobody else
present, except Hannah Hobdey, the mediaeval black-andwhitist, and Jimmy Portugal, editor of the Neo-Artist. She had
put it to him with that sudden confidence which continual
contact with the neo-artistic world had never been able to dry
up in her warm and generous nature. He had not broken his
Christ-like silence, however, for more than two minutes before she began to move her blue eyes from side to side, as a cat
moves its tail. This – he said – was characteristic of England,
the most selfish country in the world; the country which
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JOHN GALSWORTHY
sucked the blood of other countries; destroyed the brains and
hearts of Irishmen, Hindus, Egyptians, Boers, and Burmese, all
the best races in the world; bullying, hypocritical England!
This was what he had expected, coming to, such a country,
where the climate was all fog, and the people all tradesmen
perfectly blind to Art, and sunk in profiteering and the grossest materialism. Conscious that Hannah Hobdey was murmuring, "Hear, hear!" and Jimmy Portugal sniggering, June
grew crimson, and suddenly rapped out:
"Then why did you ever come? We didn't ask you."
The remark was so singularly at variance with all she had
led him to expect from her, that Strumolowski stretched out
his hand and took a cigarette.
"England never wants an idealist," he said.
But in June something primitively English was thoroughly
upset; old Jolyon's sense of justice had risen, as it were, from
bed. "You come and sponge on us," she said, "and then abuse
us. If you think that's playing the game, I don't."
She now discovered that which others had discovered be-
fore her – the thickness of hide beneath which the sensibility
of genius is sometimes veiled. Strumolowski's young and ingenuous face became the incarnation of a sneer.
"Sponge, one does not sponge, one takes what is owing – a
tenth part of what is owing. You will repent to say that, Miss
Forsyte."
"Oh, no," said June, "I shan't."
"Ah! We know very well, we artists – you take us to get
what you can out of us. I want nothing from you" – and he
blew out a cloud of June's smoke.
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AWAKENING TO LET
Decision rose in an icy puff from the turmoil of insulted
shame within her. "Very well, then, you can take your things
away."
And, almost in the same moment, she thought: 'Poor boy!
He's only got a garret, and probably not a taxi fare. In front of
these people, too; it's positively disgusting!'
Young Strumolowski shook his head violently; his hair,
thick, smooth, close as a golden plate, did not fall off.
"I can live on nothing," he said shrilly; "I have often had to
for the sake of my Art. It is you bourgeois who force us to
spend money."
The words hit June like a pebble, in the ribs. After all she
had done for Art, all her identification with its troubles and
lame ducks. She was struggling for adequate words when the
door was opened, and her Austrian murmured:
"A young lady, gnadiges Fraulein."
"Where?"
"In the little meal-room."
With a glance at Boris Strumolowski, at Hannah Hob-
dey, at Jimmy Portugal, June said nothing, and went out, devoid of equanimity. Entering the "little meal-room," she perceived the young lady to be Fleur – looking very pretty, if
pale. At this disenchanted moment a little lame duck of her
own breed was welcome to June, so homoeopathic by instinct.
The girl must have come, of course, because of Jon; or, if
not, at least to get something out of her. And June felt just
then that to assist somebody was the only bearable thing.
"So you've remembered to come," she said.
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JOHN GALSWORTHY
"Yes. What a jolly little duck of a house! But please don't
let me bother you, if you've got people."
"Not at all," said June. "I want to let them stew in their
own juice for a bit. Have you come about Jon?"
"You said you thought we ought to be told. Well, I've
found out."
"Oh!" said June blankly. "Not nice, is it?"
They were standing one on each side of the little bare ta-
ble at which June took her meals. A vase on it was full of Iceland poppies; the girl raised her hand and touched them with
a gloved finger. To her new-fangled dress, frilly about the hips
and tight below the knees, June took a sudden liking –
a charming colour, flax-blue.
'She makes a picture,' thought June. Her little room, with
its whitewashed walls, its floor and hearth of old pink brick,
its black paint, and latticed window athwart which the last of
the sunlight was shining, had never looked so charming, set
off by this young figure, with the creamy, slightly frowning
face. She remembered with sudden vividness how nice she
herself had looked in those old days when her heart was set
on Philip Bosinney, that dead lover, who had broken from her
to destroy for ever Irene's allegiance to this girl's father. Did
Fleur know of that, too?
"Well," she said, "what are you going to do?"
It was some seconds before Fleur answered.
"I don't want Jon to suffer. I must see him once more to
put an end to it."
"You're going to put an end to it!"
"What else is there to do?"
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AWAKENING TO LET
The girl seemed to June, suddenly, intolerably spiritless.
"I suppose you're right," she muttered. "I know my father
thinks so; but – I should never have done it myself. I can't
take things lying down."
How poised and watchful that girl looked; how unemo-
tional her voice sounded!
"People will assume that I'm in love."
"Well, aren't you?"
Fleur shrugged her shoulders. 'I might have known it,'
thought June; 'she's Soames' daughter – fish! And yet – he!'
"What do you want me to do then?" she said with a sort of
disgust.
"Could I see Jon here to-morrow on his way down to
Holly's? He'd come if you sent him a line to-night. And perhaps afterward you'd let them know quietly at Robin Hill
that it's all over, and that they needn't tell Jon about his
mother."
"All right!" said June abruptly. "I'll write now, and you can
post it. Half-past two tomorrow. I shan't be in, myself."
She sat down at the tiny bureau which filled one corner.
When she looked round with the finished note Fleur was still
touching the poppies with her gloved finger.
June licked a stamp. "Well, here it is. If you're not in love,
of course, there's no more to be said. Jon's lucky."
Fleur took the note. "Thanks awfully!"
'Cold-blooded little baggage!' thought June. Jon, son of her
father, to love, and not to be loved by the daughter of – Soames! It was humiliating!
"Is that all?"
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JOHN GALSWORTHY
Fleur nodded; her frills shook and trembled as she swayed
toward the door.
"Good-bye!"
"Good-bye!... Little piece of fashion!" muttered June, clos-
ing the door. "That family!" And she marched back toward her
studio. Boris Strumolowski had regained his Christ-like silence and Jimmy Portugal was damning everybody, except the
group in whose behalf he ran the Neo-Artist. Among the condemned were Eric Cobbley, and several other "lame-duck" genii who at one time or another had held first place in the repertoire of June's aid and adoration. She experienced a sense of
futility and disgust, and went to the window to let the riverwind blow those squeaky words away.
But when at length Jimmy Portugal had finished, and gone
with Hannah Hobdey, she sat down and mothered young
Strumolowski for half an hour, promising him a month, at
least, of the American stream; so that he went away with his
halo in perfect order. 'In spite of all,' June thought, 'Boris is
wonderful'
CHAPTER VIII
THE BIT BETWEEN THE TEETH
To know that your hand is against every one's is – for
some natures – to experience a sense of moral release. Fleur
felt no remorse when she left June's house. Reading condemnatory resentment in her little kinswoman's blue eyes-she
was glad that she had fooled her, despising June because that
elderly idealist had not seen what she was after.
End it, forsooth! She would soon show them all that she
was only just beginning. And she smiled to herself on the top
of the bus which carried her back to Mayfair. But the smile
died, squeezed out by spasms of anticipation and anxiety.
Would she be able to manage Jon? She had taken the bit between her teeth, but could she make him take it too? She
knew the truth and the real danger of delay – he knew neither; therein lay all the difference in the world.
'Suppose I tell him,' she thought; 'wouldn't it really be saf-
er?' This hideous luck had no right to spoil their love; he must
see that! They could not let it! People always accepted an accomplished fact in time! From that piece of philosophy – profound enough at her age – she passed to another consideration less philosophic. If she persuaded Jon to a quick and
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JOHN GALSWORTHY
secret marriage, and he found out afterward that she had
known the truth. What then? Jon hated subterfuge. Again,
then, would it not be better to tell him? But the memory of his
mother's face kept intruding on that impulse. Fleur was afraid.
His mother had power over him; more power perhaps than
she herself. Who could tell? It was too great a risk. Deep- sunk
in these instinctive calculations she was carried on past Green
Street as far as the Ritz Hotel. She got down there, and walked
back on the Green Park side. The storm had washed every
tree; they still dripped. Heavy drops fell on to her frills, and to
avoid them she crossed over under the eyes of the Iseeum
Club. Chancing to look up she saw Monsieur Profond with
a tall stout man in the bay window. Turning into Green Street
she heard her name called, and saw "that prowler" coming up.
He took off his hat – a glossy "bowler" such as she particularly detested.
"Good evenin'! Miss Forsyde. Isn't there a small thing I can
do for you?"
"Yes, pass by on the other side."
"I say! Why do you dislike me?"
"Do I?"
"It looks like it."
"Well, then, because you make me feel life isn't worth living."
Monsieur Profond smiled.
"Look here, Miss Forsyde, don't worry. It'll be all right.
Nothing lasts."
"Things do last," cried Fleur; "with me anyhow – especial-
ly likes and dislikes."
"Well, that makes me a bit un'appy."
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AWAKENING TO LET
"I should have thought nothing could ever make you hap-
py or unhappy."
"I don't like to annoy other people. I'm goin' on my yacht."
Fleur looked at him, startled.
"Where?"
"Small voyage to the South Seas or somewhere," said Mon-
sieur Profond.
Fleur suffered relief and a sense of insult. Clearly he meant
to convey that he was breaking with her mother. How dared
he have anything to break, and yet how dared he break it?
"Good-night, Miss Forsyde! Remember me to Mrs. Dartie.
I'm not so bad really. Good-night!" Fleur left him standing
there with his hat raised. Stealing a look round, she saw him
stroll – immaculate and heavy – back toward his Club.
'He can't even love with conviction,' she thought. 'What
will Mother do?'
Her dreams that night were endless and uneasy; she rose
heavy and unrested, and went at once to the study of Whitaker's Almanac. A Forsyte is instinctively aware that facts are the
real crux of any situation. She might conquer Jon's prejudice,
but without exact machinery to complete their desperate resolve, nothing would happen. From the invaluable tome she
learned that they must each be twenty- one; or some one's
consent would be necessary, which of course was unobtainable; then she became lost in directions concerning licenses,
certificates, notices, districts, coming finally to the word "perjury." But that was nonsense! Who would really mind their
giving wrong ages in order to be married for love! She ate
hardly any breakfast, and went back to Whitaker. The more
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JOHN GALSWORTHY
she studied the less sure she became; till, idly turning the pages, she came to Scotland. People could be married there without any of this nonsense. She had only to go and stay there
twenty-one days, then Jon could come, and in front of two
people they could declare themselves married. And what was
more – they would be! It was far the best way; and at once she
ran over her schoolfellows. There was Mary Lambe who lived
in Edinburgh and was "quite a sport!"
She had a brother too. She could stay with Mary Lambe,
who with her brother would serve for witnesses. She well
knew that some girls would think all this unnecessary, and
that all she and Jon need do was to go away together for
a weekend and then say to their people: "We are married by
Nature, we must now be married by Law." But Fleur was Forsyte enough to feel such a proceeding dubious, and to dread
her father's face when he heard of it. Besides, she did not believe that Jon would do it; he had an opinion of her such as
she could not bear to diminish. No! Mary Lambe was preferable, and it was just the time of year to go to Scotland. More at
ease now she packed, avoided her aunt, and took a bus to
Chiswick. She was too early, and went on to Kew Gardens. She
found no peace among its flower-beds, labelled trees, and
broad green spaces, and having lunched off anchovy-paste
sandwiches and coffee, returned to Chiswick and rang June's
bell. The Austrian admitted her to the "little meal-room."
Now that she knew what she and Jon were up against, her
longing for him had increased tenfold, as if he were a toy with
sharp edges or dangerous paint such as they had tried to take
from her as a child. If she could not have her way, and get Jon
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