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Файл:Сага о Форсайтах. Сдается внаем. Книга для чтения на английском языке
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on us1,” she said, “and then abuse us. If you think
that’s playing the game, I don’t.”
She now discovered that which others had dis
covered before 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.
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 posi
tively 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 bour
geois who force us to spend money.”
PART II
1
sponge on us — (сленг) живете за наш счет
241
The words hit June like a pebble, in the ribs. After
all she had done for Art, all her identification with its
TO LET
troubles and lame ducks. She was struggling for ade
quate words when the door was opened, and her Aus
trian murmured: “A young lady, gnädiges Fräulein
“Where?”
“In the little mealroom.”
With a glance at Boris Strumolowski, at Hannah
Hobdey, at Jimmy Portugal, June said nothing, and
went out, devoid of equanimity. Entering the “little
mealroom,” she perceived the young lady to be
Fleur — looking very pretty, if pale. At this disen
chanted moment a little lame duck of her own breed
2
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.
“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.”
1
.”
же отраву)
242
1
gnädiges Fräulein — (нем.) барышня (обращение)
2
homoeopathic — (зд.) готовая принять тот же яд (ту
“Oh!” said June blankly. “Not nice, is it?”
They were standing one on each side of the little bare
table 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 newfangled dress,
frilly about the hips and tight below the knees, June
took a sudden liking — a charming colour, flaxblue.
‘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 her
self had looked in those old days when her heart was
set on Philip Bosinney, that dead lover, who had bro
ken 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?”
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.”
PART II
243
How poised and watchful that girl looked; how
unemotional her voice sounded! “People will as
TO LET
sume 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 tomorrow on his way
down to Holly’s? He’d come if you sent him a line
tonight. 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. Halfpast 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 fin
ished 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!”
‘Coldblooded 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?”
244
Fleur nodded; her frills shook and trembled as
she swayed toward the door. “Goodbye!”
“Goodbye!.. Little piece of fashion!” muttered
June, closing the door. “That family!” And she
marched back toward her studio. Boris Strumolow
ski had regained his Christlike silence and Jim
my Portugal was damning everybody, except the
group in whose behalf he ran the NeoArtist. Among
the condemned were Eric Cobbley, and several
other “lameduck” 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, prom
ising 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
PART II
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
245
her little kinswoman’s blue eyes — she was glad that
she had fooled her, despising June because that eld
TO LET
erly 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 be
tween 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 dif
ference in the world.
‘Suppose I tell him,’ she thought; ‘wouldn’t it re
ally be safer?’ 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 consider
ation less philosophic. If she persuaded Jon to a
quick and secret marriage, and he found out after
ward 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. Deepsunk in these instinctive calculations she
was carried on past Green Street as far as the Ritz
246
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 Mon
sieur Profond with a tall stout man in the bay win
dow. 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 particular
ly 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 For
syde, don’t worry. It’ll be all right. Nothing lasts.”
“Things do last,” cried Fleur; “with me any
how — especially likes and dislikes.”
“Well, that makes me a bit un’appy.”
“I should have thought nothing could ever make
you happy or unhappy.”
“I don’t like to annoy other people. I’m goin’
on my yacht.”
Fleur looked at him, startled.
“Where?”
PART II
247
“Small voyage to the South Seas or somewhere,”
said Monsieur Profond.
TO LET
Fleur suffered relief and a sense of insult. Clear
ly 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?
“Goodnight, Miss Forsyde! Remember me to
Mrs. Dartie. I’m not so bad really. Goodnight!”
Fleur left him standing there with his hat raised.
Stealing a look round, she saw him stroll — immac
ulate 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
1
study of Whitaker’s Almanac
. A Forsyte is instinc
tively aware that facts are the real crux of any situ
ation. She might conquer Jon’s prejudice, but with
out exact machinery to complete their desperate re
solve, nothing would happen. From the invaluable
tome she learned that they must each be twentyone;
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
1
Whitaker’s Almanac — ежегодный справочник по са
мым различным вопросам
248
giving wrong ages in order to be married for love! She
ate hardly any breakfast, and went back to Whitaker.
The more 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 twentyone 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
1
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 proceed
ing 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
PART II
1
was “quite a sport” — (разг.) была «своим парнем»
(верным человеком)
249
her aunt, and took a bus to Chiswick. She was too
early, and went on to Kew Gardens. She found no
TO LET
peace among its flowerbeds, labelled trees, and
broad green spaces, and having lunched off an
chovypaste sandwiches and coffee, returned to
Chiswick and rang June’s bell. The Austrian ad
mitted her to the “little mealroom.” Now that she
knew what she and Jon were up against, her long
ing 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 for good and
all, she felt like dying of privation. By hook or
1
she must and would get him! A round dim
crook
mirror of very old glass hung over the pink brick
hearth. She stood looking at herself reflected in it,
pale, and rather dark under the eyes; little shud
ders kept passing through her nerves. Then she
heard the bell ring, and, stealing to the window,
saw him standing on the doorstep smoothing his
hair and lips, as if he too were trying to subdue
the fluttering of his nerves.
She was sitting on one of the two rushseated
chairs, with her back to the door, when he came
in, and she said at once: “Sit down, Jon, I want to
talk seriously.”
1
by hook or crook — (разг.) так или иначе; всеми прав
дами и неправдами
250
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