man of property-第61章
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seless step; he passed。
Once he was sworn at; once the whisper; 〃If only it could always be like this!〃 sent the blood flying again from his heart; and he waited there; patient and dogged; for the two to move。 But it was only a poor thin slip of a shop…girl in her draggled blouse who passed him; clinging to her lover's arm。
A hundred other lovers too whispered that hope in the stillness of the trees; a hundred other lovers clung to each other。
But shaking himself with sudden disgust; Soames returned to the path; and left that seeking for he knew not what。
CHAPTER III
MEETING AT THE BOTANICAL
Young Jolyon; whose circumstances were not those of a Forsyte; found at times a difficulty in sparing the money needful for those country jaunts and researches into Nature; without having prosecuted which no watercolour artist ever puts brush to paper。
He was frequently; in fact; obliged to take his colour…box into the Botanical Gardens; and there; on his stool; in the shade of a monkey…puzzler or in the lee of some India…rubber plant; he would spend long hours sketching。
An Art critic who had recently been looking at his work had delivered himself as follows
〃In a way your drawings are very good; tone and colour; in some of them certainly quite a feeling for Nature。 But; you see; they're so scattered; you'll never get the public to look at them。 Now; if you'd taken a definite subject; such as 'London by Night;' or 'The Crystal Palace in the Spring;' and made a regular series; the public would have known at once what they were looking at。 I can't lay too much stress upon that。 All the men who are making great names in Art; like Crum Stone or Bleeder; are making them by avoiding the unexpected; by specializing and putting their works all in the same pigeon…hole; so that the public know pat once where to go。 And this stands to reason; for if a man's a collector he doesn't want people to smell at the canvas to find out whom his pictures are by; he wants them to be able to say at once; 'A capital Forsyte!' It is all the more important for you to be careful to choose a subject that they can lay hold of on the spot; since there's no very marked originality in your style。〃
Young Jolyon; standing by the little piano; where a bowl of dried rose leaves; the only produce of the garden; was deposited on a bit of faded damask; listened with his dim smile。
Turning to his wife; who was looking at the speaker with an angry expression on her thin face; he said:
〃You see; dear?〃
〃I do not;〃 she answered in her staccato voice; that still had a little foreign accent; 〃your style has originality。〃
The critic looked at her; smiled' deferentially; and said no more。 Like everyone else; he knew their history。
The words bore good fruit with young Jolyon; they were contrary to all that he believed in; to all that he theoretically held good in his Art; but some strange; deep instinct moved him against his will to turn them to profit。
He discovered therefore one morning that an idea had come to him for making a series of watercolour drawings of London。 How the idea had arisen he could not tell; and it was not till the following year; when he had completed and sold them at a very fair price; that in one of his impersonal moods; he found himself able to recollect the Art critic; and to discover in his own achievement another proof that he was a Forsyte。
He decided to commence with the Botanical Gardens; where he had already made so many studies; and chose the little artificial pond; sprinkled now with an autumn shower of red and yellow leaves; for though the gardeners longed to sweep them off; they could not reach them with their brooms。 The rest of the gardens they swept bare enough; removing every morning Nature's rain of leaves; piling them in heaps; whence from slow fires rose the sweet; acrid smoke that; like the cuckoo's note for spring; the scent of lime trees for the summer; is the true emblem of the fall。 The gardeners' tidy souls could not abide the gold and green and russet pattern on the grass。 The gravel paths must lie unstained; ordered; methodical; without knowledge of the realities of life; nor of that slow and beautiful decay which flings crowns underfoot to star the earth with fallen glories; whence; as the cycle rolls; will leap again wild spring。
Thus each leaf that fell was marked from the moment when it fluttered a good…bye and dropped; slow turning; from its twig。
But on that little pond the leaves floated in peace; and praised Heaven with their hues; the sunlight haunting over them。
And so young Jolyon found them。
Coming there one morning in the middle of October; he was disconcerted to find a bench about twenty paces from his stand occupied; for he had a proper horror of anyone seeing him at work。
A lady in a velvet jacket was sitting there; with her eyes fixed on the ground。 A flowering laurel; however; stood between; and; taking shelter behind this; young Jolyon prepared his easel。
His preparations were leisurely; he caught; as every true artist should; at anything that might delay for a moment the effort of his work; and he found himself looking furtively at this unknown dame。
Like his father before him; he had an eye for a face。 This face was charming!
He saw a rounded chin nestling in a cream ruffle; a delicate face with large dark eyes and soft lips。 A black 'picture' hat concealed the hair; her figure was lightly poised against the back of the bench; her knees were crossed; the tip of a patent…leather shoe emerged beneath her skirt。 There was something; indeed; inexpressibly dainty about the person of this lady; but young Jolyon's attention was chiefly riveted by the look on her face; which reminded him of his wife。 It was as though its owner had come into contact with forces too strong for her。 It troubled him; arousing vague feelings of attraction and chivalry。 Who was she? And what doing there; alone?
Two young gentlemen of that peculiar breed; at once forward and shy; found in the Regent's Park; came by on their way to lawn tennis; and he noted with disapproval their furtive stares of admiration。 A loitering gardener halted to do something unnecessary to a clump of pampas grass; he; too; wanted an excuse for peeping。 A gentleman; old; and; by his hat; a professor of horticulture; passed three times to scrutinize her long and stealthily; a queer expression about his lips。
With all these men young Jolyon felt the same vague irritation。 She looked at none of them; yet was he certain that every man who passed would look at her like that。
Her face was not the face of a sorceress; who in every look holds out to men the offer of pleasure; it had none of the 'devil's beauty' so highly prized among the first Forsytes of the land; neither was it of that type; no less adorable; associated with the box of chocolate; it was not of the spiritually passionate; or passionately spiritual order; peculiar to house…decoration and modern poetry; nor did it seem to promise to the playwright material for the production of the interesting and neurasthenic figure; who commits suicide in the last act。
In shape and colouring; in its soft persuasive passivity; its sensuous purity; this woman's face reminded him of Titian's 'Heavenly Love;' a reproduction of which hung over the sideboard in his dining…room。 And her attraction seemed to be in this soft passivity; in the feeling she gave that to pressure she must yield。
For what or whom was she waiting; in the silence; with the trees dropping here and there a leaf; and the thrushes strutting close on grass; touched with the sparkle of the autumn rime? Then her charming face grew eager; and; glancing round; with almost a lover's jealousy; young Jolyon saw Bosinney striding across the grass。
Curiously he watched the meeting; the look in their eyes; the long clasp of their hands。 They sat down close together; linked for all their outward discretion。 He heard the rapid murmur of their talk; but what they said he could not catch。
He had rowed in the galley himself! He knew the long hours of waiting and the lean minutes of a half…public meeting; the tortures of suspense that haunt the unhallowed love