Volume I. The Man of PropertyPart I

Volume I. The Man of Property
Part I
Chapter V. A Forsyte Menage
Like the enlightened thousands of his class and generation in this great city of London, who no longer believe in red velvet chairs, and know that groups of modern Italian marble are 'vieux jeu,' Soames Forsyte inhabited a house which did what it could. It owned a copper door knocker of individual design, windows which had been altered to open outwards, hanging flower boxes filled with fuchsias, and at the back (a great feature) a little court tiled with jade-green tiles, and surrounded by pink hydrangeas in peacock-blue tubs. Here, under a parchment- coloured Japanese sunshade covering the whole end, inhabitants or visitors could be screened from the eyes of the curious while they drank tea and examined at their leisure the latest of Soames's little silver boxes.

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.'

For Soames Forsyte--read James Peabody, Thomas Atkins, or Emmanuel Spagnoletti, the name in fact of any upper-middle class Englishman in London with any pretensions to taste; and though the decoration be different, the phrase is just.

On the evening of August 8, a week after the expedition to Robin Hill, in the dining-room of this house--'quite individual, my dear--really elegant'--Soames and Irene were seated at dinner. A hot dinner on Sundays was a little distinguishing elegance common to this house and many others. Early in married life Soames had laid down the rule: 'The servants must give us hot dinner on Sundays--they've nothing to do but play the concertina.'

The custom had produced no revolution. For--to Soames a rather deplorable sign--servants were devoted to Irene, who, in defiance of all safe tradition, appeared to recognise their right to a share in the weaknesses of human nature.

The happy pair were seated, not opposite each other, but rectangularly, at the handsome rosewood table; they dined without a cloth--a distinguishing elegance--and so far had not spoken a word.

Soames liked to talk during dinner about business, or what he had been buying, and so long as he talked Irene's silence did not distress him. This evening he had found it impossible to talk. The decision to build had been weighing on his mind all the week, and he had made up his mind to tell her.

His nervousness about this disclosure irritated him profoundly; she had no business to make him feel like that--a wife and a husband being one person. She had not looked at him once since they sat down; and he wondered what on earth she had been thinking about all the time. It was hard, when a man worked as he did, making money for her--yes, and with an ache in his heart- -that she should sit there, looking--looking as if she saw the walls of the room closing in. It was enough to make a man get up and leave the table.

The light from the rose-shaded lamp fell on her neck and arms-- Soames liked her to dine in a low dress, it gave him an inexpressible feeling of superiority to the majority of his acquaintance, whose wives were contented with their best high frocks or with tea-gowns, when they dined at home. Under that rosy light her amber-coloured hair and fair skin made strange contrast with her dark brown eyes.

Could a man own anything prettier than this dining-table with its deep tints, the starry, soft-petalled roses, the ruby-coloured glass, and quaint silver furnishing; could a man own anything prettier than the woman who sat at it? Gratitude was no virtue among Forsytes, who, competitive, and full of common-sense, had no occasion for it; and Soames only experienced a sense of exasperation amounting to pain, that he did not own her as it was his right to own her, that he could not, as by stretching out his hand to that rose, pluck her and sniff the very secrets of her heart.

Out of his other property, out of all the things he had collected, his silver, his pictures, his houses, his investments, he got a secret and intimate feeling; out of her he got none.

In this house of his there was writing on every wall. His business-like temperament protested against a mysterious warning that she was not made for him. He had married this woman, conquered her, made her his own, and it seemed to him contrary to the most fundamental of all laws, the law of possession, that he could do no more than own her body--if indeed he could do that, which he was beginning to doubt. If any one had asked him if he wanted to own her soul, the question would have seemed to him both ridiculous and sentimental. But he did so want, and the writing said he never would.

She was ever silent, passive, gracefully averse; as though terrified lest by word, motion, or sign she might lead him to believe that she was fond of him; and he asked himself: Must I always go on like this?

Like most novel readers of his generation (and Soames was a great novel reader), literature coloured his view of life; and he had imbibed the belief that it was only a question of time.

In the end the husband always gained the affection of his wife. Even in those cases--a class of book he was not very fond of-- which ended in tragedy, the wife always died with poignant regrets on her lips, or if it were the husband who died-- unpleasant thought--threw herself on his body in an agony of remorse.

He often took Irene to the theatre, instinctively choosing the modern Society Plays with the modern Society conjugal problem, so fortunately different from any conjugal problem in real life. He found that they too always ended in the same way, even when there was a lover in the case. While he was watching the play Soames often sympathized with the lover; but before he reached home again, driving with Irene in a hansom, he saw that this would not do, and he was glad the play had ended as it had. There was one class of husband that had just then come into fashion, the strong, rather rough, but extremely sound man, who was peculiarly successful at the end of the play; with this person Soames was really not in sympathy, and had it not been for his own position, would have expressed his disgust with the fellow. But he was so conscious of how vital to himself was the necessity for being a successful, even a 'strong,' husband, that be never spoke of a distaste born perhaps by the perverse processes of Nature out of a secret fund of brutality in himself.

But Irene's silence this evening was exceptional. He had never before seen such an expression on her face. And since it is always the unusual which alarms, Soames was alarmed. He ate his savoury, and hurried the maid as she swept off the crumbs with the silver sweeper. When she had left the room, he filled his. glass with wine and said:

"Anybody been here this afternoon?"

"June."

"What did she want?" It was an axiom with the Forsytes that people did not go anywhere unless they wanted something. "Came to talk about her lover, I suppose?"

Irene made no reply.

"It looks to me," continued Soames, "as if she were sweeter on him than he is on her. She's always following him about."

Irene's eyes made him feel uncomfortable.

"You've no business to say such a thing!" she exclaimed.

"Why not? Anybody can see it."

"They cannot. And if they could, it's disgraceful to say so."

Soames's composure gave way.

"You're a pretty wife!" he said. But secretly he wondered at the heat of her reply; it was unlike her. "You're cracked about June! I can tell you one thing: now that she has the Buccaneer in tow, she doesn't care twopence about you, and, you'll find it out. But you won't see so much of her in future; we're going to live in the country."

He had been glad to get his news out under cover of this burst of irritation. He had expected a cry of dismay; the silence with which his pronouncement was received alarmed him.

"You don't seem interested," he was obliged to add.

"I knew it already."

He looked at her sharply.

"Who told you?"

"June."

"How did she know?"

Irene did not answer. Baffled and uncomfortable, he said:

"It's a fine thing for Bosinney, it'll be the making of him. I suppose she's told you all about it?"

"Yes."

There was another pause, and then Soames said:

"I suppose you don't want to, go?"

Irene mad

Kết quả (Việt) 1:

Khối lượng tôi. Người đàn ông của bất động sảnPhần IChương V. Một Ménage Forsyte Giống như các hàng ngàn giác ngộ của lớp và thế hệ của mình tại này thành phố lớn của London, người không còn tin vào ghế nhung đỏ, và biết rằng nhóm hiện đại tiếng ý marble 'vieux jeu', Soames Forsyte sinh sống ở một ngôi nhà đó đã làm những gì nó có thể. Nó sở hữu một đồng door knocker của cá nhân thiết kế, windows mà đã được thay đổi để mở outwards, treo Hoa hộp đầy với fuchsias, và ở phía sau (một tính năng tuyệt vời) một chút sân lát gạch với màu xanh lá cây ngọc gạch và được bao quanh bởi Hồng hydrangeas trong bồn tắm màu xanh con công. Ở đây, dưới một giấy màu Nhật dù để che nắng bao gồm toàn bộ kết thúc, người hoặc du khách có thể được chiếu từ mắt của tò mò trong khi họ uống trà và kiểm tra lúc rảnh rỗi mới nhất của Soames ít bạc hộp.Trang trí bên trong ưa thích đầu tiên đế quốc và William Morris. Đối với kích thước của nó, nhà là commodious; có vô số nooks tương tự như tổ chim, và những điều nhỏ làm bằng bạc đã được gửi như trứng.Trong này hoàn hảo chung hai loại fastidiousness ra chiến tranh. Có sống ở đây một tình nhân người nào có dwelt daintily trên một hòn đảo sa mạc; một bậc thầy dẻ mà là, như nó được, một sự đầu tư, được trồng bởi chủ sở hữu cho tiến bộ của mình, theo quy định của pháp luật của đối thủ cạnh tranh. Dẻ cạnh tranh này đã gây ra Soames tại Marlborough của ông ngày để là cậu bé đầu tiên vào các ghi lê trắng trong mùa hè, và các ghi lê vải to sợi vào mùa đông, đã ngăn cản anh ta từ bao giờ xuất hiện trong khu vực với tie của ông leo lên cổ áo của mình và gây ra ông phải bụi khởi động da bằng sáng chế của ông trước khi vô số tuyệt vời lắp ráp vào bài phát biểu ngày để nghe ông đọc Moliere.Giống như da immaculateness đã phát triển qua Soames, như trong nhiều London; không thể thụ thai của anh ta với một mái tóc ra khỏi nơi, một tie deviating một thứ tám của một inch từ vuông góc, một cổ áo unglossed! Ông sẽ không đi mà không có một tắm cho thế giới - nó đã là thời trang để có phòng tắm; và làm thế nào đắng đã ông khinh miệt của những người sử dụng bỏ qua chúng!Nhưng Irene có thể tưởng tượng, như một số nymph, tắm trong dòng wayside, cho niềm vui của sự tươi mát và nhìn thấy cơ thể của riêng của mình công bằng.Trong cuộc xung đột này khắp nhà người phụ nữ đã đi đến các bức tường. Như trong cuộc đấu tranh giữa Saxon và Celt vẫn đi vào trong các quốc gia, tính khí hơn Ấn tượng và tiếp nhận có đã buộc phải vào nó một cấu trúc thượng tầng thông thường.Vì vậy nhà đã mua lại gần giống với hàng trăm những ngôi nhà khác với cùng một nguyện vọng cao, đã trở thành: 'Đó rất duyên dáng ngôi nhà nhỏ của các Soames Forsytes, khá cá nhân, thân yêu của tôi - thực sự trang nhã.'Cho Soames Forsyte - đọc James Peabody, Thomas Atkins hoặc Emmanuel Spagnoletti, tên trong thực tế của bất kỳ lớp học trung bình trên người Anh ở London với bất kỳ vọng để hương vị; và mặc dù các trang trí khác nhau, cụm từ chỉ là.Vào chiều tối ngày 8 tháng 8, một tuần sau khi các cuộc thám hiểm để Robin Hill, trong phòng ăn uống này nhà... 'khá cá nhân, thân yêu của tôi - thực sự trang nhã'--Soames và Irene ngồi tại bữa ăn tối. Một bữa ăn tối nóng vào ngày Chủ Nhật là một ít phân biệt sang trọng phổ biến cho nhà này và nhiều người khác. Sớm trong cuộc sống vợ chồng Soames đã đặt xuống các quy tắc: ' các công chức phải cung cấp cho chúng tôi nóng bữa ăn tối ngày chủ nhật - họ đã không có gì để làm nhưng chơi concertina.'Các tùy chỉnh đã sản xuất không có cuộc cách mạng. Nhất--để Soames một dấu hiệu khá thương tâm--công chức được dành cho Irene, người, in defiance of tất cả an toàn truyền thống, xuất hiện để công nhận quyền của mình để chia sẻ một trong những điểm yếu của bản chất con người.Các cặp hạnh phúc đã ngồi, không đối diện với nhau, nhưng rectangularly, tại bảng gỗ hồng mộc đẹp trai; họ dined mà không có một miếng vải--một sang trọng phân biệt - và cho đến nay đã không nói một từ.Soames thích nói chuyện trong bữa ăn tối về kinh doanh, hoặc những gì ông đã mua, và do đó, miễn là ông đã nói chuyện của Irene im lặng đã không cứu anh ta. Tối nay ông đã tìm thấy nó không thể nói chuyện. Quyết định xây dựng đã cân nặng vào tâm trí của mình tất cả tuần, và ông đã thực hiện lên tâm trí của ông nói với cô ấy.Ông lo lắng về tiết lộ này kích thích anh ta sâu sắc; cô đã không có kinh doanh để làm cho anh ta cảm thấy như vậy - một người vợ và một người chồng là một người. Cô đã không nhìn vào anh ta một lần kể từ khi họ ngồi xuống; và ông tự hỏi những gì trên trái đất cô đã suy nghĩ về tất cả thời gian. Nó khó khăn, khi một người đàn ông làm việc như ông đã làm, kiếm tiền cho cô ấy--có, và với một đau trong trái tim của mình - - rằng cô nên ngồi đó, tìm kiếm--nhìn như thể cô đã thấy các bức tường của căn phòng đóng. Nó là đủ để làm cho một người đàn ông đứng dậy và rời khỏi bảng.Ánh sáng từ đèn hoa hồng bóng mờ rơi trên cổ của cô và cánh tay--Soames thích cô ấy để ăn cơm trưa trong một giọng thấp, nó đã cho anh ta một cảm giác inexpressible vượt trội cho đa số người quen của mình, có vợ đã man nguyện với frocks cao tốt nhất của họ hoặc với trà-áo, khi họ dined tại nhà. Theo đó hồng ánh sáng hổ phách màu tóc và công bằng da làm lạ tương phản với đôi mắt màu nâu tối của cô.Could a man own anything prettier than this dining-table with its deep tints, the starry, soft-petalled roses, the ruby-coloured glass, and quaint silver furnishing; could a man own anything prettier than the woman who sat at it? Gratitude was no virtue among Forsytes, who, competitive, and full of common-sense, had no occasion for it; and Soames only experienced a sense of exasperation amounting to pain, that he did not own her as it was his right to own her, that he could not, as by stretching out his hand to that rose, pluck her and sniff the very secrets of her heart.Out of his other property, out of all the things he had collected, his silver, his pictures, his houses, his investments, he got a secret and intimate feeling; out of her he got none.In this house of his there was writing on every wall. His business-like temperament protested against a mysterious warning that she was not made for him. He had married this woman, conquered her, made her his own, and it seemed to him contrary to the most fundamental of all laws, the law of possession, that he could do no more than own her body--if indeed he could do that, which he was beginning to doubt. If any one had asked him if he wanted to own her soul, the question would have seemed to him both ridiculous and sentimental. But he did so want, and the writing said he never would.She was ever silent, passive, gracefully averse; as though terrified lest by word, motion, or sign she might lead him to believe that she was fond of him; and he asked himself: Must I always go on like this?Like most novel readers of his generation (and Soames was a great novel reader), literature coloured his view of life; and he had imbibed the belief that it was only a question of time.In the end the husband always gained the affection of his wife. Even in those cases--a class of book he was not very fond of-- which ended in tragedy, the wife always died with poignant regrets on her lips, or if it were the husband who died-- unpleasant thought--threw herself on his body in an agony of remorse.He often took Irene to the theatre, instinctively choosing the modern Society Plays with the modern Society conjugal problem, so fortunately different from any conjugal problem in real life. He found that they too always ended in the same way, even when there was a lover in the case. While he was watching the play Soames often sympathized with the lover; but before he reached home again, driving with Irene in a hansom, he saw that this would not do, and he was glad the play had ended as it had. There was one class of husband that had just then come into fashion, the strong, rather rough, but extremely sound man, who was peculiarly successful at the end of the play; with this person Soames was really not in sympathy, and had it not been for his own position, would have expressed his disgust with the fellow. But he was so conscious of how vital to himself was the necessity for being a successful, even a 'strong,' husband, that be never spoke of a distaste born perhaps by the perverse processes of Nature out of a secret fund of brutality in himself.But Irene's silence this evening was exceptional. He had never before seen such an expression on her face. And since it is always the unusual which alarms, Soames was alarmed. He ate his savoury, and hurried the maid as she swept off the crumbs with the silver sweeper. When she had left the room, he filled his. glass with wine and said:"Anybody been here this afternoon?""June.""What did she want?" It was an axiom with the Forsytes that people did not go anywhere unless they wanted something. "Came to talk about her lover, I suppose?"Irene made no reply."It looks to me," continued Soames, "as if she were sweeter on him than he is on her. She's always following him about."Irene's eyes made him feel uncomfortable."You've no business to say such a thing!" she exclaimed."Why not? Anybody can see it.""They cannot. And if they could, it's disgraceful to say so."Soames's composure gave way."You're a pretty wife!" he said. But secretly he wondered at the heat of her reply; it was unlike her. "You're cracked about June! I can tell you one thing: now that she has the Buccaneer in tow, she doesn't care twopence about you, and, you'll find it out. But you won't see so much of her in future; we're going to live in the country."He had been glad to get his news out under cover of this burst of irritation. He had expected a cry of dismay; the silence with which his pronouncement was received alarmed him."You don't seem interested," he was obliged to add."I knew it already."He looked at her sharply."Who told you?""June.""How did she know?"Irene did not answer. Baffled and uncomfortable, he said:"It's a fine thing for Bosinney, it'll be the making of him. I suppose she's told you all about it?""Yes."There was another pause, and then Soames said:"I suppose you don't want to, go?"Irene mad