TOANDRECHEVRILLON
　　IndianSummerofaForsyte”AndSummer’sleasehathalltooshortadate。”——
　　ShakespeareI
　　InthelastdayofMayintheearly’nineties，aboutsixo’clockoftheevening，oldJolyonForsytesatundertheoaktreebelowtheterraceofhishouseatRobinHill。Hewaswaitingforthemidgestobitehim，beforeabandoningthegloryoftheafternoon。Histhinbrownhand，whereblueveinsstoodout，heldtheendofacigarinitstapering，long-nailedfingers——apointedpolishednailhadsurvivedwithhimfromthoseearlierVictoriandayswhentotouchnothing，evenwiththetipsofthefingers，hadbeensodistinguished。Hisdomedforehead，greatwhitemoustache，leancheeks，andlongleanjawwerecoveredfromthewesteringsunshinebyanoldbrownPanamahat。Hislegswerecrossed；inallhisattitudewasserenityandakindofelegance，asofanoldmanwhoeverymorningputeaudeCologneuponhissilkhandkerchief。Athisfeetlayawoollybrown-and-whitedogtryingtobeaPomeranian——thedogBalthasarbetweenwhomandoldJolyonprimalaver-sionhadchangedintoattachmentwiththeyears。Closetohischairwasaswing，andontheswingwasseatedoneofHolly’sdolls——called’DufferAlice’——withherbodyfallenoverherlegsandherdolefulnoseburiedinablackpetticoat。Shewasneveroutofdisgrace，soitdidnotmattertoherhowshesat。Belowtheoaktreethelawndippeddownabank，stretchedtothefernery，and，beyondthatrefinement，becamefields，droppingtothepond，thecoppice，andtheprospect’Fine，remarkable’——atwhichSwithinForsyte，fromunderthisverytree，hadstaredfiveyearsagowhenhedrovedownwithIrenetolookatthehouse。OldJolyonhadheardofhisbrother’sexploit——thatdrivewhichhadbecomequitecelebratedonForsyte’Change。’Swithin！Andthefellowhadgoneanddied，lastNovember，attheageofonlyseventy-nine，renewingthedoubtwhetherForsytescouldliveforever，whichhadfirstarisenwhenAuntAnnpassedaway。Died！andleftonlyJolyonandJames，RogerandNicholasandTimothy，Julia，Hester，Susan！AndoldJolyonthought：’Eighty-five！Idon’tfeelit——exceptwhenI
　　getthatpain。’
　　Hismemorywentsearching。HehadnotfelthisagesincehehadboughthisnephewSoames’ill-starredhouseandsettledintoithereatRobinHilloverthreeyearsago。Itwasasifhehadbeengettingyoungereveryspring，livinginthecountrywithhissonandhisgrandchildren——June，andthelittleonesofthesecondmarriage，JollyandHolly；livingdownhereoutoftheracketofLondonandthecackleofForsyte’Change，’freeofhisboards，inadeliciousatmosphereofnoworkandallplay，withplentyofoccupationintheperfectingandmellowingofthehouseanditstwentyacres，andinministeringtothewhimsofHollyandJolly。
　　Alltheknotsandcrankiness，whichhadgatheredinhisheartduringthatlongandtragicbusinessofJune，Soames，Irenehiswife，andpooryoungBosinney，hadbeensmoothedout。EvenJunehadthrownoffhermelancholyatlast——witnessthistravelinSpainshewastakingnowwithherfatherandherstepmother。Curiouslyperfectpeacewasleftbytheirdeparture；blissful，yetblank，becausehissonwasnotthere。Jowasneveranythingbutacomfortandapleasuretohimnowadays——anamiablechap；butwomen，somehow——eventhebest——gotalittleonone’snerves，unlessofcourseoneadmiredthem。
　　Far-offacuckoocalled；awood-pigeonwascooingfromthefirstelm-treeinthefield，andhowthedaisiesandbuttercupshadsprungupafterthelastmowing！Thewindhadgotintothesou’-
　　west，too——adeliciousair，sappy！Hepushedhishatbackandletthesunfallonhischinandcheek。Somehow，to-day，hewantedcompanywantedaprettyfacetolookat。Peopletreatedtheoldasiftheywantednothing。Andwiththeun-Forsyteanphilosophywhicheverintrudedonhissoul，hethought：’One’sneverhadenough’
　　Withafootinthegraveone’llwantsomething，Ishouldn’tbesurprised！’Downhere——awayfromtheexigenciesofaffairs——hisgrandchildren，andtheflowers，trees，birdsofhislittledomain，tosaynothingofsunandmoonandstarsabovethem，said，’Open，sesame，’tohimdayandnight。Andsesamehadopened——howmuch，perhaps，hedidnotknow。Hehadalwaysbeenresponsivetowhattheyhadbeguntocall’Nature，’genuinely，almostreligiouslyresponsive，thoughhehadneverlosthishabitofcallingasunsetasunsetandaviewaview，howeverdeeplytheymightmovehim。
　　ButnowadaysNatureactuallymadehimache，heappreciateditso。
　　Everyoneofthesecalm，bright，lengtheningdays，withHolly’shandinhis，andthedogBalthasarinfrontlookingstudiouslyforwhatheneverfound，hewouldstroll，watchingtherosesopen，fruitbuddingonthewalls，sunlightbrighteningtheoakleavesandsaplingsinthecoppice，watchingthewater-lilyleavesunfoldandglisten，andthesilveryyoungcornoftheonewheatfield；
　　listeningtothestarlingsandskylarks，andtheAlderneycowschewingthecud，flickingslowtheirtuftedtails；andeveryoneofthesefinedaysheachedalittlefromsheerloveofitall，feelingperhaps，deepdown，thathehadnotverymuchlongertoenjoyit。Thethoughtthatsomedayperhapsnottenyearshence，perhapsnotfive——allthisworldwouldbetakenawayfromhim，beforehehadexhaustedhispowersoflovingit，seemedtohiminthenatureofaninjusticebroodingoverhishorizon。Ifanythingcameafterthislife，itwouldn’tbewhathewanted；notRobinHill，andflowersandbirdsandprettyfaces——toofew，evennow，ofthoseabouthim！Withtheyearshisdislikeofhumbughadincreased；theorthodoxyhehadworninthe’sixties，ashehadwornside-whiskersoutofsheerexuberance，hadlongdroppedoff，leavinghimreverentbeforethreethingsalone——beauty，uprightconduct，andthesenseofproperty；andthegreatestofthesenowwasbeauty。Hehadalwayshadwideinterests，and，indeedcouldstillreadTheTines，buthewasliableatanymomenttoputitdownifheheardablackbirdsing。Uprightconduct，property——
　　somehow，theyweretiring；theblackbirdsandthesunsetsnevertiredhim，onlygavehimanuneasyfeelingthathecouldnotgetenoughofthem。Staringintothestillyradianceoftheearlyeveningandatthelittlegoldandwhiteflowersonthelawn，athoughtcametohim：Thisweatherwaslikethemusicof’Orfeo，’
　　whichhehadrecentlyheardatCoventGarden。Abeautifulopera，notlikeMeyerbeer，norevenquiteMozart，but，initsway，perhapsevenmorelovely；some-thingclassicalandoftheGoldenAgeaboutit，chasteandmellow，andtheRavogli’almostworthyoftheolddays’——highestpraisehecouldbestow。TheyearningofOrpheusforthebeautyhewaslosing，forhislovegoingdowntoHades，asinlifeloveandbeautydidgo——theyearningwhichsangandthrobbedthroughthegoldenmusic，stirredalsointhelingeringbeautyoftheworldthatevening。Andwiththetipofhiscork-soled，elastic-sidedbootheinvoluntarilystirredtheribsofthedogBalthasar，caus-ingtheanimaltowakeandattackhisfleas；forthoughhewassupposedtohavenone，nothingcouldpersuadehimofthefact。Whenhehadfinished，herubbedtheplacehehadbeenscratchingagainsthismaster’scalf，andsettleddownagainwithhischinovertheinstepofthedisturbingboot。AndintooldJolyon’smindcameasuddenrecollection——afacehehadseenatthatoperathreeweeksago——Irene，thewifeofhispreciousnephewSoames，thatmanofproperty！Thoughhehadnotmethersincethedayofthe’AtHome’inhisoldhouseatStanhopeGate，whichcelebratedhisgranddaughterJune’sill-starredengagementtoyoungBosinney，hehadrememberedheratonce，forhehadalwaysadmiredher——averyprettycreature。AfterthedeathofyoungBosinney，whosemistressshehadsoreprehensiblybecome，hehadheardthatshehadleftSoamesatonce。Goodnessonlyknewwhatshehadbeendoingsince。Thatsightofherface——asideview——intherowinfront，hadbeenliterallytheonlyreminderthesethreeyearsthatshewasstillalive。Nooneeverspokeofher。AndyetJohadtoldhimsome-thingonce——somethingwhichhadupsethimcompletely。
　　TheboyhadgotitfromGeorgeForsyte，hebelieved，whohadseenBosinneyinthefogthedayhewasrunover——somethingwhichexplainedtheyoungfellow’sdistress——anactofSoamestowardshiswife——ashockingact。Johadseenher，too，thatafternoon，afterthenewswasout，seenherforamoment，andhisdescriptionhadalwayslingeredinoldJolyon’smind——’wildandlost’hehadcalledher。AndnextdayJunehadgonetherebottledupherfeelingsandgonethere，andthemaidhadcriedandtoldherhowhermistresshadslippedoutinthenightandvanished。Atragicbusinessaltogether！Onethingwascertain——Soameshadneverbeenabletolayhandsonheragain。AndhewaslivingatBrighton，andjourneyingupanddown——afittingfate，themanofproperty！Forwhenheoncetookadisliketoanyone——ashehadtohisnephew——oldJolyonnevergotoverit。HerememberedstillthesenseofreliefwithwhichhehadheardthenewsofIrene’sdisappearance。Ithadbeenshockingtothinkofheraprisonerinthathousetowhichshemusthavewanderedback，whenJosawher，wanderedbackforamoment——likeawoundedanimaltoitsholeafterseeingthatnews，’TragicdeathofanArchitect，’inthestreet。Herfacehadstruckhimverymuchtheothernight——morebeautifulthanhehadremem-
　　bered，butlikeamask，withsomethinggoingonbeneathit。A
　　youngwomanstill——twenty-eightperhaps。Ah，well！Verylikelyshehadanotherloverbynow。Butatthissubversivethought——formarriedwomenshouldneverlove：once，even，hadbeentoomuch——hisinsteprose，andwithitthedogBalthasar’shead。ThesagaciousanimalstoodupandlookedintooldJolyon’sface。’Walk?’heseemedtosay；andoldJolyonanswered：”Comeon，oldchap！”
　　Slowly，aswastheirwont，theycrossedamongtheconstellationsofbuttercupsanddaisies，andenteredthefernery。Thisfeature，whereverylittlegrewasyet，hadbeenjudiciouslydroppedbelowthelevelofthelawnsothatitmightcomeupagainontheleveloftheotherlawnandgivetheimpressionofirregularity，soimportantinhorticulture。ItsrocksandearthwerebelovedofthedogBalthasar，whosometimesfoundamolethere。OldJolyonmadeapointofpassingthroughitbecause，thoughitwasnotbeautiful，heintendedthatitshouldbe，someday，andhewouldthink：’I
　　mustgetVarrtocomedownandlookatit；he’sbetterthanBeech。’
　　Forplants，likehousesandhumancomplaints，requiredthebestexpertconsideration。Itwasinhabitedbysnails，andifaccompaniedbyhisgrandchildren，hewouldpointtooneandtellthemthestoryofthelittleboywhosaid：’Haveplummersgotleggers，Mother?’No，sonny。’’ThendarnedifIhaven’tbeenandswallowedasnileybob。’Andwhentheyskippedandclutchedhishand，thinkingofthesnileybobgoingdownthelittleboy’s’redlane，’his，eyeswouldtwinkle。Emergingfromthefernery，heopenedthewicketgate，whichjustthereledintothefirstfield，alargeandpark-likearea，outofwhich，withinbrickwalls，thevegetablegardenhadbeencarved。OldJolyonavoidedthis，whichdidnotsuithismood，andmadedownthehilltowardsthepond。
　　Balthasar，whoknewawater-ratortwo，gambolledinfront，atthegaitwhichmarksanoldishdogwhotakesthesamewalkeveryday。
　　Arrivedattheedge，oldJolyonstood，notinganotherwater-lilyopenedsinceyesterday；hewouldshowittoHollyto-morrow，when’hislittlesweet’hadgotovertheupsetwhichhadfollowedonhereatingatomatoatlunch——herlittlearrangementswereverydelicate。NowthatJollyhadgonetoschool——hisfirstterm——Hollywaswithhimnearlyalldaylong，andhemissedherbadly。Hefeltthatpaintoo，whichoftenbotheredhimnow，alittledraggingathisleftside。Helookedbackupthehill。Really，pooryoungBosinneyhadmadeanuncommonlygoodjobofthehouse；hewouldhavedoneverywellforhimselfifhehadlived！Andwherewashenow?Perhaps，stillhauntingthis，thesiteofhislastwork，ofhistragicloveaffair。OrwasPhilipBosinney’sspiritdiffusedinthegeneral?Whocouldsay?Thatdogwasgettinghislegsmuddy！Andhemovedtowardsthecoppice。Therehadbeenthemostdelightfullotofbluebells，and——heknewwheresomestilllingeredlikelittlepatchesofskyfallenirkbetweenthetrees，awayoutofthesun。Hepassedthecow-housesandthehen-housesthereinstalled，andpursuedapathintothethickofthesaplings，makingforoneofthebluebellplots。Balthasar，precedinghimoncemore，utteredalowgrowl。OldJolyonstirredhimwithhisfoot，butthedogremainedmotionless，justwheretherewasnoroomtopass，andthehairroseslowlyalongthecentreofhiswoollyback。Whetherfromthegrowlandthelookofthedog’sstiveredhair，orfromthesensationwhichamanfeelsinawood，oldJolyonalsofeltsomethingmovealonghisspine。Andthenthepathturned，andtherewasanoldmossylog，andonitawomansitting。
　　Herfacewasturnedaway，andhehadjusttimetothink：’She’strespassing——Imusthaveaboardputup！’beforesheturned。
　　Powersabove！Thefacehehadseenattheopera——theverywomanhehadjustbeenthinkingof！Inthatconfusedmomenthesawthingsblurred，asifaspirit——queereffect——theslantofsunlightperhapsonherviolet-greyfrock！Andthensheroseandstoodsmiling，herheadalittletooneside。OldJolyonthought：’Howprettysheis！’Shedidnotspeak，neitherdidhe；andherealizedwhywithacertainadmiration。Shewasherenodoubtbecauseofsomememory，anddidnotmeantotryandgetoutofitbyvulgarexplanation。”Don’tletthatdogtouchyourfrock，”hesaid；”he’sgotwetfeet。
　　Comehere，you！”