Chapter 42 Chapter Fourteen His

Soames was occupied with many things that night and all the next day.A telegram at breakfast reassured him of Annette's health, and he managed to catch the last train back to Reading, with Emily's kiss on the forehead and the words in his ear: "My dear child, I really don't know what I would do without you." He arrived at his house in the middle of the night, and the weather had grown warmer, as if he were relieved to have done his business, settled a Forsyte's last account.At dinner time, he received a second telegram, further confirming that Annette was in good health, so instead of going into the big house, he walked through the garden in the moonlight to the anchorage boat by the river.You can sleep well on board.He was so tired that he fell asleep lying on the couch in his fur coat.It was dawn when he woke up, and he went to the deck and leaned on the railing to look west.On this side the river made a wide bend along the banks of the woods.Oddly enough, Soames's appreciation of natural beauty was somewhat like that of his peasant ancestors, who felt a sense of resentment if they could not find beauty, and this feeling of resentment, no doubt, was also due to his experience in landscape painting. become sharpened and enlightened by his research.But the dawn had a power to fertilize the most ordinary of glances, so that even Soames was moved.Under that long, cool light, there is a completely different world in front of him, completely different from the river he is familiar with; this is a world that humans have never entered, an unreal world, just like an explorer It looks like some strange coast seen from afar.Its color is completely different from the usual colors, it is hardly like a color; everything is silent, but it is very clear; its stillness makes people stupefied; and it has no smell.Why such a world moved him, Soames could not say, or felt himself terribly alone in it, deprived of all ties and possessions.His father had probably set out for this world, even though it bore many similarities to the world he had left.Soames wondered which artist would be capable of painting it, and thus avoided contact with it.That piece of gray water is like—like a fish belly!Who dares to say that the world he looks at is all private property?Unless it's this river—but even the river is pumped out!Not a tree, not a bush, not a blade of grass, not a bird, not a beast, not even a fish is without an owner.Yet there was a time when it was all thickets and swamps and water, where many strange creatures roamed and played, and no one noticed or named them; In the past, the place where the tall forest is located may have been covered with verdant and rotting thickets, and the grassland on the other side may have been covered with reeds shrouded in swamp fog.yes!Someone caught it, put it in a cage, put a label on it, and sent it to a law firm for filing.And it did a good job!But now and then, as in this case, the ghosts of the past will come out and haunt him who happens to be sober, murmuring to him, and whispering: "You all come from my ownerless solitude. , one day you will all go back."

To Soames it was a new world, yet very old; a world without an owner looking back on its own past; and feeling a little shivering, he went down to burn a cup of tea by the spirit lamp.After drinking tea, he took out a pen and paper, and wrote the following two paragraphs: On the blotter below, Soames traced a "son." It was eight o'clock in the morning in an ordinary autumn world when he walked across the meadow to the big house.The bushes on the opposite side of the river stood all around, contrasted very vividly by the milky white morning glow; the wood smoke rose green and straight; his pigeons were cooing and plucking their feathers in the sun.

He slipped into his dressing room, took a shower, shaved, and changed into a clean shirt and a black suit. Mrs. Lamotte was beginning her breakfast when Soames came down. She looked at his clothes and said, "Don't tell me!" She pressed his hand as she said it. "Annett is well. But the doctor says she can't have any more children. Do you know that?" Soames nodded. "It's a pity. But it's a lovely little one. Would you like coffee?" Soames avoided her as quickly as he could.She was repulsive--big, vulgar, quick-witted, clear--really French.He couldn't stand her vowels, those guttural sounds; and he hated the way she looked at him, as if it was his fault that Annette couldn't have a son!His fault!He even hated her for being so obscenely fond of her daughter he hadn't met yet.

Strangely, he was always afraid of seeing his wife and children. One would think he didn't catch up to see them as soon as he could.On the contrary, he felt a kind of awe in his heart-even though he was such an insatiable possessor.He was deeply afraid that Annette would be dissatisfied with him, blamed him for causing him so much pain, afraid of seeing the child's appearance, afraid of showing his disappointment in the present—and in the future. It took him an hour to walk up and down the drawing-room, before finally finding courage to go upstairs and knock at their door. Madame Lamotte came to answer the door.

"Ah! You are here at last! She is waiting for you!" She passed him out, and Soames entered the room lightly, with clenched teeth and peeping eyes. Annette lay pale, but beautiful.The child didn't know where it was hidden, he didn't see it.When he walked to the bed, he was suddenly moved and leaned over to kiss her on the forehead. "There you are, Soames," she said. "I'm much better now. But it was too painful, too painful. I'm glad there won't be any more children. Oh! What a pain!" Soames stood silent, patting her hand; no words of love, no sympathy, could be uttered; and a thought passed through his mind: "An English girl would never say such things! "At this time, he knew full well that he would never be able to get close to her mentally and intellectually, and she could not get close to him either.He just collected her like a painting—that's all!He suddenly remembered Jolyon's words: "I think you must be very glad to get away."

Yes, he is out!Did he sink in again? "We must get you something to eat," he said, "and you will be strong in no time." "Would you like to see the child, Soames? She is asleep." "Of course," said Soames, "of course." He went around the foot of the bed to the other side of the bed and stood watching.What he saw when he first came up was just as he expected—a baby.But while he was watching, the baby was breathing, and while the little hands and feet were doing sleepy movements, he seemed to see her become a thing with personality, gradually becoming like a painting, which made him think again after seeing her. Look again; it's not annoying at all, it's very delicate and charming.The hair was black, and he ran his fingers through it to see the baby's eyes.Eyes opened, dark pupils—you couldn't tell whether they were blue or brown.His eyes flicked and stared, as if he was hiding a deep sleepiness.Suddenly, his heart felt very special and warm, as if it had been added to life.

"My little Fleur!" said Annette softly. "Fleur," continued Soames; "Fleur! That's what we'll call her." The feeling of victory and re-possession came back to him. God!This—this thing is his!