Chapter 31 Chapter 8 The Death of Bosinney

Old Jolyon never liked to rush into things; like buying the Robin Hill house, if Joan's face hadn't made him feel that he couldn't live a quiet day without going through it, he probably would have been thinking about it all the time. go down. At breakfast the next morning Joan asked him when the carriage would be ready for him. "Carriage!" said he, somewhat bewildered; "what for? I'm not going out!" Her answer: "If you hadn't been out early, you wouldn't have caught Grandpa James before he hit the mall." "James! What's the matter with your grandfather James?"

"The house," she replied, in a voice so pathetic that he could no longer pretend. "I haven't decided yet," he said. "You must! Must decide! Ah! Grandpa—you think for me!" Old Jolyon called to Qu: "Think of you--I always think of you, but you don't think of yourself, you don't think of what it is that you take yourself in. Well, call the cab at ten o'clock." !" At a quarter past ten he was putting his umbrella into the umbrella stand in Park Lane—he would not take off his hat or coat; he told Wamsen that he wanted to see his master without waiting Notified, went into the study and sat down.

James was still in the dining-room talking with Soames, who had come running up again before breakfast.Hearing that it was such a guest, he hurriedly said, "Hey! I don't understand what he is here for?" Then he stood up. "I say," he said to Soames, "you don't do anything hastily. The first thing is to find out where she is--if I were you, I'd entrust Sturmoner to do it; the best of the family. If they can't find it, no one will." Suddenly feeling an inexplicable warmth, he said to himself, "Poor little woman! I don't know what she's thinking!" Then he blew his nose walked out.

Old Jolyon did not rise when he saw his brother, but held out his hand, and shook it, Forsyte-like. James sat down in another chair, leaning against the table, resting his head in his hands. "How are you?" he said. "I don't see you much these days!" Old Jolyon ignored his words. "How's Emily?" he asked; and without waiting for an answer from James, he went on: "I've come to talk to you about little Bosinney. I hear he built that house that was a nuisance." "I don't know what is a burden or not," said James. "I know he's lost his case, and I dare say he's going to be bankrupt."

Old Jolyon would not miss the opportunity of delivering it. "No doubt!" he went on; "and if he goes bankrupt, the 'property man'—that is, Soames—will be ruined. Well, one thing comes to mind: if he doesn't prepare to live If you go in—" Then he saw the surprise and doubt in James' eyes, and he went on quickly: "I don't want to know anything; I don't think Irene is determined not to live--nothing to do with me. But I'm thinking of buying a house in the country myself." House, not too far from London; if it's a suitable house, I might as well look at it, if there's a price to talk about."

James listened to this conversation with strange and complicated moods; half-believing, half-doubt, half-relief, gradually turning to fear, fearing that there was some conspiracy hidden in it. I have always trusted my eldest brother's honesty and excellent eyesight, and there is still such a little trust.What old Jolyon had heard, and how he had heard it, he was anxious to know; and he thought at the same time that if Joan and Bosinney were cut off altogether, his grandfather would never appear So eager to help this kid, thinking of this, aroused a little hope in my heart.In short, he was confused; but he didn't want to show it, he didn't want to show any attitude, so he said:

"They told me that you changed the will and gave the inheritance to your son." No one actually told him.He just got it together by seeing old Jolyon with his son and grandchildren and seeing him take the will out of Forsyth Busdar Forsyte.This guess can be guessed. "Who told you?" asked old Jolyon. "I don't know," said James, "I don't remember names very well—someone always tells me. Soames spent a good deal of money on the house, and he hasn't got a good price, I'm afraid let go." "Oh," said old Jolyon, "he's mistaken if he thinks I'll pay a good price for it. He seems to have so much money to squander, and I don't have so much." The money is wasted. Let him sell it and see how much he can sell it in the public auction. I heard that the house is not affordable for everyone!"

James, who thought so in his own mind, replied, "It is a gentleman's residence. Soames is here now. Would you like to speak to him?" "No," said old Jolyon, "not yet, and probably not at all, and certainly not in that case!" James was a little frightened; when it came to a business transaction, he was sure of the actual figures, because it was the thing, not the person; but such pre-negotiations always made him nervous--he I can't always figure out what size to master. "Well," said he, "I don't know the matter at all. Soames never speaks to me; I think he'd like to sell--for a little more or less."

"Oh!" said old Jolyon, "I don't want any pretense from him!" He put on his hat furiously. The door opened and Soames entered. "There's a policeman out there," he said half-smiling, "to see Uncle Jolyon." Old Jolyon glared at him.James said: "The police? I don't know anything about the police. But I think you should," and looked at old Jolyon with a wicked look and said, "I reckon you'd better go and see him!" In the hall, a sheriff stood stupefied, with thick-lidded pale blue eyes, looking at the old English furniture, which was the famous horse show held by James at Buttergate Square. Sold at Locarno auction. "Come in, my brother is inside," said James.The sheriff respectfully touched his pointed hat with a few fingers and entered the study.

James watched him enter with inexplicable excitement. "Well," he said to Soames, "we'll have to wait and see what happens, I'm afraid. Your uncle has come to talk about your house!" He and Soames returned to the dining-room, but could not be still. "What is he here for?" he muttered to himself again. "Which?" replied Soames, "the Sheriff? All I know is that they sent him over from Stanup Gate. It's always Uncle Jolyon's 'Shankey' who picks things up, and I think!" But despite his equanimity, he felt uneasy. Ten minutes passed, and old Jolyon walked in.

He walked up to the table and stood there without saying a word, pulling his white beard.James looked up at him with his mouth open; he had never seen his brother like that. Old Jolyon raised his hand, and said slowly: "Little Bosinney was hit by a car in the fog." Then he lowered his head and looked at his brother and nephew with deep-set eyes: "There was—someone—saying it was—suicide," he said. James opened his mouth: "Suicide! What does suicide do?" Old Jolyon snapped, "Who knows but you and your son!" But James made no answer. For all old men, indeed for all Forsytes, life has its bitter experiences.A passer-by who sees them wrapped tightly in the cloak of custom, wealth, and comfort, will never suspect that this shadow of darkness has also hung over the path of their lives.For every man of advanced age—such as Sir Walter Bentham himself—the thought of suicide has at least visited the antechamber of his soul; What accidental reality, what vague fear, what painful hope resisted.This final denial of property is cruel to Forsytes, ah!How cruel!They hardly—maybe never—do it; yet, sometimes, they almost do it! Even James thought so!Then, from his chaotic thoughts, he blurted out: "By the way, I saw it in the newspaper yesterday: 'The carriage hit and killed a pedestrian in the fog!' The deceased didn't even know his name! He looked at the old man in a trance. Jolyon looked again at his son; but all the while his instinct was to deny the legend of suicide. He dared not accept the thought, it was too bad for himself, his son, and every Forsyte. .He resisted; gradually he overcame his fear by his natural instinct of rejecting all that he could not safely and boldly accept. Just by chance! It must be so!" Old Jolyon interrupted his dream. "He was killed immediately. He was in the hospital all day yesterday. They couldn't find anything to prove his identity. I'm going to the hospital now; you and your son should come too." No one objected to the order, and he led the way out of the dining room. It was a fair and fine day, and old Jolyon rode his carriage from Stanup Gate up Park Lane with the hoods wide open.At that time, sitting on the cushion, leaning back, smoking the cigar in his hand, he felt very happy to see the sky so clear, the carriages and pedestrians coming and going in the street-after a period of fog or fog in London. On the first clearing day after a cloudy rain, there is often this unusually lively, almost Parisian scene in the streets.He was in a good mood and felt very good; he hadn't been this way in months.He had forgotten all about his confession to Joan; he was about to be with his sons, and especially his grandchildren—(He had arranged for little Joe to talk about it this morning at the Mixed Club matter); and there was a confrontation down there with James and his son over the house, and a victory awaited him. He had put up the top of the coach now; he had no heart to see the merriment outside; and it was unseemly for the Forsytes to drive with them a sheriff. In the carriage the Inspector spoke again of the dead man: The fog there just so happened not to be too great.The coachman said that the gentleman must have had time to see the car coming, and he seemed to have seen it.His financial situation seems to be very embarrassing. We found several pawn notes in the room. Forsyte looked at them. Glancing out of the corner of his eye, old Jolyon saw his brother's face change color, and the brooding, anxious look deepened.Indeed, all James' suspicions and apprehensions were revived after hearing the words of the Inspector.Embarrassment - pawn ticket - overdraft!These words, which had been a distant nightmare in his life, now seemed to make the suicidal hypothesis, which was in any case unacceptable, unsettlingly real.He looked into his son's eyes; although the son's eyes were bright, his expression was immobile, and he was silent, he did not look back at him.Old Jolyon looked on coldly, saw the offensive and defensive alliance between the two father and son, and couldn't help thinking of his own son, as if he had no son standing by his side, he would be beaten with both fists in this fight to see the dead. hand-like.And Joan, this matter must not involve her, this matter has been in his mind.James has a son to take care of him!Why didn't he call little Joe? He took out his business card bag and wrote the following words with a pencil. "Come on, send a carriage to pick you up." As he alighted, he handed his card to the groom, and bade him hurry to the Mixed Club, and if Mr. Jolyon Forsyte was there, give him his card, and fetch him at once. If not, just wait until he comes. He followed the other three people up the stone steps slowly, propping himself up on the handle of the umbrella, sometimes stopping to catch his breath."This is the morgue, sir. But take your time," said the sheriff. In that room with no walls, except for a ray of sunlight shining on the clean floor, there was nothing, and a person was lying there alone, covered with a quilt.The sheriff took the hem of the sheet with one firm hand and threw it back.A blinded face looked at them, and from either side of this hostile blinded face the three Forsytes looked down; and in every one of them the secret emotion, the fear, the pity of each individual It rises and falls again, just like the ups and downs of the tide of life, but for Bosinney, the impact of this tide of life is cut off forever by the four white walls.In each of them, the individual disposition, that strange source of life which made each of them distinct in minute points from the others, determined the state of mind of each of them.Each of them stood like this, far away from the others, yet unreasonably close, standing alone with death, silently lowering their eyes. The sheriff asked softly: "Do you know him, sir?" Old Jolyon looked up and nodded.He looked across the way at his brother, a slender figure staring blankly at the dead man, with a face so darkly red, and tense gray eyes; and at Soames, pale and silent, standing beside his father, before this In front of the lying pale Grim Reaper, his hostility towards these two disappeared for a moment.Death—where and how did it come from?Everything in the past suddenly turned upside down, blindly set off on another journey, set off to—where?The flame of life suddenly became silent!A heavy and cruel crush that everyone has to endure, with clear eyes and bravery until the finale!Although they are as small as insects and ants, and they are insignificant!Then old Jolyon brightened a little, for Soames whispered something to the Sheriff, and slipped away. James suddenly looked up.There was a special expression in the suspicious and troubled look on his face, which seemed to say, "I know I'm no match for you." He found a handkerchief and wiped his forehead; After staring at the dead for a while, he turned around and walked out quickly. Old Jolyon stood as still as death, his eyes fixed on the corpse.Who can tell what is in his heart?Did he think about himself back then, when his hair was as yellow as that of the young man who died before him?Or did he think of the long battle that he had always loved when he first started the battle of his life, and for this young man, it was almost over before it even started?Or thinking about his granddaughter, now that all hope is gone?Or that other woman?Things are so bizarre, and so deplorable!And the ending is so sad, it makes people laugh and cry, and it is puzzling.Fair!There is no justice for people, because they are forever in the darkness of ignorance! Or maybe he was thinking again there: it would be best to get rid of all this!As good as it gets, like this poor young man. Someone touches his shoulder. Tears welled up and his eyelashes were wet. "I can't do this thing. Let's go, little Qiao, and come to me as soon as your business is over," he said before leaving with his head down. Now it was little Jolyon's turn to stand by the dead man's side; and all round the fallen body he seemed to see all the Forsytes prostrate and panting.The blow must have come too soon. The various dynamics hidden in every tragedy-these dynamics push forward to the ironic ending through intricate changes regardless of any obstacles-finally gather together, merge together, and with a thunderbolt, throw out the victim, and knocked everyone around him to the ground. At least so it seemed to young Jolyon, who seemed to see them lying about the dead bodies. He asked the sheriff to tell him what had happened, and the sheriff seemed to be seizing this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to recount the facts he had learned. "But, sir," he went on, "that's superficial, and there's more to it. I don't think it was suicide myself, and I don't believe in sheer chance. car. Maybe you can shed some light on the truth." He took a small bag out of his pocket and put it on the table.He opened the bag carefully, and inside was a woman's handkerchief, folded it, and fastened it with a faded gold-plated brooch, the precious stones on which had fallen off.A scent of dried violets penetrated little Jolyon's nostrils. "Found it in his breast pocket," said the Inspector; "the name has been cut off from the handkerchief!" Little Jolyon replied reluctantly, "I'm afraid I can't help you!" But before his eyes, a face he had seen in the past came back clearly; Bright, how thrilled and happy!He cared more for her now than for his own daughter, more than for any Forsyte—to think of her melancholy tender eyes, her delicate, supple face, waiting for the dead, perhaps at this very moment. Time still waits quietly and patiently in daylight. He left the hospital and headed for his father's house, thinking that the death would divide the Forsyte.The blow had indeed passed through their defenses, and penetrated into the wood of their great tree.They might prosper as before, retaining a good semblance in the eyes of all London, but the trunk was dead, destroyed by the same flash of lightning that had killed Bosinney.Now those little saplings are going to take its place, each little sapling a new guardian of property consciousness. What a wood, the Forsytes!thought little Jolyon--the best wood in our country! As for the cause of death—his clan will undoubtedly try to deny the speculation of suicide, which is too harmful to the family reputation!They will regard it as an accident, a stroke of fate.In their hearts, they even felt that it was God's will, the punishment from heaven—didn't Bosinney endanger their two most precious possessions, their purses and their families?Then they'll talk about "the unfortunate incident with little Bosinney," but they probably won't—it's better to be silent! As for himself, he thought the coachman's account of events worthless.For a man so madly in love would never commit suicide for lack of money; and a man of Bosinney's character would not take financial difficulties to heart.Thinking of it this way, he also denied the hypothesis of suicide, because in his mind, he saw the face of the deceased too clearly.Died at the pinnacle of youth, the frenzy of enthusiasm cut short by an accident--in Young Jolyon's view, the idea only made Bosinney more lamentable. Then he pictured the state of affairs in which the Soames family was and must be in the future.That flash of gloomy light has illuminated the bones of the house, and the gap between the bones seems to be grinning, and the flesh and blood that concealed it all fell off. In the dining-room at Stanup Gate old Jolyon was sitting alone.When his son came in, he was sitting in a large armchair and described as very haggard.With his eyes, he looked at the still life paintings on the wall and the famous painting "Dutch Fishing Boat in the Sunset", as if staring at his own life, as well as the hopes, gains and achievements in his life. "Ah! little Jo!" said he, "is it you? I have told poor Joan. But it is not over. Are you going to Soames's? She brought it on to herself, I will say; but I always It's hard to think about it—closed in the house—alone." He raised a thin, veiny hand and strangled it.