第1章

Contents:

VillaRubeinAManofDevonAKnightSalvationofaForsyteTheSilencePREFACE

Writingnotlongagotomyoldestliteraryfriend，Iexpressedinamomentofheedlesssentimentthewishthatwemighthaveagainoneofourtalksoflong—pastdays，overthepurposesandmethodsofourart。Andmyfriend，wiserthanI，ashehasalwaysbeen，repliedwiththisdoubtingphrase"Couldwerecapturethezestofthatoldtime？"

Iwouldnotliketobelievethatourfaithinthevalueofimaginativearthasdiminished，thatwethinkitlessworthwhiletostruggleforglimpsesoftruthandforthewordswhichmaypassthemontoothereyes;orthatwecannolongerdiscernthestarwetriedtofollow;butIdofear，withhim，thathalfalifetimeofendeavourhasdulledtheexuberancewhichkeptoneuptillmorningdiscussingthewaysandmeansofaestheticachievement。Wehavediscovered，perhapswithacertainfinality，thatbynotalkcanawriteraddacubittohisstature，orchangethetemperamentwhichmouldsandcoloursthevisionoflifehesetsbeforethefewwhowillpausetolookatit。Andso——therestissilence，andwhatofworkwemaystilldowillbedoneinthatdoggedmutenesswhichisthelotofadvancingyears。

Othertimes，othermenandmodes，butnotothertruth。Truth，thoughessentiallyrelative，likeEinstein’stheory，willneverloseitsever—newanduniquequality—perfectproportion;forTruth，tothehumanconsciousnessatleast，isbutthatvitallyjustrelationofparttowholewhichistheveryconditionoflifeitself。Andthetaskbeforetheimaginativewriter，whetherattheendofthelastcenturyoralltheseaeonslater，isthepresentationofavisionwhichtoeyeandearandmindhastheimplicitproportionsofTruth。

Iconfesstohavealwayslookedforacertainflavourinthewritingsofothers，andcraveditformyown，believingthatalltruevisionissocolouredbythetemperamentoftheseer，astohavenotonlythejustproportionsbuttheessentialnoveltyofalivingthingfor，afterall，notwolivingthingsarealike。AworkoffictionshouldcarrythehallmarkofitsauthorassurelyasaGoya，aDaumier，aVelasquez，andaMathewMaris，shouldbetheunmistakablecreationsofthosemasters。Thisisnottospeakoftricksandmannerswhichlendthemselvestothatfacileelf，thecaricaturist，butofacertainindividualwayofseeingandfeeling。Ayoungpoetoncesaidofanotherandmorepopularpoet:"Oh！yes，butbecutsnoice。

"And，whenonecametothinkofit，hedidnot;acertainflabbinessofspirit，alackoftemperament，anabsence，perhaps，oftheironic，orpassionate，view，insubstantiatedhiswork;ithadnoedge——justafelicitywhichpassedfordistinctionwiththecrowd。

Letmenotbeunderstoodtoimplythatanovelshouldbeasortofsandwich，inwhichtheauthor’smoodorphilosophyisthesliceofham。One’sdemandisforafarmoresubtleimpregnationofflavour;

justthat，forinstance，whichmakesDeMaupassantamorepoignantandfascinatingwriterthanhismasterFlaubert，DickensandThackeraymorelivingandpermanentthanGeorgeEliotorTrollope。

Itoncefelltomylottobethepreliminarycriticofabookonpainting，designedtoprovethattheartist’ssolefunctionwastheimpersonalelucidationofthetruthsofnature。IwasregretfullycompelledtoobservethattherewerenosuchthingsasthetruthsofNature，forthepurposesofart，apartfromtheindividualvisionoftheartist。Seerandthingseen，inextricablyinvolvedonewiththeother，formthetextureofanymasterpiece;andI，atleast，demandtherefromadistinctimpressionoftemperament。Ineversaw，intheflesh，eitherDeMaupassantorTchekov——thosemastersofsuchdifferentmethodsentirelydevoidofdidacticism——buttheirworkleavesonmeastrangelypotentsenseofpersonality。Suchsubtleinterminglingofseerwiththingseenistheoutcomeonlyoflongandintricatebrooding，aprocessnottoofavouredbymodernlife，yetwithoutwhichweachievelittlebutafluentchaosofcleverinsignificantimpressions，akindofglorifiedjournalism，holdingmuchthesamerelationtothedeeply—impregnatedworkofTurgenev，Hardy，andConrad，asafilmbearstoaplay。

Speakingformyself，withtheimmodestyrequiredofonewhohazardsanintroductiontohisownwork，IwaswritingfictionforfiveyearsbeforeIcouldmasterevenitsprimarytechnique，muchlessachievethatunionofseerwiththingseen，whichperhapsbeginstoshowitselfalittleinthisvolume——bindingupthescantyharvestsof1899，1900，and1901——especiallyinthetales:"AKnight，"and"SalvationofaForsyte。"Men，women，trees，andworksoffiction——

verytinyaretheseedsfromwhichtheyspring。Iusedreallytoseethe"Knight"——in1896，wasit？——sittinginthe"Place"infrontoftheCasinoatMonteCarlo;andbecausehisdried—upelegance，hisburntstrawhat，quietcourtesyofattitude，andbigdog，usedtofascinateandintrigueme，Ibegantoimaginehislifesoastoanswermyownquestionsandtosatisfy，Isuppose，themoodIwasin。

Ineverspoketohim，Ineversawhimagain。Hisrealstory，nodoubt，wasasdifferentfromthatwhichIwovearoundhisfigureasnightfromday。

AsforSwithin，wildhorseswillnotdragfrommeconfessionofwhereandwhenIfirstsawtheprototypewhichbecameenlargedtohisbulkystature。IoweSwithinmuch，forhefirstreleasedthesatiristinme，andis，moreover，theonlyoneofmycharacterswhomIkilledbeforeIgavehimlife，foritisin"TheManofProperty"thatSwithinForsytemorememorablylives。

Rangingbeyondthisvolume，Icannotrecollectwritingthefirstwordsof"TheIslandPharisees"——butitwouldbeaboutAugust，1901。

Likeallthestoriesin"VillaRubein，"and，indeed，mostofmytales，thebookoriginatedinthecuriosity，philosophicreflections，andunphilosophicemotionsrousedinmebysomesinglefigureinreallife。InthiscaseitwasFerrand，whoserealname，ofcourse，wasnotFerrand，andwhodiedinsome"sacredinstitution"manyyearsagoofaconsumptionbroughtonbytheconditionsofhiswanderinglife。

Ifnot"abeloved，"hewasatruevagabond，andIfirstmethimintheChampsElysees，justasin"ThePigeon"hedescribeshismeetingwithWellwyn。Thoughdrawnverymuchfromlife，hedidnotintheendturnoutveryliketheFerrandofreallife——the，figuresoffictionsoondivergefromtheirprototypes。

Thefirstdraftof"TheIslandPharisees"wasburiedinadrawer;

whenretrievedtheotherday，afternineteenyears，itdisclosedapicaresquestringofanecdotestoldbyFerrandinthefirstperson。

Thesetwo—thirdsofabookwerelaidtorestbyEdwardGarnett’sdictumthatitsauthorwasnotsufficientlywithinFerrand’sskin;

and，strugglingheavilywithlazinessandpride，hestartedafreshintheskinofShelton。Threetimesbewrotethatnovel，andthenitwaslonginfindingtheeyeofSydneyPawling，whoaccepteditforHeinemann’sin1904。Thatwasaperiodoffermentandtransitionwithme，akindoflongawakeningtothehometruthsofsocialexistenceandnationalcharacter。Theliquorbubbledtoofuriouslyforclearbottling。Andthebook，afterall，becamebutanintroductiontoallthosefollowingnovelswhichdepict——somewhatsatirically——thevarioussectionsofEnglish"Society"withamoreorlesscapital"S。"

Lookingbackonthelong—stretched—outbodyofone’swork，itisinterestingtomarktheendlessduelfoughtwithinamanbetweentheemotionalandcriticalsidesofhisnature，firstone，thentheother，gettingtheupperhand，andtooseldomfusingtilltheresulthasthemellownessoffullachievement。Onecaneventellthenatureofone’sreaders，bytheirpreferencefortheworkwhichrevealsmoreofthissidethanofthat。Myearlyworkwascertainlymoreemotionalthancritical。Butfrom1901camenineyearswhenthecriticalwas，inthemain，holdingsway。From1910to1918theemotionalagainstruggledfortheupperhand;andfromthattimeonthereseemstohavebeensomethingofa"deadbeat。"Sotheconflictgoes，bywhatmysterioustidespromoted，Iknownot。

AnauthormusteverwishtodiscoverahaplessmemberofthePublicwho，neveryethavingreadawordofhiswriting，wouldsubmittotheordealofreadinghimrightthroughfrombeginningtoend。Probablytheeffectcouldonlybejudgedthroughanautopsy，butintheremotecaseofsurvival，itwouldinterestonesoprofoundlytoseethedifferences，ifany，producedinthatreader’scharacteroroutlookoverlife。This，however，isaconsummationwhichwillremaindevoutlytobewished，forthereisalimittohumancomplaisance。

Onewillneverknowtheexactmeasureofone’sinfectingpower;orwhether，indeed，oneisnotjustalongsoporific。

Awritertheysay，shouldnotfavouritizeamonghiscreations;butthenawritershouldnotdosomanythingsthatbedoes。Thiswriter，certainly，confessestohavingfavourites，andofhisnovelssofarbelikesbest:TheForsyteSeries;"TheCountryHouse";

"Fraternity";"TheDarkFlower";and"FiveTales";believingthesetobetheworkswhichmostfullyachievefusionofseerwiththingseen，mostsubtlydisclosetheindividualityoftheirauthor，andbestrevealsuchoftruthashasbeenvouchsafedtohim。

JOHNGALSWORTHY。

TO

MYSISTER

BLANCHELILIANSAUTER

VILLARUBEIN

I

WalkingalongtheriverwallatBotzen，EdmundDawneysaidtoAloisHarz:"Wouldyoucaretoknowthefamilyatthatpinkhouse，VillaRubein？"

Harzansweredwithasmile:

"Perhaps。"

"Comewithmethenthisafternoon。"

Theyhadstoppedbeforeanoldhousewithablind，desertedlook，thatstoodbyitselfonthewall;Harzpushedthedooropen。

"Comein，youdon’twantbreakfastyet。I’mgoingtopainttheriverto—day。"

Heranupthebarebroadstairs，andDawneyfollowedleisurely，histhumbshookedinthearmholesofhiswaistcoat，andhisheadthrownback。

Intheatticwhichfilledthewholetopstory，Harzhadpulledacanvastothewindow。Hewasayoungmanofmiddleheight，squareshouldered，active，withanangularface，highcheek—bones，andastrong，sharpchin。Hiseyeswerepiercingandsteel—blue，hiseyebrowsveryflexible，noselongandthinwithahighbridge;andhisdark，unpartedhairfittedhimlikeacap。Hisclotheslookedasifhenevergavethemasecondthought。

Thisroom，whichservedforstudio，bedroom，andsitting—room，wasbareanddusty。Belowthewindowtheriverinspringfloodrusheddownthevalley，astream，ofmoltenbronze。Harzdodgedbeforethecanvaslikeafencerfindinghisdistance;Dawneytookhisseatonapackingcase。

"Thesnowshavegonewitharushthisyear，"hedrawled。"TheTalfercomesdownbrown，theEisackcomesdownblue;theyflowintotheEtschandmakeitgreen;aparableoftheSpringforyou，mypainter。"

Harzmixedhiscolours。

"I’venotimeforparables，"hesaid，"notimeforanything。IfI

couldbeguaranteedtolivetoninety—nine，likeTitian——hehadachance。Lookatthatpoorfellowwhowaskilledtheotherday！Allthatstruggle，andthen——justattheturn！"

HespokeEnglishwithaforeignaccent;hisvoicewasratherharsh，buthissmileverykindly。

Dawneylitacigarette。

"Youpainters，"hesaid，"arebetteroffthanmostofus。Youcanstrikeoutyourownline。NowifIchoosetotreatacaseoutoftheordinarywayandthepatientdies，I’mruined。"

"MydearDoctor——ifIdon’tpaintwhatthepubliclikes，Istarve;

allthesameI’mgoingtopaintinmyownway;intheendIshallcomeoutontop。"

"Itpaystoworkinthegroove，myfriend，untilyou’vemadeyourname;afterthat——dowhatyoulike，they’lllickyourbootsallthesame。"

"Ah，youdon’tloveyourwork。"

Dawneyansweredslowly:"Neversohappyaswhenmyhandsarefull。

ButIwanttomakemoney，togetknown，tohaveagoodtime，goodcigars，goodwine。Ihatediscomfort。No，myboy，Imustworkitontheusuallines;Idon’tlikeit，butImustlumpit。Onestartsinlifewithsomenotionoftheideal——it’sgonebytheboardwithme。

I’vegottoshovealonguntilI’vemademyname，andthen，mylittleman——then——"

"Thenyou’llbesoft！"Youpaydearlyforthatfirstperiod！"

"Takemychanceofthat;there’snootherway。"

"Makeone！"

"Humph！"

Harzpoisedhisbrush，asthoughitwereaspear:

"Amanmustdothebestinhim。Ifhehastosuffer——lethim！"

Dawneystretchedhislargesoftbody;acalculatinglookhadcomeintohiseyes。

"You’reatoughlittleman！"hesaid。

"I’vehadtobetough。"

Dawneyrose;tobaccosmokewaswreathedroundhisunruffledhair。

"TouchingVillaRubein，"hesaid，"shallIcallforyou？It’samixedhousehold，Englishmostly——verydecentpeople。"

"No，thankyou。Ishallbepaintingallday。Haven’ttimetoknowthesortofpeoplewhoexpectonetochangeone’sclothes。"

"Asyoulike;ta—to！"And，puffingouthischest，Dawneyvanishedthroughablanketloopedacrossthedoorway。

Harzsetapotofcoffeeonaspirit—lamp，andcuthimselfsomebread。Throughthewindowthefreshnessofthemorningcame;thescentofsapandblossomandyoungleaves;thescentofearth，andthemountainsfreedfromwinter;thenewflightsandsongsofbirds;

alltheodorous，enchanted，restlessSpring。

Theresuddenlyappearedthroughthedoorwayawhiterough—hairedterrierdog，black—markedabouttheface，withshaggytaneyebrows。

HesniffedatHarz，showedthewhitesroundhiseyes，andutteredasharpbark。Ayoungvoicecalled:

"Scruff！Thounaughtydog！"Lightfootstepswereheardonthestairs;fromthedistanceathin，highvoicecalled:

"Greta！Youmustn’tgoupthere！"

Alittlegirloftwelve，withlongfairhairunderawide—brimmedhat，slippedin。

Herblueeyesopenedwide，herfaceflushedup。Thatfacewasnotregular;itscheek—boneswereratherprominent，thenosewasflattish;therewasaboutitanair，innocent，reflecting，quizzical，shy。

"Oh！"shesaid。

Harzsmiled:"Good—morning！Thisyourdog？"

Shedidnotanswer，butlookedathimwithsoftbewilderment;thenrunningtothedogseizedhimbythecollar。

"Scr—ruff！Thounaughtydog—thebaddestdog！"Theendsofherhairfellabouthim;shelookedupatHarz，whosaid:

"Notatall！Letmegivehimsomebread。"

"Ohno！Youmustnot——Iwillbeathim——andtellhimheisbad;thenheshallnotdosuchthingsagain。Nowheissulky;helookssoalwayswhenheissulky。Isthisyourhome？"

"Forthepresent;Iamavisitor。"

"ButIthinkyouareofthiscountry，becauseyouspeaklikeit。"

"Certainly，IamaTyroler。"

"IhavetotalkEnglishthismorning，butIdonotlikeitverymuch—

—because，alsoIamhalfAustrian，andIlikeitbest;butmysister，Christian，isallEnglish。HereisMissNaylor;sheshallbeveryangrywithme。"

Andpointingtotheentrancewitharosy—tippedforefinger，sheagainlookedruefullyatHarz。

Therecameintotheroomwithawalklikethehoppingofabirdanelderly，smalllady，inagreysergedress，withnarrowbandsofclaret—colouredvelveteen;alargegoldcrossdangledfromasteelchainonherchest;shenervouslytwistedherhands，cladinblackkidgloves，ratherwhiteabouttheseams。

Herhairwasprematurelygrey;herquickeyesbrown;hermouthtwistedatonecorner;sheheldherface，kind—looking，butlongandnarrow，rathertooneside，andworeonitalookofapology。Herquicksentencessoundedasifshekeptthemonstrings，andwantedtodrawthembackassoonasshehadletthemforth。

"Greta，howcan，youdosuchthings？Idon’tknowwhatyourfatherwouldsay！IamsureIdon’tknowhowto——soextraordinary——"

"Please！"saidHarz。

"Youmustcomeatonce——soverysorry——soawkward！"Theywerestandinginaring:Harzwithhiseyebrowsworkingupanddown;thelittleladyfidgetingherparasol;Greta，flushedandpouting，hereyesalldewy，twistinganendoffairhairroundherfinger。

"Oh，look！"Thecoffeehadboiledover。Littlebrownstreamstrickledsplutteringfromthepan;thedog，withearslaidbackandtailtuckedin，wentscurryingroundtheroom。Afeelingoffellowshipfellonthematonce。

"Alongthewallisourfavouritewalk，andScruff——soawkward，sounfortunate——wedidnotthinkanyonelivedhere——theshuttersarecracked，thepaintispeelingoffsodreadfully。HaveyoubeenlonginBotzen？Twomonths？Fancy！YouarenotEnglish？YouareTyrolese？ButyouspeakEnglishsowell——thereforsevenyears？

Really？Sofortunate！——ItisGreta’sdayforEnglish。"

MissNaylor’seyesdartedbewilderedglancesattheroofwherethecrossingofthebeamsmadesuchdeepshadows;atthelitterofbrushes，tools，knives，andcoloursonatablemadeoutofpacking—

cases;atthebigwindow，innocentofglass，andflushwiththefloor，whencedangledabitofrustychain——relicofthetimewhentheplacehadbeenastore—loft;hereyeswerehastilyavertedfromanunfnishedfigureofthenude。

Greta，withfeetcrossed，satonacolouredblanket，dabblingherfngerinalittlepoolofcoffee，andgazingupatHarz。Andhethought:’Ishouldliketopaintherlikethat。"Aforget—me—not。"’

Hetookouthischalkstomakeasketchofher。

"Shallyoushowme？"criedoutGreta，scramblingtoherfeet。

"’Will，’Greta——’will’;howoftenmustItellyou？Ithinkweshouldbegoing——itisverylate——yourfather——soverykindofyou，butI

thinkweshouldbegoing。Scruff！"MissNaylorgavethefloortwotaps。Theterrierbackedintoaplastercastwhichcamedownonhistail，andsenthimflyingthroughthedoorway。Gretafollowedswiftly，crying:

"Ach！poorScrufee！"

MissNaylorcrossedtheroom;bowing，shemurmuredanapology，andalsodisappeared。

Harzwasleftalone，hisguestsweregone;thelittlegirlwiththefairhairandtheeyeslikeforget—me—nots，thelittleladywithkindlygesturesandbird—likewalk，theterrier。Helookedroundhim;theroomseemedveryempty。Gnawinghismoustache，hemutteredatthefallencast。

Thentakinguphisbrush，stoodbeforehispicture，smilingandfrowning。Soonhehadforgottenitallinhiswork。

II

Itwasearlymorningfourdayslater，andHarzwasloiteringhomewards。Theshadowsofthecloudspassingacrossthevineswerevanishingoverthejumbledroofsandgreen—toppedspiresofthetown。

Astrongsweetwindwasblowingfromthemountains，therewasastirinthebranchesofthetrees，andflakesofthelateblossomweredriftingdown。Amongstthesoftgreenpodsofakindofpoplarchafersbuzzed，andnumbersoftheirlittlebrownbodieswerestrewnonthepath。

Hepassedabenchwhereagirlsatsketching。Apuffofwindwhirledherdrawingtotheground;Harzrantopickitup。Shetookitfromhimwithabow;but，asheturnedaway，shetorethesketchacross。

"Ah！"hesaid;"whydidyoudothat？"

Thisgirl，whostoodwithabitofthetornsketchineitherhand，wasslightandstraight;andherfaceearnestandserene。ShegazedatHarzwithlarge，clear，greenisheyes;herlipsandchinweredefiant，herforeheadtranquil。

"Idon’tlikeit。"

"Willyouletmelookatit？Iamapainter。"

"Itisn’tworthlookingat，but——ifyouwish——"

Heputthetwohalvesofthesketchtogether。

"Yousee！"shesaidatlast;"Itoldyou。"

Harzdidnotanswer，stilllookingatthesketch。Thegirlfrowned。

Harzaskedhersuddenly:

"Whydoyoupaint？"

Shecoloured，andsaid:

"Showmewhatiswrong。"

"Icannotshowyouwhatiswrong，thereisnothingwrong——butwhydoyoupaint？"

"Idon’tunderstand。"

Harzshruggedhisshoulders。

"You’venobusinesstodothat，"saidthegirlinahurtvoice;"I

wanttoknow。"

"Yourheartisnotinit，"saidHarz。

Shelookedathim，startled;hereyeshadgrownthoughtful。

"Isupposethatisit。Therearesomanyotherthings——"

"Thereshouldbenothingelse，"saidHarz。

Shebrokein:"Idon’twantalwaystobethinkingofmyself。

Suppose——"

"Ah！Whenyoubeginsupposing！"

Thegirlconfrontedhim;shehadtornthesketchagain。

"Youmeanthatifitdoesnotmatterenough，onehadbetternotdoitatall。Idon’tknowifyouareright——Ithinkyouare。"

Therewasthesoundofanervouscough，andHarzsawbehindhimhisthreevisitors——MissNaylorofferinghimherhand;Greta，flushed，withabunchofwildflowers，staringintentlyinhisface;andtheterrier，sniffingathistrousers。

MissNaylorbrokeanawkwardsilence。

"Wewonderedifyouwouldstillbehere，Christian。Iamsorrytointerruptyou——IwasnotawarethatyouknewMr。Herr——"

"Harzismyname——wewerejusttalking"

"Aboutmysketch。Oh，Greta，youdotickle！Willyoucomeandhavebreakfastwithusto—day，HerrHarz？It’sourturn，youknow。"

Harz，glancingathisdustyclothes，excusedhimself。

ButGretainapleadingvoicesaid:"Oh！docome！Scrufflikesyou。

Itissodullwhenthereisnobodyforbreakfastbutourselves。"

MissNaylor’smouthbegantotwist。Harzhurriedlybrokein:

"Thankyou。Iwillcomewithpleasure;youdon’tmindmybeingdirty？"

"Ohno！wedonotmind;thenweshallnoneofuswash，andafterwardsIshallshowyoumyrabbits。"

MissNaylor，movingfromfoottofoot，likeabirdonitsperch，exclaimed:

"Ihopeyouwon’tregretit，notaverygoodmeal——thegirlsaresoimpulsive——suchinformalinvitation;weshallbeveryglad。"

ButGretapulledsoftlyathersister’ssleeve，andChristian，gatheringherthings，ledtheway。

Harzfollowedinamazement;nothingofthiskindhadcomeintohislifebefore。Hekeptshylyglancingatthegirls;and，notingthespeculativeinnocenceinGreta’seyes，hesmiled。Theysooncametotwogreatpoplar—trees，whichstood，likesentinels，oneoneithersideofanunweededgravelwalkleadingthroughlilacbushestoahousepainteddullpink，withgreen—shutteredwindows，andaroofofgreenishslate。Overthedoorinfadedcrimsonletterswerewrittenthewords，"VillaRubein。"

"Thatistothestables，"saidGreta，pointingdownapath，wheresomepigeonsweresunningthemselvesonawall。"UncleNickeepshishorsesthere:CountessandCuckoo——hishorsesbeginwithC，becauseofChris——theyarequitebeautiful。HesayshecoulddrivethemtoKingdom—Comeandtheywouldnotturntheirhair。Bow，andsay’Good—

morning’toourhouse！"

Harzbowed。

"Fathersaidallstrangersshould，andIthinkitbringsgoodluck。"

>FromthedoorstepshelookedroundatHarz，thenranintothehouse。

Abroad，thick—setman，withstiff，brushed—uphair，ashort，brown，bushybeardpartedatthechin，afreshcomplexion，andblueglassesacrossathicknose，cameout，andcalledinabluffvoice:

"Ha！mygooddears，kissmequick——prrt！Howgoesitthenthismorning？Agoodwalk，hein？"Thesoundofmanyloudrapidkissesfollowed。

"Ha，Fraulein，good！"HebecameawareofHarz’sfigurestandinginthedoorway:"UndderHerr？"

MissNaylorhurriedlyexplained。

"Good！Anartist！KommenSieherein，Iamdelight。Youwillbreakfast？Itoo——yes，yes，mydears——Itoobreakfastwithyouthismorning。Ihavethehunter’sappetite。"

Harz，lookingathimkeenly，perceivedhimtobeofmiddleheightandage，stout，dressedinaloosehollandjacket，averywhite，starchedshirt，andbluesilksash;thathelookedparticularlyclean，hadanairofbelongingtoSociety，andexhaledareallyfinearomaofexcellentcigarsandthebesthairdresser’sessences。

Theroomtheyenteredwaslongandratherbare;therewasahugemaponthewall，andbelowitapairofglobesoncrookedsupports，resemblingtwoinflatedfrogserectontheirhindlegs。Inonecornerwasacottagepiano，closetoawriting—tableheapedwithbooksandpapers;thisnook，sacredtoChristian，wasforeigntotherestoftheroom，whichwasarrangedwithsupernaturalneatness。A

tablewaslaidforbreakfast，andthesun—warmedaircameinthroughFrenchwindows。

Themealwentmerrily;HerrPaulvonMorawitzwasneverinsuchspiritsasattable。Wordsstreamedfromhim。ConversingwithHarz，hetalkedofArtaswhoshouldsay:"Onedoesnotclaimtobeaconnoisseur——passibete——still，onehasalittleknowledge，quediable！"Herecommendedhimamaninthetownwhosoldcigarsthatwere"notsoverybad。"Heconsumedporridge，ateanomelette;andbendingacrosstoGretagaveherasoundingkiss，muttering:"Kissmequick！"——anexpressionhehadpickedupinaLondonmusic—hall，longago，andconsideredchic。Heaskedhisdaughters’plans，andheldoutporridgetotheterrier，whorefuseditwithasniff。

"Well，"hesaidsuddenly，lookingatMissNaylor，"hereisagentlemanwhohasnotevenheardournames！"