The Forsyte Saga - Volume 1

"Ah!" murmured Bosinney. "You should patent the word."

"I should like," said young Jolyon, "to lecture on it:

"Properties and quality of a Forsyte: This little animal, disturbed

by the ridicule of his own sort, is unaffected in his motions by the

laughter of strange creatures (you or I). Hereditarily disposed to

myopia, he recognises only the persons of his own species, amongst which

he passes an existence of competitive tranquillity."

"You talk of them," said Bosinney, "as if they were half England."

"They are," repeated young Jolyon, "half England, and the better half,

too, the safe half, the three per cent. half, the half that counts. It's

their wealth and security that makes everything possible; makes your art

possible, makes literature, science, even religion, possible. Without

Forsytes, who believe in none of these things, and habitats but turn

them all to use, where should we be? My dear sir, the Forsytes are the

middlemen, the commercials, the pillars of society, the cornerstones of

convention; everything that is admirable!"

"I don't know whether I catch your drift," said Bosinney, "but I fancy

there are plenty of Forsytes, as you call them, in my profession."

"Certainly," replied young Jolyon. "The great majority of architects,

painters, or writers have no principles, like any other Forsytes. Art,

literature, religion, survive by virtue of the few cranks who really

believe in such things, and the many Forsytes who make a commercial use

of them. At a low estimate, three-fourths of our Royal Academicians

are Forsytes, seven-eighths of our novelists, a large proportion of the

press. Of science I can't speak; they are magnificently represented in

religion; in the House of Commons perhaps more numerous than anywhere;

the aristocracy speaks for itself. But I'm not laughing. It is dangerous

to go against the majority and what a majority!" He fixed his eyes on

Bosinney: "It's dangerous to let anything carry you away--a house, a

picture, a--woman!"

They looked at each other.--And, as though he had done that which no

Forsyte did--given himself away, young Jolyon drew into his shell.

Bosinney broke the silence.

"Why do you take your own people as the type?" said he.

"My people," replied young Jolyon, "are not very extreme, and they

have their own private peculiarities, like every other family, but they

possess in a remarkable degree those two qualities which are the real

tests of a Forsyte--the power of never being able to give yourself up to

anything soul and body, and the 'sense of property'."

Bosinney smiled: "How about the big one, for instance?"

"Do you mean Swithin?" asked young Jolyon. "Ah! in Swithin there's

something primeval still. The town and middle-class life haven't

digested him yet. All the old centuries of farm work and brute

force have settled in him, and there they've stuck, for all he's so

distinguished."