THE END OF THE FORSYTES

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXV, Issue 20028, 18 August 1928, Page 7 (Supplement)

THE END OF THE FORSYTES

A DYING FALL. There is always a sadness in coming to the end of a good thing, and it io with a pang of poignant regret that we take np the wistfully-named " Swan Song " with which Mr. Galsworthy " rings down the curtain upon the whole Forsyte drama."

Tho Forsytes have become for his readers living symbols of English life and character, and there is a deep and disquieting significance in the change from tho solidity of the older generation to the restless, rootless Fleur whoso lack of decent loyalty and self-control brings about tho tragedy of "Swan Song." From the moment that Jon Forsyte returns with Anne, his girl-wife, to England, Fleur never relaxes her efforts to get him once more under her spell. She succeeds, only to lose him for ever in tho very hour of her triumph. In her frozen misery she is the heedless cause of a fire in the picture-gallery of her father's house at Mapledurham. Soames, who is torn between sympathy with her unhappiness and relief at its origin discovers his beloved pictures burning, and animated by superhuman energy manages to save a number of them before ho can be persuaded to join tho others outside and watch tho firemen at work.

Presently, a stream of water, wrongly directed, catches the " Vendimia " balanced on the sill. Soames sees Fleur standing right beneath, not moving. " It flashed through him that she wanted to be killed. 'lt's falling!' he cried. ' Look out. Look out!' And

ho darted forward, pushed her with his outstretched arms and fell. The thing had struck him to the earth." Thus Soames, for whom readers have passed through all shades of feeling, from contempt and dislike to unwilling admiration, and fina'- 1 ' a kind of affection — Soames made J good end for the sake of Fleur, who, for nil she was a worthless baggage, remained until the end the light and centre of his life.

The pathos of humanity—so many gnats dancing in the wind—striving after permanency! So run the thoughts of Michael Mont as ho looks upon his father-in-law's grave. " What a world! The Eternal Mood at work! And if you died, like that old boy, and lay for ever beneath a crab-apple tree —well, it was the Mood resting a moment in your still shape—no, not even resting, moving on in the mysterious rhythm that one called Life. Who could arrest the moving Mood —who wanted to? . . . To have and to hold! As though you could!" A fino book, written with all • the delicate distinction we associate with its author's name. But will be ever reach beyond the stormy waters of agnosticism to the quiet haven of belief? " Swan Song," by John Galsworthy (Heitiemaim).