Produced by David Widger
By John Galsworthy
"Je vous dirai que l'exces est toujours un mal."
—ANATOLE FRANCE
By John Galsworthy
"Je vous dirai que l'exces est toujours un mal."
—ANATOLE FRANCE
I knew him from the days of my extreme youth, because he made my father'sboots; inhabiting with his elder brother two little shops let into one,in a small by-street-now no more, but then most fashionably placed in theWest End.
That tenement had a certain quiet distinction; there was no sign upon itsface that he made for any of the Royal Family—merely his own German nameof Gessler Brothers; and in the window a few pairs of boots. I rememberthat it always troubled me to account for those unvarying boots in thewindow, for he made only what was ordered, reaching nothing down, and itseemed so inconceivable that what he made could ever have failed to fit.Had he bought them to put there? That, too, seemed inconceivable. Hewould never have tolerated in his house leather on which he had notworked himself. Besides, they were too beautiful—the pair of pumps, soinexpressibly slim, the patent leathers with cloth tops, making watercome into one's mouth, the tall brown riding boots with marvellous sootyglow, as if, though new, they had been worn a hundred years. Those pairscould only have been made by one who saw before him the Soul of Boot—sotruly were they prototypes incarnating the very spirit of all foot-gear.These thoughts, of course, came to me later, though even when I waspromoted to him, at the age of perhaps fourteen, some inkling haunted meof the dignity of himself and brother. For to make boots—such boots ashe made—seemed to me then, and still seems to me, mysterious andwonderful.
I remember well my shy remark, one day, while stretching out to him myyouthful foot:
"Isn't it awfully hard to do, Mr. Gessler?"
And his answer, given with a sudden smile from out of the sardonicredness of his beard: "Id is an Ardt!"
Himself, he was a little as if made from leather, with his yellow crinklyface, and crinkly reddish hair and beard; and neat folds slanting downhis cheeks to the corners of his mouth, and his guttural and one-tonedvoice; for leather is a sardonic substance, and stiff and slow ofpurpose. And that was the character of his face, save that his eyes,which were grey-blue, had in them the simple gravity of one secretlypossessed by the Ideal. His elder brother was so very like him—thoughwatery, paler in every way, with a great industry—that sometimes inearly days I was not quite sure of him until the interview was over.Then I knew that it was he, if the words, "I will ask my brudder," hadnot been spoken; and that, if they had, it was his elder bro