霍华德庄园 英文版 Howards End
爱德华.摩根.福斯特 Edward Morgan Forster
Chapter 1
One may as well begin with Helen's letters to her sister.
HOWARDS END,TUESDAY.
Dearest Meg,
It isn't going to be what we expected. It is old andlittle, and altogether delightful--red brick. We canscarcely pack in as it is, and the dear knows what willhappen when Paul (younger son) arrives tomorrow. From hallyou go right or left into dining-room or drawing-room. Hallitself is practically a room. You open another door in it,and there are the stairs going up in a sort of tunnel to thefirst-floor. Three bedrooms in a row there, and threeattics in a row above. That isn't all the house really, butit's all that one notices--nine windows as you look up fromthe front garden.
canscarcely pack in as it is, and the dear knows what willhappen when !
Then there's a very big wych-elm--to the left as youlook up--leaning a little over the house, and standing onthe boundary between the garden and meadow. I quite lovethat tree already. Also ordinary elms, oaks--no nastierthan ordinary oaks--pear-trees, apple-trees, and a vine. Nosilver birches, though. However, I must get on to my hostand hostess. I only wanted to show that it isn't the leastwhat we expected. Why did we settle that their house wouldbe all gables and wiggles, and their garden allgamboge-coloured paths? I believe simply because weassociate them with expensive hotels--Mrs. Wilcox trailingin beautiful dresses down long corridors, Mr. Wilcoxbullying porters, etc. We females are that unjust.
I shall be back Saturday; will let you know trainlater. They are as angry as I am that you did not come too;really Tibby is too tiresome, he starts a new mortal diseaseevery month. How could he have got hay fever in London?and even if he could, it seems hard that you should give upa visit to hear a schoolboy sneeze. Tell him that CharlesWilcox (the son who is here) has hay fever too, but he'sbrave, and gets quite cross when we inquire after it. Menlike the Wilcoxes would do Tibby a power of good. But youwon't agree, and I'd better change the subject.
This long letter is because I'm writing beforebreakfast. Oh, the beautiful vine leaves! The house iscovered with a vine. I looked out earlier, and Mrs. Wilcoxwas already in the garden. She evidently loves it. Nowonder she sometimes looks tired. She was watching thelarge red poppies come out. Then she walked off the lawn tothe meadow, whose corner to the right I can just see.Trail, trail, went her long dress over the sopping grass,and she came back with her hands full of the hay that wascut yesterday--I suppose for rabbits or something, as shekept on smelling it. The air here is delicious. Later on Iheard the noise of croquet balls, and looked out again, andit was Charles Wilcox practising; they are keen on allgames. Presently he started sneezing and had to stop. ThenI hear more clicketing, and it is Mr. Wilcox practising, andthen, 'a-tissue, a-tissue': he has to stop too. Then Eviecomes out, and does some calisthenic exercises on a machinethat is tacked on to a greengage-tree--they put everythingto use--and then she says 'a-tissue,' and in she goes. Andfinally Mrs. Wilcox reappears, trail, trail, still smellinghay and looking at the flowers. I inflict all this on youbecause once you said that life is sometimes life andsometimes only a drama, and one must learn to distinguisht'other from which, and up to now I have always put thatdown as 'Meg's clever nonsense.' But this morning, it reallydoes seem not life but a play, and it did amuse meenormously to watch the W's. Now Mrs. Wilcox has come in.
I am going to wear (omission). Last night Mrs. Wilcoxwore an (omission), and Evie (omission). So it isn'texactly a go-as-you-please place, and if you shut your eyesit still seems the wiggly hotel that we expected. Not ifyou open them. The dog-roses are too sweet. There is agreat hedge of them over the lawn--magnificently tall, sothat they fall down in garlands, and nice and thin at thebottom, so that you can see ducks through it and a cow.These belong to the farm, which is the only house near us.There goes the breakfast gong. Much love. Modified love toTibby. Love to Aunt Juley; how good of her to come and keepyou company, but what a bore. Burn this. Will write againThursday.
Helen
HOWARDS END,FRIDAY.
Dearest Meg,
I am having a glorious time. I like them all. Mrs.Wilcox, if quieter than in Germany, is sweeter than ever,and I never saw anything like her steady unselfishness, andthe best of it is that the others do not take advantage ofher. They are the very happiest, jolliest family that youcan imagine. I do really feel that we are making friends.The fun of it is that they think me a noodle, and say so--atleast Mr. Wilcox does--and when that happens, and onedoesn't mind, it's a pretty sure test, isn't it? He saysthe most horrid things about women's suffrage so nicely, andwhen I said I believed in equality he just folded his armsand gave me such a setting down as I've never had. Meg,shall we ever learn to talk less? I never felt so ashamedof myself in my life. I couldn't point to a time when menhad been equal, nor even to a time when the wish to be equalhad made them happier in other ways. I couldn't say aword. I had just picked up the notion that equality is goodfrom some book--probably from poetry, or you. Anyhow, it'sbeen knocked into pieces, and, like all people who arereally strong, Mr. Wilcox did it without hurting me. On theother hand, I laugh at them for catching hay fever. We livelike fighting-cocks, and Charles takes us out every day inthe motor--a tomb with trees in it, a hermit's house, awonderful road that was made by the Kings ofMercia--tennis--a cricket match--bridge--and at night wesqueeze up in this lovely house. The whole clan's herenow--it's like a rabbit warren. Evie is a dear. They wantme to stop over Sunday--I suppose it won't matter if I do.Marvellous weather and the view's marvellous--views westwardto the high ground. Thank you for your letter. Burn this.
Your affectionateHelen
pack in as it is, and the dear knows what willhappen when Paul (younger son) arrives.
HOWARDS END,SUNDAY.
Dearest, dearest Meg,--I do not know what you will say:Paul and I are in love--the younger son who only came hereWednesday.