霍华德庄园 英文版 Howards End
爱德华.摩根.福斯特 Edward Morgan Forster
Chapter 9
Mrs. Wilcox cannot be accused of giving Margaret muchinformation about life. And Margaret, on the other hand,has made a fair show of modesty, and has pretended to aninexperience that she certainly did not feel. She had kepthouse for over ten years; she had entertained, almost withdistinction; she had brought up a charming sister, and wasbringing up a brother. Surely, if experience is attainable,she had attained it.
Yet the little luncheon-party that she gave in Mrs.Wilcox's honour was not a success. The new friend did notblend with the "one or two delightful people" who had beenasked to meet her, and the atmosphere was one of politebewilderment. Her tastes were simple, her knowledge ofculture slight, and she was not interested in the NewEnglish Art Club, nor in the dividing-line betweenJournalism and Literature, which was started as aconversational hare. The delightful people darted after itwith cries of joy, Margaret leading them, and not till themeal was half over did they realize that the principal guesthad taken no part in the chase. There was no common topic.Mrs. Wilcox, whose life had been spent in the service ofhusband and sons, had little to say to strangers who hadnever shared it, and whose age was half her own. Clevertalk alarmed her, and withered her delicate imaginings; itwas the social; counterpart of a motorcar, all jerks, andshe was a wisp of hay, a flower. Twice she deplored theweather, twice criticized the train service on the GreatNorthern Railway. They vigorously assented, and rushed on,and when she inquired whether there was any news of Helen,her hostess was too much occupied in placing Rothenstein toanswer. The question was repeated: "I hope that your sisteris safe in Germany by now." Margaret checked herself andsaid, "Yes, thank you; I heard on Tuesday." But the demon ofvociferation was in her, and the next moment she was off again.
"Only on Tuesday, for they live right away at Stettin.Did you ever know any one living at Stettin?"
"Never," said Mrs. Wilcox gravely, while her neighbour,a young man low down in the Education Office, began todiscuss what people who lived at Stettin ought to looklike. Was there such a thing as Stettininity? Margaretswept on.
"People at Stettin drop things into boats out ofoverhanging warehouses. At least, our cousins do, butaren't particularly rich. The town isn't interesting,except for a clock that rolls its eyes, and the view of theOder, which truly is something special. Oh, Mrs. Wilcox,you would love the Oder! The river, or rather rivers--thereseem to be dozens of them--are intense blue, and the plainthey run through an intensest green."
"Indeed! That sounds like a most beautiful view, Miss Schlegel."
"So I say, but Helen, who will muddle things, says no,it's like music. The course of the Oder is to be likemusic. It's obliged to remind her of a symphonic poem. Thepart by the landing-stage is in B minor, if I rememberrightly, but lower down things get extremely mixed. Thereis a slodgy theme in several keys at once, meaningmud-banks, and another for the navigable canal, and the exitinto the Baltic is in C sharp major, pianissimo."
"What do the overhanging warehouses make of that?" askedthe man, laughing.
"They make a great deal of it," replied Margaret,unexpectedly rushing off on a new track. "I think it'saffectation to compare the Oder to music, and so do you, butthe overhanging warehouses of Stettin take beauty seriously,which we don't, and the average Englishman doesn't, anddespises all who do. Now don't say 'Germans have no taste,'or I shall scream. They haven't. But--but--such atremendous but! --they take poetry seriously. They do takepoetry seriously.
"Is anything gained by that?"
"Yes, yes. The German is always on the lookout forbeauty. He may miss it through stupidity, or misinterpretit, but he is always asking beauty to enter his life, and Ibelieve that in the end it will come. At Heidelberg I met afat veterinary surgeon whose voice broke with sobs as herepeated some mawkish poetry. So easy for me to laugh--I,who never repeat poetry, good or bad, and cannot rememberone fragment of verse to thrill myself with. My bloodboils--well, I'm half German, so put it down topatriotism--when I listen to the tasteful contempt of theaverage islander for things Teutonic, whether they'reBocklin or my veterinary surgeon. 'Oh, Bocklin,' they say;'he strains after beauty, he peoples Nature with gods tooconsciously.' Of course Bocklin strains, because he wantssomething--beauty and all the other intangible gifts thatare floating about the world. So his landscapes don't comeoff, and Leader's do."
Giveus your side."that?"leave action anddiscussion.
"I am not sure that I agree. Do you?" said he, turningto Mrs. Wilcox.
She replied: "I think Miss Schlegel puts everythingsplendidly"; and a chill fell on the conversation.
"Oh, Mrs. Wilcox, say something nicer than that. It'ssuch a snub to be told you put things splendidly. "
"I do not mean it as a snub. Your last speechinterested me so much. Generally people do not seem quiteto like Germany. I have long wanted to hear what is said onthe other side."
"The other side? Then you do disagree. Oh, good! Giveus your side."
"I have no side. But my husband"--her voice softened,the chill increased--"has very little faith in theContinent, and our children have all taken after him."
"On what grounds? Do they feel that the Continent is inbad form?"
Mrs. Wilcox had no idea; she paid little attention togrounds. She was not intellectual, nor even alert, and itwas odd that, all the same, she should give the idea ofgreatness. Margaret, zigzagging with her friends overThought and Art, was conscious of a personality thattranscended their own and dwarfed their activities. Therewas no bitterness in Mrs. Wilcox; there was not evencriticism; she was lovable, and no ungracious oruncharitable word had passed her lips. Yet she and dailylife were out of focus: one or the other must show blurred.And at lunch she seemed more out of focus than usual, andnearer the line that divides life from a life that may be ofgreater importance.
"You will admit, though, that the Continent--it seemssilly to speak of 'the Continent,' but really it is all morelike itself than any part of it is like England. England isunique. Do have another jelly first. I was going to saythat the Continent, for good or for evil, is interested inideas. Its Literature and Art have what one might call thekink of the unseen about them, and this persists eventhrough decadence and affectation. There is more liberty ofaction in England, but for liberty of thought go tobureaucratic Prussia. People will there discuss withhumility vital questions that we here think ourselves toogood to touch with tongs."
"I do not want to go to Prussian" said Mrs. Wilcox--"noteven to see that interesting view that you were describing.And for discussing with humility I am too old. We neverdiscuss anything at Howards End."
generation toagree, for even my daughter disagrees with me here!
"It cannot stand without them," said Mrs. Wilcox,unexpectedly catching on to the thought, and rousing, forthe first and last time, a faint hope in the breasts of thedelightful people. "It cannot stand without them, and Isometimes think--But I cannot expect your generation toagree, for even my daughter disagrees with me here."
"Never mind us or her. Do say!"
"I sometimes think that it is wiser to leave action anddiscussion to men."
There was a little silence.
"One admits that the arguments against the suffrage areextraordinarily strong," said a girl opposite, leaningforward and crumbling her bread.
"Are they? I never follow any arguments. I am only toothankful not to have a vote myself."
"We didn't mean the vote, though, did we?" suppliedMargaret. "Aren't we differing on something much wider,Mrs. Wilcox? Whether women are to remain what they havebeen since the dawn of history; or whether, since men havemoved forward so far, they too may move forward a littlenow. I say they may. I would even admit a biological change."
"I don't know, I don't know."
"I must be getting back to my overhanging warehouse,"said the man. "They've turned disgracefully strict.
Mrs. Wilcox also rose.
"Oh, but come upstairs for a little. Miss Questedplays. Do you like MacDowell? Do you mind him only havingtwo noises? If you must really go, I'll see you out. Won'tyou even have coffee?"
Do you like MacDowell? Do you mind him only havingtwo noises.
They left the dining-room, closing the door behind them,and as Mrs. Wilcox buttoned up her jacket, she said: "Whatan interesting life you all lead in London!"
"No, we don't," said Margaret, with a sudden revulsion."We lead the lives of gibbering monkeys. Mrs.Wilcox--really--We have something quiet and stable at thebottom. We really have. All my friends have. Don'tpretend you enjoyed lunch, for you loathed it, but forgiveme by coming again, alone, or by asking me to you."
"I am used to young people," said Mrs. Wilcox, and witheach word she spoke the outlines of known things grew dim."I hear a great deal of chatter at home, for we, like you,entertain a great deal. With us it is more sport andpolitics, but--I enjoyed my lunch very much, Miss Schlegel,dear, and am not pretending, and only wish I could havejoined in more. For one thing, I'm not particularly welljust today. For another, you younger people move so quicklythat it dazes me. Charles is the same, Dolly the same. Butwe are all in the same boat, old and young. I never forget that."
They were silent for a moment. Then, with a newbornemotion, they shook hands. The conversation ceased suddenlywhen Margaret re-entered the dining-room: her friends hadbeen talking over her new friend, and had dismissed her asuninteresting.