霍华德庄园 英文版 Howards End
爱德华.摩根.福斯特 Edward Morgan Forster
Chapter 14
The mystery, like so many mysteries, was explained. Nextday, just as they were dressed to go out to dinner, a Mr.Bast called. He was a clerk in the employment of thePorphyrion Fire Insurance Company. Thus much from hiscard. He had come "about the lady yesterday." Thus muchfrom Annie, who had shown him into the dining-room.
"Cheers, children!" cried Helen. "It's Mrs. Lanoline."
Tibby was interested. The three hurried downstairs, tofind, not the gay dog they expected, but a young man,colourless, toneless, who had already the mournful eyesabove a drooping moustache that are so common in London, andthat haunt some streets of the city like accusingpresences. One guessed him as the third generation,grandson to the shepherd or ploughboy whom civilization hadsucked into the town; as one of the thousands who have lostthe life of the body and failed to reach the life of thespirit. Hints of robustness survived in him, more than ahint of primitive good looks, and Margaret, noting the spinethat might have been straight, and the chest that might havebroadened, wondered whether it paid to give up the glory ofthe animal for a tail coat and a couple of ideas. Culturehad worked in her own case, but during the last few weeksshe had doubted whether it humanized the majority, so wideand so widening is the gulf that stretches between thenatural and the philosophic man, so many the good chaps whoare wrecked in trying to cross it. She knew this type verywell--the vague aspirations, the mental dishonesty, thefamiliarity with the outsides of books. She knew the verytones in which he would address her. She was onlyunprepared for an example of her own visiting-card.
"You wouldn't remember giving me this, Miss Schlegel?"said he, uneasily familiar.
"No; I can't say I do."
"Well, that was how it happened, you see."
"Where did we meet, Mr. Bast? For the minute I don't remember."
"It was a concert at the Queen's Hall. I think you willrecollect," he added pretentiously, "when I tell you that itincluded a performance of the Fifth Symphony of Beethoven."
"We hear the Fifth practically every time it's done, soI'm not sure--do you remember, Helen?"
"Was it the time the sandy cat walked round the balustrade?"
He thought not.
"Then I don't remember. That's the only Beethoven Iever remember specially."
"And you, if I may say so, took away my umbrella,inadvertently of course."
"Likely enough," Helen laughed, "for I steal umbrellaseven oftener than I hear Beethoven. Did you get it back?"
"Yes, thank you, Miss Schlegel."
"The mistake arose out of my card, did it?" interposed Margaret.
"Yes, the mistake arose--it was a mistake."
"The lady who called here yesterday thought that youwere calling too, and that she could find you?" shecontinued, pushing him forward, for, though he had promisedan explanation, he seemed unable to give one.
"That's so, calling too--a mistake."
umbrella, another gave me this that Imight call .
"Then why--?" began Helen, but Margaret laid a hand onher arm.
"I said to my wife," he continued more rapidly--"I saidto Mrs. Bast, 'I have to pay a call on some friends,' andMrs. Bast said to me, 'Do go.' While I was gone, however,she wanted me on important business, and thought I had comehere, owing to the card, and so came after me, and I beg totender my apologies, and hers as well, for any inconveniencewe may have inadvertently caused you."
"No inconvenience," said Helen; "but I still don't understand."
"Call? What call?" said he, staring as if her questionhad been a foolish one, a favourite device of those in mid-stream.
"This afternoon call."
"In the afternoon, of course!" he replied, and looked atTibby to see how the repartee went. But Tibby, himself arepartee, was unsympathetic, and said, "Saturday afternoonor Sunday afternoon?"
"S-Saturday."
"Really!" said Helen; "and you were still calling onSunday, when your wife came here. A long visit."
"I don't call that fair," said Mr. Bast, going scarletand handsome. There was fight in his eyes." I know whatyou mean, and it isn't so."
"Oh, don't let us mind," said Margaret, distressed againby odours from the abyss.
"It was good of you to come and explain," she said."The rest is naturally no concern of ours."
"Yes, but I want--I wanted--have you ever read THEORDEAL OF RICHARD FEVEREL?"
Margaret nodded.
pushing him forward, for, though he had promisedan!
"It's a beautiful book. I wanted to get back to theEarth, don't you see, like Richard does in the end. Or haveyou ever read Stevenson's PRINCE OTTO?"
Helen and Tibby groaned gently.
"That's another beautiful book. You get back to theEarth in that. I wanted--" He mouthed affectedly. Thenthrough the mists of his culture came a hard fact, hard as apebble. "I walked all the Saturday night," said Leonard."I walked." A thrill of approval ran through the sisters.But culture closed in again. He asked whether they had everread E. V. Lucas's OPEN ROAD.
Said Helen, "No doubt it's another beautiful book, butI'd rather hear about your road."
"Oh, I walked."
"How far?"
"I don't know, nor for how long. It got too dark to seemy watch."
"Were you walking alone, may I ask?"
"Yes," he said, straightening himself; "but we'd beentalking it over at the office. There's been a lot of talkat the office lately about these things. The fellows theresaid one steers by the Pole Star, and I looked it up in thecelestial atlas, but once out of doors everything gets so mixed--"
"Don't talk to me about the Pole Star," interruptedHelen, who was becoming interested. "I know its littleways. It goes round and round, and you go round after it."
"Well, I lost it entirely. First of all the streetlamps, then the trees, and towards morning it got cloudy."
Tibby, who preferred his comedy undiluted, slipped fromthe room. He knew that this fellow would never attain topoetry, and did not want to hear him trying. Margaret andHelen remained. Their brother influenced them more thanthey knew: in his absence they were stirred to enthusiasmmore easily.
"Where did you start from?" cried Margaret. "Do tell usmore."
"I took the Underground to Wimbledon. As I came out ofthe office I said to myself, 'I must have a walk once in away. If I don't take this walk now, I shall never take it.'I had a bit of dinner at Wimbledon, and then--"
"But not good country there, is it?"
"It was gas-lamps for hours. Still, I had all thenight, and being out was the great thing. I did get intowoods, too, presently."
"Yes, go on," said Helen.
"You've no idea how difficult uneven ground is when it'sdark."
"Did you actually go off the roads?"
"Oh yes. I always meant to go off the roads, but theworst of it is that it's more difficult to find one's way."
"Mr. Bast, you're a born adventurer," laughed Margaret."No professional athlete would have attempted what you'vedone. It's a wonder your walk didn't end in a broken neck.Whatever did your wife say?"
"Professional athletes never move without lanterns andcompasses," said Helen. "Besides, they can't walk. Ittires them. Go on."
"I felt like R. L. S. You probably remember how inVIRGINIBUS--"
"Yes, but the wood. This 'ere wood. How did you getout of it?"
"I managed one wood, and found a road the other sidewhich went a good bit uphill. I rather fancy it was thoseNorth Downs, for the road went off into grass, and I gotinto another wood. That was awful, with gorse bushes. Idid wish I'd never come, but suddenly it got light--justwhile I seemed going under one tree. Then I found a roaddown to a station, and took the first train I could back to London."
"But was the dawn wonderful?" asked Helen.
With unforgettable sincerity he replied, "No." The wordflew again like a pebble from the sling. Down toppled allthat had seemed ignoble or literary in his talk, downtoppled tiresome R. L. S. and the "love of the earth" andhis silk top-hat. In the presence of these women Leonardhad arrived, and he spoke with a flow, an exultation, thathe had seldom known.
"The dawn was only grey, it was nothing to mention--"
"Just a grey evening turned upside down. I know."
"--and I was too tired to lift up my head to look at it,and so cold too. I'm glad I did it, and yet at the time itbored me more than I can say. And besides--you can believeme or not as you choose--I was very hungry. That dinner atWimbledon--I meant it to last me all night like otherdinners. I never thought that walking would make such adifference. Why, when you're walking you want, as it were,a breakfast and luncheon and tea during the night as well,and I'd nothing but a packet of Woodbines. Lord, I did feelbad! Looking back, it wasn't what you may call enjoyment.It was more a case of sticking to it. I did stick. I--Iwas determined. Oh, hang it all! what's the good--I mean,the good of living in a room for ever? There one goes onday after day, same old game, same up and down to town,until you forget there is any other game. You ought to seeonce in a way what's going on outside, if it's only nothingparticular after all."
"I should just think you ought," said Helen, sitting onthe edge of the table.
The sound of a lady's voice recalled him from sincerity,and he said: "Curious it should all come about from readingsomething of Richard Jefferies."
"Excuse me, Mr. Bast, but you're wrong there. Itdidn't. It came from something far greater."
But she could not stop him. Borrow was imminent afterJefferies--Borrow, Thoreau, and sorrow. R. L. S. brought upthe rear, and the outburst ended in a swamp of books. Nodisrespect to these great names. The fault is ours, nottheirs. They mean us to use them for sign-posts, and arenot to blame if, in our weakness, we mistake the sign-postfor the destination. And Leonard had reached thedestination. He had visited the county of Surrey whendarkness covered its amenities, and its cosy villas hadre-entered ancient night. Every twelve hours this miraclehappens, but he had troubled to go and see for himself.Within his cramped little mind dwelt something that wasgreater than Jefferies' books--the spirit that led Jefferiesto write them; and his dawn, though revealing nothing butmonotones, was part of the eternal sunrise that shows GeorgeBorrow Stonehenge.
wanted to get back to theEarth, don't you see, like Richard.
"Then you don't think I was foolish?" he asked, becomingagain the naive and sweet-tempered boy for whom Nature hadintended him.
"Heavens, no!" replied Margaret.
"Heaven help us if we do!" replied Helen.
"I'm very glad you say that. Now, my wife would neverunderstand--not if I explained for days."
"No, it wasn't foolish!" cried Helen, her eyes aflame."You've pushed back the boundaries; I think it splendid of you."
"You've not been content to dream as we have--"
"Though we have walked, too--"
"I must show you a picture upstairs--"
Here the door-bell rang. The hansom had come to takethem to their evening party.
, bother, not to say dash--I had forgotten.
"Oh, bother, not to say dash--I had forgotten we weredining out; but do, do, come round again and have a talk."
"Yes, you must--do," echoed Margaret.
Leonard, with extreme sentiment, replied: "No, I shallnot. It's better like this."
"Why better?" asked Margaret.
"No, it is better not to risk a second interview. Ishall always look back on this talk with you as one of thefinest things in my life. Really. I mean this. We cannever repeat. It has done me real good, and there we hadbetter leave it."
"That's rather a sad view of life, surely."
"Things so often get spoiled."
"I know," flashed Helen, "but people don't."
He could not understand this. He continued in a veinwhich mingled true imagination and false. What he saidwasn't wrong, but it wasn't right, and a false note jarred.One little twist, they felt, and the instrument might be intune. One little strain, and it might be silent for ever.He thanked the ladies very much, but he would not callagain. There was a moment's awkwardness, and then Helensaid: "Go, then; perhaps you know best; but never forgetyou're better than Jefferies." And he went. Their hansomcaught him up at the corner, passed with a waving of hands,and vanished with its accomplished load into the evening.
London was beginning to illuminate herself against thenight. Electric lights sizzled and jagged in the mainthoroughfares, gas-lamps in the side streets glimmered acanary gold or green. The sky was a crimson battlefield ofspring, but London was not afraid. Her smoke mitigated thesplendour, and the clouds down Oxford Street were adelicately painted ceiling, which adorned while it did notdistract. She has never known the clear-cut armies of thepurer air. Leonard hurried through her tinted wonders, verymuch part of the picture. His was a grey life, and tobrighten it he had ruled off a few corners for romance. TheMiss Schlegels--or, to speak more accurately, his interviewwith them--were to fill such a corner, nor was it by anymeans the first time that he had talked intimately tostrangers. The habit was analogous to a debauch, an outlet,though the worst of outlets, for instincts that would not bedenied. Terrifying him, it would beat down his suspicionsand prudence until he was confiding secrets to people whomhe had scarcely seen. It brought him many fears and somepleasant memories. Perhaps the keenest happiness he hadever known was during a railway journey to Cambridge, wherea decent-mannered undergraduate had spoken to him. They hadgot into conversation, and gradually Leonard flung reticenceaside, told some of his domestic troubles, and hinted at therest. The undergraduate, supposing they could start afriendship, asked him to "coffee after hall," which heaccepted, but afterwards grew shy, and took care not to stirfrom the commercial hotel where he lodged. He did not wantRomance to collide with the Porphyrion, still less withJacky, and people with fuller, happier lives are slow tounderstand this. To the Schlegels, as to the undergraduate,he was an interesting creature, of whom they wanted to seemore. But they to him were denizens of Romance, who mustkeep to the corner he had assigned them, pictures that mustnot walk out of their frames.
His behaviour over Margaret's visiting-card had beentypical. His had scarcely been a tragic marriage. Wherethere is no money and no inclination to violence tragedycannot be generated. He could not leave his wife, and hedid not want to hit her. Petulance and squalor wereenough. Here "that card" had come in. Leonard, thoughfurtive, was untidy, and left it lying about. Jacky foundit, and then began, "What's that card, eh?" "Yes, don't youwish you knew what that card was?" "Len, who's MissSchlegel?" etc. Months passed, and the card, now as a joke,now as a grievance, was handed about, getting dirtier anddirtier. It followed them when they moved from CorneliaRoad to Tulse Hill. It was submitted to third parties. Afew inches of pasteboard, it became the battlefield on whichthe souls of Leonard and his wife contended. Why did he notsay, "A lady took my umbrella, another gave me this that Imight call for my umbrella"? Because Jacky would havedisbelieved him? Partly, but chiefly because he wassentimental. No affection gathered round the card, but itsymbolized the life of culture, that Jacky should neverspoil. At night he would say to himself, "Well, at allevents, she doesn't know about that card. Yah! done her there!"
Poor Jacky! she was not a bad sort, and had a greatdeal to bear. She drew her own conclusion--she was onlycapable of drawing one conclusion--and in the fulness oftime she acted upon it. All the Friday Leonard had refusedto speak to her, and had spent the evening observing thestars. On the Saturday he went up, as usual, to town, buthe came not back Saturday night nor Sunday morning, norSunday afternoon. The inconvenience grew intolerable, andthough she was now of a retiring habit, and shy of women,she went up to Wickham Place. Leonard returned in herabsence. The card, the fatal card, was gone from the pagesof Ruskin, and he guessed what had happened.
that Jacky should neverspoil. At night he would say to ?
"Well?" he had exclaimed, greeting her with peals oflaughter. "I know where you've been, but you don't knowwhere I've been. "
Jacky sighed, said, "Len, I do think you might explain,"and resumed domesticity.
Explanations were difficult at this stage, and Leonardwas too silly--or it is tempting to write, too sound a chapto attempt them. His reticence was not entirely the shoddyarticle that a business life promotes, the reticence thatpretends that nothing is something, and hides behind theDAILY TELEGRAPH. The adventurer, also, is reticent, and itis an adventure for a clerk to walk for a few hours indarkness. You may laugh at him, you who have slept nightson the veldt, with your rifle beside you and all theatmosphere of adventure past. And you also may laugh whothink adventures silly. But do not be surprised if Leonardis shy whenever he meets you, and if the Schlegels ratherthan Jacky hear about the dawn.
That the Schlegels had not thought him foolish became apermanent joy. He was at his best when he thought of them.It buoyed him as he journeyed home beneath fading heavens.Somehow the barriers of wealth had fallen, and there hadbeen--he could not phrase it--a general assertion of thewonder of the world. "My conviction," says the mystic,"gains infinitely the moment another soul will believe init," and they had agreed that there was something beyondlife's daily grey. He took off his top-hat and smoothed itthoughtfully. He had hitherto supposed the unknown to bebooks, literature, clever conversation, culture. One raisedoneself by study, and got upsides with the world. But inthat quick interchange a new light dawned. Was thatsomething" walking in the dark among the surburban hills?
He discovered that he was going bareheaded down RegentStreet. London came back with a rush. Few were about atthis hour, but all whom he passed looked at him with ahostility that was the more impressive because it wasunconscious. He put his hat on. It was too big; his headdisappeared like a pudding into a basin, the ears bendingoutwards at the touch of the curly brim. He wore it alittle backwards, and its effect was greatly to elongate theface and to bring out the distance between the eyes and themoustache. Thus equipped, he escaped criticism. No onefelt uneasy as he titupped along the pavements, the heart ofa man ticking fast in his chest.