霍华德庄园 英文版 Howards End
爱德华.摩根.福斯特 Edward Morgan Forster
Chapter 15
The sisters went out to dinner full of their adventure, andwhen they were both full of the same subject, there were fewdinner-parties that could stand up against them. Thisparticular one, which was all ladies, had more kick in itthan most, but succumbed after a struggle. Helen at onepart of the table, Margaret at the other, would talk of Mr.Bast and of no one else, and somewhere about the entreetheir monologues collided, fell ruining, and became commonproperty. Nor was this all. The dinner-party was really aninformal discussion club; there was a paper after it, readamid coffee-cups and laughter in the drawing-room, butdealing more or less thoughtfully with some topic of generalinterest. After the paper came a debate, and in this debateMr. Bast also figured, appearing now as a bright spot incivilization, now as a dark spot, according to thetemperament of the speaker. The subject of the paper hadbeen, "How ought I to dispose of my money?" the readerprofessing to be a millionaire on the point of death,inclined to bequeath her fortune for the foundation of localart galleries, but open to conviction from other sources.The various parts had been assigned beforehand, and some ofthe speeches were amusing. The hostess assumed theungrateful role of "the millionaire's eldest son," andimplored her expiring parent not to dislocate Society byallowing such vast sums to pass out of the family. Moneywas the fruit of self-denial, and the second generation hada right to profit by the self-denial of the first. Whatright had "Mr. Bast" to profit? The National Gallery wasgood enough for the likes of him. After property had hadits say--a saying that is necessarily ungracious--thevarious philanthropists stepped forward. Something must bedone for "Mr. Bast": his conditions must be improved withoutimpairing his independence; he must have a free library, orfree tennis-courts; his rent must be paid in such a way thathe did not know it was being paid; it must be made worth hiswhile to join the Territorials; he must be forcibly partedfrom his uninspiring wife, the money going to her ascompensation; he must be assigned a Twin Star, some memberof the leisured classes who would watch over him ceaselessly(groans from Helen); he must be given food but no clothes,clothes but no food, a third-return ticket to Venice,without either food or clothes when he arrived there. Inshort, he might be given anything and everything so long asit was not the money itself.
And here Margaret interrupted.
"Order, order, Miss Schlegel!" said the reader of thepaper. "You are here, I understand, to advise me in theinterests of the Society for the Preservation of Places ofHistoric Interest or Natural Beauty. I cannot have youspeaking out of your role. It makes my poor head go round,and I think you forget that I am very ill."
"Your head won't go round if only you'll listen to myargument," said Margaret. "Why not give him the moneyitself. You're supposed to have about thirty thousand a year."
"Have I? I thought I had a million."
"Wasn't a million your capital? Dear me! we ought tohave settled that. Still, it doesn't matter. Whateveryou've got, I order you to give as many poor men as you canthree hundred a year each. "
"But that would be pauperizing them," said an earnestgirl, who liked the Schlegels, but thought them a littleunspiritual at times.
"Not if you gave them so much. A big windfall would notpauperize a man. It is these little driblets, distributedamong too many, that do the harm. Money's educational.It's far more educational than the things it buys." Therewas a protest. "In a sense," added Margaret, but theprotest continued. "Well, isn't the most civilized thinggoing, the man who has learnt to wear his income properly?"
"Exactly what your Mr. Basts won't do."
"Give them a chance. Give them money. Don't dole themout poetry-books and railway-tickets like babies. Give themthe wherewithal to buy these things. When your Socialismcomes it may be different, and we may think in terms ofcommodities instead of cash. Till it comes give peoplecash, for it is the warp of civilization, whatever the woofmay be. The imagination ought to play upon money andrealize it vividly, for it's the--the second most importantthing in the world. It is so sluffed over and hushed up,there is so little clear thinking--oh, political economy, ofcourse, but so few of us think clearly about our own privateincomes, and admit that independent thoughts are in ninecases out of ten the result of independent means. Money:give Mr. Bast money, and don't bother about his ideals.He'll pick up those for himself."
She leant back while the more earnest members of theclub began to misconstrue her. The female mind, thoughcruelly practical in daily life, cannot bear to hear idealsbelittled in conversation, and Miss Schlegel was askedhowever she could say such dreadful things, and what itwould profit Mr. Bast if he gained the whole world and losthis own soul. She answered, "Nothing, but he would not gainhis soul until he had gained a little of the world." Thenthey said, "No they did not believe it," and she admittedthat an overworked clerk may save his soul in thesuperterrestrial sense, where the effort will be taken forthe deed, but she denied that he will ever explore thespiritual resources of this world, will ever know the rarerjoys of the body, or attain to clear and passionateintercourse with his fellows. Others had attacked thefabric of Society-Property, Interest, etc.; she only fixedher eyes on a few human beings, to see how, under presentconditions, they could be made happier. Doing good tohumanity was useless: the many-coloured efforts theretospreading over the vast area like films and resulting in anuniversal grey. To do good to one, or, as in this case, toa few, was the utmost she dare hope for.
Between the idealists, and the political economists,Margaret had a bad time. Disagreeing elsewhere, they agreedin disowning her, and in keeping the administration of themillionaire's money in their own hands. The earnest girlbrought forward a scheme of "personal supervision and mutualhelp," the effect of which was to alter poor people untilthey became exactly like people who were not so poor. Thehostess pertinently remarked that she, as eldest son, mightsurely rank among the millionaire's legatees. Margaretweakly admitted the claim, and another claim was at once setup by Helen, who declared that she had been themillionaire's housemaid for over forty years, overfed andunderpaid; was nothing to be done for her, so corpulent andpoor? The millionaire then read out her last will andtestament, in which she left the whole of her fortune to theChancellor of the Exchequer. Then she died. The seriousparts of the discussion had been of higher merit than theplayful--in a men's debate is the reverse moregeneral? --but the meeting broke up hilariously enough, anda dozen happy ladies dispersed to their homes.
Helen and Margaret walked the earnest girl as far asBattersea Bridge Station, arguing copiously all the way.When she had gone they were conscious of an alleviation, andof the great beauty of the evening. They turned backtowards Oakley Street. The lamps and the plane-trees,following the line of the embankment, struck a note ofdignity that is rare in English cities. The seats, almostdeserted, were here and there occupied by gentlefolk inevening dress, who had strolled out from the houses behindto enjoy fresh air and the whisper of the rising tide.There is something continental about Chelsea Embankment. Itis an open space used rightly, a blessing more frequent inGermany than here. As Margaret and Helen sat down, the citybehind them seemed to be a vast theatre, an opera-house inwhich some endless trilogy was performing, and theythemselves a pair of satisfied subscribers, who did not mindlosing a little of the second act.
"Cold?"
"No."
"Tired?"
"Doesn't matter."
The earnest girl's train rumbled away over the bridge.
"I say, Helen--"
"Well?"
"Are we really going to follow up Mr. Bast?"
Well?"Margaret, came well enoughfrom a man who was.
"I don't know."
"I think we won't."
"As you like."
"It's no good, I think, unless you really mean to knowpeople. The discussion brought that home to me. We got onwell enough with him in a spirit of excitement, but think ofrational intercourse. We mustn't play at friendship. No,it's no good."
"There's Mrs. Lanoline, too," Helen yawned. "So dull."
"Just so, and possibly worse than dull."
"I should like to know how he got hold of your card."
"But he said--something about a concert and an umbrella--"
"Then did the card see the wife--"
"Helen, come to bed."
"No, just a little longer, it is so beautiful. Tell me;oh yes; did you say money is the warp of the world?"
"Yes."
"Then what's the woof?"
"Very much what one chooses," said Margaret. "It'ssomething that isn't money--one can't say more."
"Walking at night?"
"Probably."
"For Tibby, Oxford?"
"It seems so."
"For you?"
"Now that we have to leave Wickham Place, I begin tothink it's that. For Mrs. Wilcox it was certainly Howards End."
One's own name will carry immense distances. Mr.Wilcox, who was sitting with friends many seats away, heardhis, rose to his feet, and strolled along towards the speakers.
"It is sad to suppose that places may ever be moreimportant than people," continued Margaret.
"Why, Meg? They're so much nicer generally. I'd ratherthink of that forester's house in Pomerania than of the fatHerr Forstmeister who lived in it."
"I believe we shall come to care about people less andless, Helen. The more people one knows the easier itbecomes to replace them. It's one of the curses of London.I quite expect to end my life caring most for a place."
Here Mr. Wilcox reached them. It was several weekssince they had met.
"How do you do?" he cried. "I thought I recognized yourvoices. Whatever are you both doing down here?"
His tones were protective. He implied that one oughtnot to sit out on Chelsea Embankment without a male escort.Helen resented this, but Margaret accepted it as part of thegood man's equipment.
"What an age it is since I've seen you, Mr. Wilcox. Imet Evie in the Tube, though, lately. I hope you have goodnews of your son."
"Paul?" said Mr. Wilcox, extinguishing his cigarette,and sitting down between them. "Oh, Paul's all right. Wehad a line from Madeira. He'll be at work again by now."
"Ugh--" said Helen, shuddering from complex causes.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Isn't the climate of Nigeria too horrible?"
"Someone's got to go," he said simply. "England willnever keep her trade overseas unless she is prepared to makesacrifices. Unless we get firm in West Africa, Ger--untoldcomplications may follow. Now tell me all your news."
"Oh, we've had a splendid evening," cried Helen, whoalways woke up at the advent of a visitor. "We belong to akind of club that reads papers, Margaret and I--all women,but there is a discussion after. This evening it was on howone ought to leave one's money--whether to one's family, orto the poor, and if so how--oh, most interesting."
The man of business smiled. Since his wife's death hehad almost doubled his income. He was an important figureat last, a reassuring name on company prospectuses, and lifehad treated him very well. The world seemed in his grasp ashe listened to the River Thames, which still flowed inlandfrom the sea. So wonderful to the girls, it held nomysteries for him. He had helped to shorten its long tidaltrough by taking shares in the lock at Teddington, and if heand other capitalists thought good, some day it could beshortened again. With a good dinner inside him and anamiable but academic woman on either flank, he felt that hishands were on all the ropes of life, and that what he didnot know could not be worth knowing.
"Sounds a most original entertainment!" he exclaimed,and laughed in his pleasant way. "I wish Evie would go tothat sort of thing. But she hasn't the time. She's takento breed Aberdeen terriers--jolly little dogs.
"I expect we'd better be doing the same, really."
"We pretend we're improving ourselves, you see," saidHelen a little sharply, for the Wilcox glamour is not of thekind that returns, and she had bitter memories of the dayswhen a speech such as he had just made would have impressedher favourably. "We suppose it is a good thing to waste anevening once a fortnight over a debate, but, as my sistersays, it may be better to breed dogs."
"Not at all. I don't agree with your sister. There'snothing like a debate to teach one quickness. I often wishI had gone in for them when I was a youngster. It wouldhave helped me no end."
"Quickness--?"
"Yes. Quickness in argument. Time after time I'vemissed scoring a point because the other man has had thegift of the gab and I haven't. Oh, I believe in these discussions."
The patronizing tone thought Margaret, came well enoughfrom a man who was old enough to be their father. She hadalways maintained that Mr. Wilcox had a charm. In times ofsorrow or emotion his inadequacy had pained her, but it waspleasant to listen to him now, and to watch his thick brownmoustache and high forehead confronting the stars. ButHelen was nettled. The aim of THEIR debates she implied wasTruth.
"Oh yes, it doesn't much matter what subject you take,"said he.
Margaret laughed and said, "But this is going to be farbetter than the debate itself." Helen recovered herself andlaughed too. "No, I won't go on," she declared. "I'll justput our special case to Mr. Wilcox."
"About Mr. Bast? Yes, do. He'll be more lenient to aspecial case.
"But, Mr. Wilcox, do first light another cigarette.It's this. We've just come across a young fellow, who'sevidently very poor, and who seems interest--"
"What's his profession?"
"Clerk."
"What in?"
"Do you remember, Margaret?"
"Porphyrion Fire Insurance Company."
"Oh yes; the nice people who gave Aunt Juley a newhearth-rug. He seems interesting, in some ways very, andone wishes one could help him. He is married to a wife whomhe doesn't seem to care for much. He likes books, and whatone may roughly call adventure, and if he had a chance--Buthe is so poor. He lives a life where all the money is aptto go on nonsense and clothes. One is so afraid thatcircumstances will be too strong for him and that he willsink. Well, he got mixed up in our debate. He wasn't thesubject of it, but it seemed to bear on his point. Supposea millionaire died, and desired to leave money to help sucha man. How should he be helped? Should he be given threehundred pounds a year direct, which was Margaret's plan?Most of them thought this would pauperize him. Should heand those like him be given free libraries? I said 'No!' Hedoesn't want more books to read, but to read books rightly.My suggestion was he should be given something every yeartowards a summer holiday, but then there is his wife, andthey said she would have to go too. Nothing seemed quiteright! Now what do you think? Imagine that you were amillionaire, and wanted to help the poor. What would you do?"
Mr. Wilcox, whose fortune was not so very far below thestandard indicated, laughed exuberantly. "My dear MissSchlegel, I will not rush in where your sex has been unableto tread. I will not add another plan to the numerousexcellent ones that have been already suggested. My onlycontribution is this: let your young friend clear out of thePorphyrion Fire Insurance Company with all possible speed."
"Why?" said Margaret.
He lowered his voice. "This is between friends. It'llbe in the Receiver's hands before Christmas. It'll smash,"he added, thinking that she had not understood.
"Dear me, Helen, listen to that. And he'll have to getanother place!"
"Will have? Let him leave the ship before it sinks.Let him get one now."
"Rather than wait, to make sure?"
"Decidedly."
"Why's that?"
Again the Olympian laugh, and the lowered voice."Naturally the man who's in a situation when he appliesstands a better chance, is in a stronger position, than theman who isn't. It looks as if he's worth something. I knowby myself--(this is letting you into the State secrets)--itaffects an employer greatly. Human nature, I'm afraid."
"I hadn't thought of that," murmured Margaret, whileHelen said, "Our human nature appears to be the other wayround. We employ people because they're unemployed. Theboot man, for instance."
thousand a year."here Margaret interrupted.too, on.
"And how does he clean the boots?"
"Not well," confessed Margaret.
"There you are!"
"Then do you really advise us to tell this youth--"
"I advise nothing," he interrupted, glancing up and downthe Embankment, in case his indiscretion had beenoverheard. "I oughtn't to have spoken--but I happen toknow, being more or less behind the scenes. ThePorphyrion's a bad, bad concern--Now, don't say I said so.It's outside the Tariff Ring."
"Certainly I won't say. In fact, I don't know what thatmeans."
"I thought an insurance company never smashed," wasHelen's contribution. "Don't the others always run in andsave them?"
"You're thinking of reinsurance," said Mr. Wilcoxmildly. "It is exactly there that the Porphyrion is weak.It has tried to undercut, has been badly hit by a longseries of small fires, and it hasn't been able to reinsure.I'm afraid that public companies don't save one another for love."
"'Human nature,' I suppose," quoted Helen, and helaughed and agreed that it was. When Margaret said that shesupposed that clerks, like every one else, found itextremely difficult to get situations in these days, hereplied, "Yes, extremely," and rose to rejoin his friends.He knew by his own office--seldom a vacant post, andhundreds of applicants for it; at present no vacant post.
"And how's Howards End looking?" said Margaret, wishingto change the subject before they parted. Mr. Wilcox was alittle apt to think one wanted to get something out of him.
"It's let."
"Really. And you wandering homeless in long-hairedChelsea? How strange are the ways of Fate!"
"No; it's let unfurnished. We've moved."
"Why, I thought of you both as anchored there for ever.Evie never told me."
"I dare say when you met Evie the thing wasn't settled.We only moved a week ago. Paul has rather a feeling for theold place, and we held on for him to have his holiday there;but, really, it is impossibly small. Endless drawbacks. Iforget whether you've been up to it?"
"As far as the house, never."
"Well, Howards End is one of those converted farms.They don't really do, spend what you will on them. Wemessed away with a garage all among the wych-elm roots, andlast year we enclosed a bit of the meadow and attempted amockery. Evie got rather keen on Alpine plants. But itdidn't do--no, it didn't do. You remember, or your sisterwill remember, the farm with those abominable guinea-fowls,and the hedge that the old woman never would cut properly,so that it all went thin at the bottom. And, inside thehouse, the beams--and the staircase through adoor--picturesque enough, but not a place to live in." Heglanced over the parapet cheerfully. "Full tide. And theposition wasn't right either. The neighbourhood's gettingsuburban. Either be in London or out of it, I say; so we'vetaken a house in Ducie Street, close to Sloane Street, and aplace right down in Shropshire--Oniton Grange. Ever heardof Oniton? Do come and see us--right away from everywhere,up towards Wales. "
"What a change!" said Margaret. But the change was inher own voice, which had become most sad. "I can't imagineHowards End or Hilton without you."
"Hilton isn't without us," he replied. "Charles isthere still."
"Still?" said Margaret, who had not kept up with theCharles'. "But I thought he was still at Epsom. They werefurnishing that Christmas--one Christmas. How everythingalters! I used to admire Mrs. Charles from our windows veryoften. Wasn't it Epsom?"
The aim of THEIR debates she implied!
"Yes, but they moved eighteen months ago. Charles, thegood chap"--his voice dropped--"thought I should be lonely.I didn't want him to move, but he would, and took a house atthe other end of Hilton, down by the Six Hills. He had amotor, too. There they all are, a very jolly party--he andshe and the two grandchildren."
"I manage other people's affairs so much better thanthey manage them themselves," said Margaret as they shookhands. "When you moved out of Howards End, I should havemoved Mr. Charles Wilcox into it. I should have kept soremarkable a place in the family."
"So it is," he replied. "I haven't sold it, and don'tmean to."
"No; but none of you are there."
"Oh, we've got a splendid tenant--Hamar Bryce, aninvalid. If Charles ever wanted it--but he won't. Dolly isso dependent on modern conveniences. No, we have alldecided against Howards End. We like it in a way, but nowwe feel that it is neither one thing nor the other. Onemust have one thing or the other."
"And some people are lucky enough to have both. You'redoing yourself proud, Mr. Wilcox. My congratulations."
"And mine," said Helen.
"Do remind Evie to come and see us--two, Wickham Place.We shan't be there very long, either."
"You, too, on the move?"
"Next September," Margaret sighed.
"Every one moving! Good-bye."
The tide had begun to ebb. Margaret leant over theparapet and watched it sadly. Mr. Wilcox had forgotten hiswife, Helen her lover; she herself was probably forgetting.Every one moving. Is it worth while attempting the pastwhen there is this continual flux even in the hearts of men?
Helen roused her by saying: "What a prosperous vulgarianMr. Wilcox has grown! I have very little use for him inthese days. However, he did tell us about the Porphyrion.Let us write to Mr. Bast as soon as ever we get home, andtell him to clear out of it at once."
"Do; yes, that's worth doing. Let us."
"Let's ask him to tea."