霍华德庄园 英文版 Howards End
爱德华.摩根.福斯特 Edward Morgan Forster
Chapter 16
Leonard accepted the invitation to tea next Saturday. Buthe was right; the visit proved a conspicuous failure.
most unpleasant for you."
"Sugar?" said Margaret.
"Cake?" said Helen. "The big cake or the littledeadlies? I'm afraid you thought my letter rather odd, butwe'll explain--we aren't odd, really--not affected, really.We're over-expressive: that's all. "
As a lady's lap-dog Leonard did not excel. He was notan Italian, still less a Frenchman, in whose blood thereruns the very spirit of persiflage and of graciousrepartee. His wit was the Cockney's; it opened no doorsinto imagination, and Helen was drawn up short by "The morea lady has to say, the better," administered waggishly.
"Oh, yes," she said.
"Ladies brighten--"
"Yes, I know. The darlings are regular sunbeams. Letme give you a plate."
"How do you like your work?" interposed Margaret.
He, too, was drawn up short. He would not have thesewomen prying into his work. They were Romance, and so wasthe room to which he had at last penetrated, with the queersketches of people bathing upon its walls, and so were thevery tea-cups, with their delicate borders of wildstrawberries. But he would not let Romance interfere withhis life. There is the devil to pay then.
"Oh, well enough," he answered.
"Your company is the Porphyrion, isn't it?"
"Yes, that's so"--becoming rather offended. "It's funnyhow things get round."
"Why funny?" asked Helen, who did not follow theworkings of his mind. "It was written as large as life onyour card, and considering we wrote to you there, and thatyou replied on the stamped paper--"
"Would you call the Porphyrion one of the big InsuranceCompanies?" pursued Margaret.
"It depends what you call big."
"I mean by big, a solid, well-established concern, thatoffers a reasonably good career to its employes."
"I couldn't say--some would tell you one thing andothers another," said the employe uneasily. "For my ownpart"--he shook his head--"I only believe half I hear. Notthat even; it's safer. Those clever ones come to the worsegrief, I've often noticed. Ah, you can't be too careful."
He drank, and wiped his moustache, which was going to beone of those moustaches that always droop intotea-cups--more bother than they're worth, surely, and notfashionable either.
"I quite agree, and that's why I was curious to know: isit a solid, well-established concern?"
Leonard had no idea. He understood his own corner ofthe machine, but nothing beyond it. He desired to confessneither knowledge nor ignorance, and under thesecircumstances, another motion of the head seemed safest. Tohim, as to the British public, the Porphyrion was thePorphyrion of the advertisement--a giant, in the classicalstyle, but draped sufficiently, who held in one hand aburning torch, and pointed with the other to St. Paul's andWindsor Castle. A large sum of money was inscribed below,and you drew your own conclusions. This giant causedLeonard to do arithmetic and write letters, to explain theregulations to new clients, and re-explain them to oldones. A giant was of an impulsive morality--one knew thatmuch. He would pay for Mrs. Munt's hearth-rug withostentatious haste, a large claim he would repudiatequietly, and fight court by court. But his true fightingweight, his antecedents, his amours with other members ofthe commercial Pantheon--all these were as uncertain toordinary mortals as were the escapades of Zeus. While thegods are powerful, we learn little about them. It is onlyin the days of their decadence that a strong light beatsinto heaven.
"We were told the Porphyrion's no go," blurted Helen."We wanted to tell you; that's why we wrote."
"A friend of ours did think that it is unsufficientlyreinsured," said Margaret.
Now Leonard had his clue. He must praise thePorphyrion. "You can tell your friend," he said, "that he'squite wrong."
"Oh, good!"
The young man coloured a little. In his circle to bewrong was fatal. The Miss Schlegels did not mind beingwrong. They were genuinely glad that they had beenmisinformed. To them nothing was fatal but evil.
"Wrong, so to speak," he added.
"How 'so to speak'?"
"I mean I wouldn't say he's right altogether."
But this was a blunder. "Then he is right partly," saidthe elder woman, quick as lightning.
Leonard replied that every one was right partly, if itcame to that.
"Mr. Bast, I don't understand business, and I dare saymy questions are stupid, but can you tell me what makes aconcern 'right' or 'wrong'?"
Leonard sat back with a sigh.
"Our friend, who is also a business man, was sopositive. He said before Christmas--"
"And advised you to clear out of it," concluded Helen."But I don't see why he should know better than you do."
Leonard rubbed his hands. He was tempted to say that heknew nothing about the thing at all. But a commercialtraining was too strong for him. Nor could he say it was abad thing, for this would be giving it away; nor yet that itwas good, for this would be giving it away equally. Heattempted to suggest that it was something between the two,with vast possibilities in either direction, but broke downunder the gaze of four sincere eyes. As yet he scarcelydistinguished between the two sisters. One was morebeautiful and more lively, but "the Miss Schlegels" stillremained a composite Indian god, whose waving arms andcontradictory speeches were the product of a single mind.
"One can but see," he remarked, adding, "as Ibsen says,'things happen.'" He was itching to talk about books andmake the most of his romantic hour. Minute after minuteslipped away, while the ladies, with imperfect skill,discussed the subject of reinsurance or praised theiranonymous friend. Leonard grew annoyed--perhaps rightly.He made vague remarks about not being one of those whominded their affairs being talked over by others, but theydid not take the hint. Men might have shown more tact.Women, however tactful elsewhere, are heavy-handed here.They cannot see why we should shroud our incomes and ourprospects in a veil. "How much exactly have you, and howmuch do you expect to have next June?" And these were womenwith a theory, who held that reticence about money mattersis absurd, and that life would be truer if each would statethe exact size of the golden island upon which he stands,the exact stretch of warp over which he throws the woof thatis not money. How can we do justice to the patternotherwise?
And the precious minutes slipped away, and Jacky andsqualor came nearer. At last he could bear it no longer,and broke in, reciting the names of books feverishly. Therewas a moment of piercing joy when Margaret said, "So YOUlike Carlyle," and then the door opened, and "Mr. Wilcox,Miss Wilcox" entered, preceded by two prancing puppies.
"Oh, the dears! Oh, Evie, how too impossibly sweet!"screamed Helen, falling on her hands and knees.
"We brought the little fellows round," said Mr. Wilcox.
"I bred 'em myself."
"Oh, really! Mr. Bast, come and play with puppies."
"I've got to be going now," said Leonard sourly.
"But play with puppies a little first."
"This is Ahab, that's Jezebel," said Evie, who was oneof those who name animals after the less successfulcharacters of Old Testament history.
"I've got to be going."
Helen was too much occupied with puppies to notice him.
"Mr. Wilcox, Mr. Ba--Must you be really? Good-bye!"
"Come again," said Helen from the floor.
Then Leonard's gorge arose. Why should he come again?What was the good of it? He said roundly: "No, I shan't; Iknew it would be a failure."
Most people would have let him go. "A little mistake.We tried knowing another class--impossible." But theSchlegels had never played with life. They had attemptedfriendship, and they would take the consequences. Helenretorted, "I call that a very rude remark. What do you wantto turn on me like that for?" and suddenly the drawing-roomre-echoed to a vulgar row.
"You ask me why I turn on you?"
"Yes."
"What do you want to have me here for?"
"To help you, you silly boy!" cried Helen. "And don't shout."
"I don't want your patronage. I don't want your tea. Iwas quite happy. What do you want to unsettle me for?" Heturned to Mr. Wilcox. "I put it to this gentleman. I askyou, sir, am to have my brain picked?"
Mr. Wilcox turned to Margaret with the air of humorousstrength that he could so well command. "Are we intruding,Miss Schlegel? Can we be of any use or shall we go?"
But Margaret ignored him.
Oxford.Mr. Ba--Must you be really? Good.
"Highly unfair," said Mr. Wilcox, drawing a gasp fromEvie, who knew that her father was becoming dangerous.
"There, you hear that? Most unfair, the gentlemansays. There! Not content with"--pointing at Margaret--"youcan't deny it." His voice rose: he was falling into therhythm of a scene with Jacky. "But as soon as I'm usefulit's a very different thing. 'Oh yes, send for him.Cross-question him. Pick his brains.' Oh yes. Now, take meon the whole, I'm a quiet fellow: I'm law-abiding, I don'twish any unpleasantness; but I--I--"
"You," said Margaret--"you--you--"
Laughter from Evie, as at a repartee.
"You are the man who tried to walk by the Pole Star."
More laughter.
"You saw the sunrise."
Laughter.
"You tried to get away from the fogs that are stiflingus all--away past books and houses to the truth. You werelooking for a real home. "
"I fail to see the connection," said Leonard, hot withstupid anger.
"So do I." There was a pause. "You were that lastSunday--you are this today. Mr. Bast! I and my sister havetalked you over. We wanted to help you; we also supposedyou might help us. We did not have you here out ofcharity--which bores us--but because we hoped there would bea connection between last Sunday and other days. What isthe good of your stars and trees, your sunrise and the wind,if they do not enter into our daily lives? They have neverentered into mine, but into yours, we thought--Haven't weall to struggle against life's daily greyness, againstpettiness, against mechanical cheerfulness, againstsuspicion? I struggle by remembering my friends; others Ihave known by remembering some place--some beloved place ortree--we thought you one of these."
"Of course, if there's been any misunderstanding,"mumbled Leonard, "all I can do is to go. But I beg tostate--" He paused. Ahab and Jezebel danced at his bootsand made him look ridiculous. "You were picking my brainfor official information--I can prove it--I--He blew hisnose and left them.
"Can I help you now?" said Mr. Wilcox, turning toMargaret. "May I have one quiet word with him in the hall?"
"Helen, go after him--do anything--ANYTHING--to make thenoodle understand."
about not being one .
Helen hesitated.
"But really--" said their visitor. "Ought she to?"
At once she went.
He resumed. "I would have chimed in, but I felt thatyou could polish him off for yourselves--I didn'tinterfere. You were splendid, Miss Schlegel--absolutelysplendid. You can take my word for it, but there are veryfew women who could have managed him."
"Oh yes," said Margaret distractedly.
"Bowling him over with those long sentences was whatfetched me," cried Evie.
"Yes, indeed," chuckled her father; "all that part about'mechanical cheerfulness'--oh, fine!"
"I'm very sorry," said Margaret, collecting herself."He's a nice creature really. I cannot think what set himoff. It has been most unpleasant for you."
"Oh, _I_ didn't mind." Then he changed his mood. Heasked if he might speak as an old friend, and, permissiongiven, said: "Oughtn't you really to be more careful?"
Margaret laughed, though her thoughts still strayedafter Helen. "Do you realize that it's all your fault?" shesaid. "You're responsible."
"I?"
"This is the young man whom we were to warn against thePorphyrion. We warn him, and--look!"
Mr. Wilcox was annoyed. "I hardly consider that a fairdeduction," he said.
"Obviously unfair," said Margaret. "I was only thinkinghow tangled things are. It's our fault mostly--neitheryours nor his."
"Not his?"
"No."
"Miss Schlegel, you are too kind."
"Yes, indeed," nodded Evie, a little contemptuously.
words ran past Mr. Wilcox.
"You behave much too well to people, and then theyimpose on you. I know the world and that type of man, andas soon as I entered the room I saw you had not beentreating him properly. You must keep that type at adistance. Otherwise they forget themselves. Sad, buttrue. They aren't our sort, and one must face the fact."
"Ye-es."
"Do admit that we should never have had the outburst ifhe was a gentleman."
Not his?" only thinkinghow!
"I admit it willingly," said Margaret, who was pacing upand down the room. "A gentleman would have kept hissuspicions to himself."
Mr. Wilcox watched her with a vague uneasiness.
"What did he suspect you of?"
"Of wanting to make money out of him."
"Intolerable brute! But how were you to benefit?"
"Exactly. How indeed! Just horrible, corrodingsuspicion. One touch of thought or of goodwill would havebrushed it away. Just the senseless fear that does make menintolerable brutes."
"I come back to my original point. You ought to be morecareful, Miss Schlegel. Your servants ought to have ordersnot to let such people in."
She turned to him frankly. "Let me explain exactly whywe like this man, and want to see him again."
"That's your clever way of thinking. I shall neverbelieve you like him."
"I do. Firstly, because he cares for physicaladventure, just as you do. Yes, you go motoring andshooting; he would like to go camping out. Secondly, hecares for something special IN adventure. It is quickest tocall that special something poetry--"
"Oh, he's one of that writer sort."
"No--oh no! I mean he may be, but it would be loathsomestiff. His brain is filled with the husks of books,culture--horrible; we want him to wash out his brain and goto the real thing. We want to show him how he may getupsides with life. As I said, either friends or thecountry, some"--she hesitated--"either some very dear personor some very dear place seems necessary to relieve life'sdaily grey, and to show that it is grey. If possible, oneshould have both."
Some of her words ran past Mr. Wilcox. He let them runpast. Others he caught and criticized with admirable lucidity.
"Your mistake is this, and it is a very common mistake.This young bounder has a life of his own. What right haveyou to conclude it is an unsuccessful life, or, as you callit, 'grey'?"
"Because--"
"One minute. You know nothing about him. He probablyhas his own joys and interests--wife, children, snug littlehome. That's where we practical fellows"--he smiled--"aremore tolerant than you intellectuals. We live and let live,and assume that things are jogging on fairly well elsewhere,and that the ordinary plain man may be trusted to look afterhis own affairs. I quite grant--I look at the faces of theclerks in my own office, and observe them to be dull, but Idon't know what's going on beneath. So, by the way, withLondon. I have heard you rail against London, MissSchlegel, and it seems a funny thing to say but I was veryangry with you. What do you know about London? You onlysee civilization from the outside. I don't say in yourcase, but in too many cases that attitude leads tomorbidity, discontent, and Socialism."
She admitted the strength of his position, though itundermined imagination. As he spoke, some outposts ofpoetry and perhaps of sympathy fell ruining, and sheretreated to what she called her "second line"--to thespecial facts of the case.
"His wife is an old bore," she said simply. "He nevercame home last Saturday night because he wanted to be alone,and she thought he was with us."
"With YOU?"
"Yes." Evie tittered. "He hasn't got the cosy home thatyou assumed. He needs outside interests."
"Naughty young man!" cried the girl.
"Naughty?" said Margaret, who hated naughtiness morethan sin. "When you're married, Miss Wilcox, won't you wantoutside interests?"
"He has apparently got them," put in Mr. Wilcox slyly.
"Yes, indeed, Father."
"He was tramping in Surrey, if you mean that," saidMargaret, pacing away rather crossly.
"Oh, I dare say!"
"Miss Wilcox, he was!"
"M-m-m-m!" from Mr. Wilcox, who thought the episodeamusing, if risque. With most ladies he would not havediscussed it, but he was trading on Margaret's reputation asan emanicipated woman.
"He said so, and about such a thing he wouldn't lie."
They both began to laugh.
"That's where I differ from you. Men lie about theirpositions and prospects, but not about a thing of that sort."
gentleman would have kept hissuspicions.
He shook his head. "Miss Schlegel, excuse me, but Iknow the type."
"I said before--he isn't a type. He cares aboutadventures rightly. He's certain that our smug existenceisn't all. He's vulgar and hysterical and bookish, but Idon't think that sums him up. There's manhood in him aswell. Yes, that's what I'm trying to say. He's a real man."
As she spoke their eyes met, and it was as if Mr.Wilcox's defences fell. She saw back to the real man inhim. Unwittingly she had touched his emotions. A woman andtwo men--they had formed the magic triangle of sex, and themale was thrilled to jealousy, in case the female wasattracted by another male. Love, say the ascetics, revealsour shameful kinship with the beasts. Be it so: one canbear that; jealousy is the real shame. It is jealousy, notlove, that connects us with the farmyard intolerably, andcalls up visions of two angry cocks and a complacent hen.Margaret crushed complacency down because she wascivilized. Mr. Wilcox, uncivilized, continued to feel angerlong after he had rebuilt his defences, and was againpresenting a bastion to the world.
"Miss Schlegel, you're a pair of dear creatures, but youreally MUST be careful in this uncharitable world. Whatdoes your brother say?"
"I forget."
"Surely he has some opinion?"
"He laughs, if I remember correctly."
"He's very clever, isn't he?" said Evie, who had met anddetested Tibby at Oxford.
"Yes, pretty well--but I wonder what Helen's doing."
"She is very young to undertake this sort of thing,"said Mr. Wilcox.
Margaret went out into the landing. She heard no sound,and Mr. Bast's topper was missing from the hall.
"Helen!" she called.
"Yes!" replied a voice from the library.
"Yes--he's gone some time."
Margaret went to her. "Why, you're all alone," she said.
"Yes--it's all right, Meg--Poor, poor creature--"
"Come back to the Wilcoxes and tell me later--Mr. W.much concerned, and slightly titillated."
"Oh, I've no patience with him. I hate him. Poor dearMr. Bast! he wanted to talk literature, and we would talkbusiness. Such a muddle of a man, and yet so worth pullingthrough. I like him extraordinarily. "
"Well done," said Margaret, kissing her, "but come intothe drawing-room now, and don't talk about him to theWilcoxes. Make light of the whole thing."
Helen came and behaved with a cheerfulness thatreassured their visitor--this hen at all events was fancy-free.
"He's gone with my blessing," she cried, "and now for puppies."
Intolerable brute! But how were you !
As they drove away, Mr. Wilcox said to his daughter:
"I am really concerned at the way those girls go on.They are as clever as you make 'em, but unpractical--Godbless me! One of these days they'll go too far. Girls likethat oughtn't to live alone in London. Until they marry,they ought to have someone to look after them. We must lookin more often--we're better than no one. You like them,don't you, Evie?"
Evie replied: "Helen's right enough, but I can't standthe toothy one. And I shouldn't have called either of them girls."
Evie had grown up handsome. Dark-eyed, with the glow ofyouth under sunburn, built firmly and firm-lipped, she wasthe best the Wilcoxes could do in the way of femininebeauty. For the present, puppies and her father were theonly things she loved, but the net of matrimony was beingprepared for her, and a few days later she was attracted toa Mr. Percy Cahill, an uncle of Mrs. Charles, and he wasattracted to her.