霍华德庄园 英文版 Howards End
爱德华.摩根.福斯特 Edward Morgan Forster
Chapter 2
Margaret glanced at her sister's note and pushed it over thebreakfast-table to her aunt. There was a moment's hush, andthen the flood-gates opened.
"I can tell you nothing, Aunt Juley. I know no morethan you do. We met--we only met the father and motherabroad last spring. I know so little that I didn't evenknow their son's name. It's all so--" She waved her handand laughed a little.
"In that case it is far too sudden."
"Who knows, Aunt Juley, who knows?"
"But, Margaret dear, I mean we mustn't be unpracticalnow that we've come to facts. It is too sudden, surely."
"Who knows!"
"But Margaret dear--"
"I'll go for her other letters," said Margaret. "No, Iwon't, I'll finish my breakfast. In fact, I haven't them.We met the Wilcoxes on an awful expedition that we made fromHeidelberg to Speyer. Helen and I had got it into our headsthat there was a grand old cathedral at Speyer--theArchbishop of Speyer was one of the seven electors--youknow--'Speyer, Maintz, and Koln.' Those three sees oncecommanded the Rhine Valley and got it the name of Priest Street."
"I still feel quite uneasy about this business, Margaret."
"The train crossed by a bridge of boats, and at firstsight it looked quite fine. But oh, in five minutes we hadseen the whole thing. The cathedral had been ruined,absolutely ruined, by restoration; not an inch left of theoriginal structure. We wasted a whole day, and came acrossthe Wilcoxes as we were eating our sandwiches in the publicgardens. They too, poor things, had been taken in--theywere actually stopping at Speyer--and they rather likedHelen insisting that they must fly with us to Heidelberg.As a matter of fact, they did come on next day. We all tooksome drives together. They knew us well enough to ask Helento come and see them--at least, I was asked too, but Tibby'sillness prevented me, so last Monday she went alone. That'sall. You know as much as I do now. It's a young man outthe unknown. She was to have come back Saturday, but putoff till Monday, perhaps on account of--I don't know.
She broke off, and listened to the sounds of a Londonmorning. Their house was in Wickham Place, and fairlyquiet, for a lofty promontory of buildings separated it fromthe main thoroughfare. One had the sense of a backwater, orrather of an estuary, whose waters flowed in from theinvisible sea, and ebbed into a profound silence while thewaves without were still beating. Though the promontoryconsisted of flats--expensive, with cavernous entrancehalls, full of concierges and palms--it fulfilled itspurpose, and gained for the older houses opposite a certainmeasure of peace. These, too, would be swept away in time,and another promontory would rise upon their site, ashumanity piled itself higher and higher on the precious soilof London.
Mrs. Munt had her own method of interpreting hernieces. She decided that Margaret was a little hysterical,and was trying to gain time by a torrent of talk. Feelingvery diplomatic, she lamented the fate of Speyer, anddeclared that never, never should she be so misguided as tovisit it, and added of her own accord that the principles ofrestoration were ill understood in Germany. "The Germans,"she said, "are too thorough, and this is all very wellsometimes, but at other times it does not do."
"Exactly," said Margaret; "Germans are too thorough."And her eyes began to shine.
"Of course I regard you Schlegels as English," said Mrs.Munt hastily--"English to the backbone."
Margaret leaned forward and stroked her hand.
"Oh, yes, Aunt Juley, I am thinking all right aboutHelen's letter. I know--I must go down and see her. I amthinking about her all right. I am meaning to go down"
"But go with some plan," said Mrs. Munt, admitting intoher kindly voice a note of exasperation. "Margaret, if Imay interfere, don't be taken by surprise. What do youthink of the Wilcoxes? Are they our sort? Are they likelypeople? Could they appreciate Helen, who is to my mind avery special sort of person? Do they care about Literatureand Art? That is most important when you come to think ofit. Literature and Art. Most important. How old would theson be? She says 'younger son.' Would he be in a positionto marry? Is he likely to make Helen happy? Did you gather--"
"I gathered nothing."
They began to talk at once.
"Then in that case--"
"In that case I can make no plans, don't you see."
"On the contrary--"
"I hate plans. I hate lines of action. Helen isn't a baby."
"Then in that case, my dear, why go down?"
Margaret was silent. If her aunt could not see why shemust go down, she was not going to tell her. She was notgoing to say "I love my dear sister; I must be near her atthis crisis of her life." The affections are more reticentthan the passions, and their expression more subtle. If sheherself should ever fall in love with a man, she, likeHelen, would proclaim it from the house-tops, but as sheonly loved a sister she used the voiceless language of sympathy.
"I consider you odd girls," continued Mrs. Munt, "andvery wonderful girls, and in many ways far older than youryears. But--you won't be offended? --frankly I feel you arenot up to this business. It requires an older person.Dear, I have nothing to call me back to Swanage." She spreadout her plump arms. "I am all at your disposal. Let me godown to this house whose name I forget instead of you."
"Aunt Juley"--she jumped up and kissed her--"I must,must go to Howards End myself. You don't exactlyunderstand, though I can never thank you properly for offering."
"I do understand," retorted Mrs. Munt, with immenseconfidence. "I go down in no spirit of interference, but tomake inquiries. Inquiries are necessary. Now, I am goingto be rude. You would say the wrong thing; to a certaintyyou would. In your anxiety for Helen's happiness you wouldoffend the whole of these Wilcoxes by asking one of yourimpetuous questions--not that one minds offending them."
"I shall ask no questions. I have it in Helen's writingthat she and a man are in love. There is no question to askas long as she keeps to that. All the rest isn't worth astraw. A long engagement if you like, but inquiries,questions, plans, lines of action--no, Aunt Juley, no."
Away she hurried, not beautiful, not supremelybrilliant, but filled with something that took the place ofboth qualities--something best described as a profoundvivacity, a continual and sincere response to all that sheencountered in her path through life.
"If Helen had written the same to me about ashop-assistant or a penniless clerk--"
"Dear Margaret, do come into the library and shut thedoor. Your good maids are dusting the banisters."
"--or if she had wanted to marry the man who calls forCarter Paterson, I should have said the same." Then, withone of those turns that convinced her aunt that she was notmad really and convinced observers of another type that shewas not a barren theorist, she added: "Though in the case ofCarter Paterson I should want it to be a very longengagement indeed, I must say."
"I should think so," said Mrs. Munt; "and, indeed, I canscarcely follow you. Now, just imagine if you said anythingof that sort to the Wilcoxes. I understand it, but mostgood people would think you mad. Imagine how disconcertingfor Helen! What is wanted is a person who will go slowly,slowly in this business, and see how things are and wherethey are likely to lead to."
Margaret was down on this.
"But you implied just now that the engagement must bebroken off."
"I think probably it must; but slowly."
"Can you break an engagement off slowly?" Her eyes litup. "What's an engagement made of, do you suppose? I thinkit's made of some hard stuff, that may snap, but can'tbreak. It is different to the other ties of life. Theystretch or bend. They admit of degree. They're different."
"Exactly so. But won't you let me just run down toHowards House, and save you all the discomfort? I willreally not interfere, but I do so thoroughly understand thekind of thing you Schlegels want that one quiet look roundwill be enough for me."
Margaret again thanked her, again kissed her, and thenran upstairs to see her brother.
He was not so well.
The hay fever had worried him a good deal all night.His head ached, his eyes were wet, his mucous membrane, heinformed her, was in a most unsatisfactory condition. Theonly thing that made life worth living was the thought ofWalter Savage Landor, from whose IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS shehad promised to read at frequent intervals during the day.
It was rather difficult. Something must be done aboutHelen. She must be assured that it is not a criminaloffence to love at first sight. A telegram to this effectwould be cold and cryptic, a personal visit seemed eachmoment more impossible. Now the doctor arrived, and saidthat Tibby was quite bad. Might it really be best to acceptAunt Juley's kind offer, and to send her down to Howards Endwith a note?
Certainly Margaret was impulsive. She did swing rapidlyfrom one decision to another. Running downstairs into thelibrary, she cried--"Yes, I have changed my mind; I do wishthat you would go."
There was a train from King's Cross at eleven. Athalf-past ten Tibby, with rare self-effacement, fell asleep,and Margaret was able to drive her aunt to the station.
"You will remember, Aunt Juley, not to be drawn intodiscussing the engagement. Give my letter to Helen, and saywhatever you feel yourself, but do keep clear of therelatives. We have scarcely got their names straight yet,and besides, that sort of thing is so uncivilized and wrong.
"So uncivilized?" queried Mrs. Munt, fearing that shewas losing the point of some brilliant remark.
"Oh, I used an affected word. I only meant would youplease only talk the thing over with Helen."
"Only with Helen."
"Because--" But it was no moment to expound the personalnature of love. Even Margaret shrank from it, and contentedherself with stroking her good aunt's hand, and withmeditating, half sensibly and half poetically, on thejourney that was about to begin from King's Cross.
Like many others who have lived long in a great capital,she had strong feelings about the various railway termini.They are our gates to the glorious and the unknown. Throughthem we pass out into adventure and sunshine, to them alas!we return. In Paddington all Cornwall is latent and theremoter west; down the inclines of Liverpool Street liefenlands and the illimitable Broads; Scotland is through thepylons of Euston; Wessex behind the poised chaos ofWaterloo. Italians realize this, as is natural; those ofthem who are so unfortunate as to serve as waiters in Berlincall the Anhalt Bahnhof the Stazione d'Italia, because by itthey must return to their homes. And he is a chillyLondoner who does not endow his stations with somepersonality, and extend to them, however shyly, the emotionsof fear and love.
ALL OVER. WISH I HAD NEVER WRITTEN. TELL NO ONE.--HELEN
But Aunt Juley was gone--gone irrevocably, and no poweron earth could stop her.