霍华德庄园 英文版 Howards End
爱德华.摩根.福斯特 Edward Morgan Forster
Chapter 24
"It gave her quite a turn," said Mr. Wilcox, when retailingthe incident to Dolly at tea-time. "None of you girls haveany nerves, really. Of course, a word from me put it allright, but silly old Miss Avery--she frightened you, didn'tshe, Margaret? There you stood clutching a bunch of weeds.She might have said something, instead of coming down thestairs with that alarming bonnet on. I passed her as I camein. Enough to make the car shy. I believe Miss Avery goesin for being a character; some old maids do." He lit acigarette. "It is their last resource. Heaven knows whatshe was doing in the place; but that's Bryce's business, notmine."
"I wasn't as foolish as you suggest," said Margaret."She only startled me, for the house had been silent so long."
"Did you take her for a spook?" asked Dolly, for whom"spooks" and "going to church" summarized the unseen.
usual, you've got the story wrong, my good Dorothea."Weren't both of them.
"Not exactly."
"She really did frighten you," said Henry, who was farfrom discouraging timidity in females. "Poor Margaret! Andvery naturally. Uneducated classes are so stupid."
"Is Miss Avery uneducated classes?" Margaret asked, andfound herself looking at the decoration scheme of Dolly'sdrawing-room.
"She's just one of the crew at the farm. People likethat always assume things. She assumed you'd know who shewas. She left all the Howards End keys in the front lobby,and assumed that you'd seen them as you came in, that you'dlock up the house when you'd done, and would bring them ondown to her. And there was her niece hunting for them downat the farm. Lack of education makes people very casual.Hilton was full of women like Miss Avery once."
"I shouldn't have disliked it, perhaps."
"Or Miss Avery giving me a wedding present," said Dolly.
whom"spooks" and "going to church" summarized the unseen. one of the crew at the farm. People .
Which was illogical but interesting. Through Dolly,Margaret was destined to learn a good deal.
"But Charles said I must try not to mind, because shehad known his grandmother."
"As usual, you've got the story wrong, my good Dorothea."
"I mean great-grandmother--the one who left Mrs. Wilcoxthe house. Weren't both of them and Miss Avery friends whenHowards End, too, was a farm?"
Her father-in-law blew out a shaft of smoke. Hisattitude to his dead wife was curious. He would allude toher, and hear her discussed, but never mentioned her byname. Nor was he interested in the dim, bucolic past.Dolly was--for the following reason.
"Then hadn't Mrs. Wilcox a brother--or was it an uncle?Anyhow, he popped the question, and Miss Avery, she said'No.' Just imagine, if she'd said 'Yes,' she would have beenCharles's aunt. (Oh, I say,--that's rather good! 'Charlie'sAunt'! I must chaff him about that this evening.) And theman went out and was killed. Yes, I'm certain I've got itright now. Tom Howard--he was the last of them."
"I believe so," said Mr. Wilcox negligently.
"I wish you'd ask whether Crane's ended."
"Oh, Mr. Wilcox, how CAN you?"
"Because, if he has had enough tea, we ought togo.--Dolly's a good little woman," he continued, "but alittle of her goes a long way. I couldn't live near her ifyou paid me."
Margaret smiled. Though presenting a firm front tooutsiders, no Wilcox could live near, or near thepossessions of, any other Wilcox. They had the colonialspirit, and were always making for some spot where the whiteman might carry his burden unobserved. Of course, HowardsEnd was impossible, so long as the younger couple wereestablished in Hilton. His objections to the house wereplain as daylight now.
Crane had had enough tea, and was sent to the garage,where their car had been trickling muddy water overCharles's. The downpour had surely penetrated the Six Hillsby now, bringing news of our restless civilization."Curious mounds," said, Henry, "but in with you now; anothertime." He had to be up in London by seven--if possible, bysix-thirty. Once more she lost the sense of space; oncemore trees, houses, people, animals, hills, merged andheaved into one dirtiness, and she was at Wickham Place.
Her evening was pleasant. The sense of flux which hadhaunted her all the year disappeared for a time. She forgotthe luggage and the motor-cars, and the hurrying men whoknow so much and connect so little. She recaptured thesense of space, which is the basis of all earthly beauty,and, starting from Howards End, she attempted to realizeEngland. She failed--visions do not come when we try,though they may come through trying. But an unexpected loveof the island awoke in her, connecting on this side with thejoys of the flesh, on that with the inconceivable. Helenand her father had known this love, poor Leonard Bast wasgroping after it, but it had been hidden from Margaret tillthis afternoon. It had certainly come through the house andold Miss Avery. Through them: the notion of "through"persisted; her mind trembled towards a conclusion which onlythe unwise have put into words. Then, veering back intowarmth, it dwelt on ruddy bricks, flowering plum-trees, andall the tangible joys of, spring.
Henry, after allaying her agitation, had taken her overhis property, and had explained to her the use anddimensions of the various rooms. He had sketched thehistory of the little estate. "It is so unlucky," ran themonologue, "that money wasn't put into it about fifty yearsago. Then it had four--five-times the land--thirty acres atleast. One could have made something out of it then--asmall park, or at all events shrubberies, and rebuilt thehouse farther away from the road. What's the good of takingit in hand now? Nothing but the meadow left, and even thatwas heavily mortgaged when I first had to do withthings--yes, and the house too. Oh, it was no joke." Shesaw two women as he spoke, one old, the other young,watching their inheritance melt away. She saw them greethim as a deliverer. "Mismanagement did it--besides, thedays for small farms are over. It doesn't pay--except withintensive cultivation. Small holdings, back to theland--ah! philanthropic bunkum. Take it as a rule thatnothing pays on a small scale. Most of the land you see(they were standing at an upper window, the only one whichfaced west) belongs to the people at the Park--they madetheir pile over copper--good chaps. Avery's Farm,Sishe's--what they call the Common, where you see thatruined oak--one after the other fell in, and so did this, asnear as is no matter. "But Henry had saved it; without finefeelings or deep insight, but he had saved it, and she lovedhim for the deed. "When I had more control I did what Icould: sold off the two and a half animals, and the mangypony, and the superannuated tools; pulled down theouthouses; drained; thinned out I don't know how manyguelder-roses and elder-trees; and inside the house I turnedthe old kitchen into a hall, and made a kitchen behind wherethe dairy was. Garage and so on came later. But one couldstill tell it's been an old farm. And yet it isn't theplace that would fetch one of your artistic crew." No, itwasn't; and if he did not quite understand it, the artisticcrew would still less: it was English, and the wych-elm thatshe saw from the window was an English tree. No report hadprepared her for its peculiar glory. It was neitherwarrior, nor lover, nor god; in none of these roles do theEnglish excel. It was a comrade, bending over the house,strength and adventure in its roots, but in its utmostfingers tenderness, and the girth, that a dozen men couldnot have spanned, became in the end evanescent, till palebud clusters seemed to float in the air. It was a comrade.House and tree transcended any similes of sex. Margaretthought of them now, and was to think of them through many awindy night and London day, but to compare either to man, towoman, always dwarfed the vision. Yet they kept withinlimits of the human. Their message was not of eternity, butof hope on this side of the grave. As she stood in the one,gazing at the other, truer relationship had gleamed.
Another touch, and the account of her day is finished.They entered the garden for a minute, and to Mr. Wilcox'ssurprise she was right. Teeth, pigs' teeth, could be seenin the bark of the wych-elm tree--just the white tips ofthem showing. "Extraordinary!" he cried. "Who told you?"
"I heard of it one winter in London," was her answer,for she, too, avoided mentioning Mrs. Wilcox by name.