霍华德庄园 英文版 Howards End
爱德华.摩根.福斯特 Edward Morgan Forster
Chapter 25
Evie heard of her father's engagement when she was in for atennis tournament, and her play went simply to pot. Thatshe should marry and leave him had seemed natural enough;that he, left alone, should do the same was deceitful; andnow Charles and Dolly said that it was all her fault. "ButI never dreamt of such a thing," she grumbled. "Dad took meto call now and then, and made me ask her to Simpson's.Well, I'm altogether off Dad." It was also an insult totheir mother's memory; there they were agreed, and Evie hadthe idea of returning Mrs. Wilcox's lace and jewellery "as aprotest." Against what it would protest she was not clear;but being only eighteen, the idea of renunciation appealedto her, the more as she did not care for jewellery or lace.Dolly then suggested that she and Uncle Percy should pretendto break off their engagement, and then perhaps Mr. Wilcoxwould quarrel with Miss Schlegel, and break off his; or Paulmight be cabled for. But at this point Charles told themnot to talk nonsense. So Evie settled to marry as soon aspossible; it was no good hanging about with these Schlegelseyeing her. The date of her wedding was consequently putforward from September to August, and in the intoxication ofpresents she recovered much of her good-humour.
Margaret found that she was expected to figure at thisfunction, and to figure largely; it would be such anopportunity, said Henry, for her to get to know his set.Sir James Bidder would be there, and all the Cahills and theFussells, and his sister-in-law, Mrs. Warrington Wilcox, hadfortunately got back from her tour round the world. Henryshe loved, but his set promised to be another matter. Hehad not the knack of surrounding himself with nicepeople--indeed, for a man of ability and virtue his choicehad been singularly unfortunate; he had no guiding principlebeyond a certain preference for mediocrity; he was contentto settle one of the greatest things in life haphazard, andso, while his investments went right, his friends generallywent wrong. She would be told, "Oh, So-and-so's a goodsort--a thundering good sort," and find, on meeting him,that he was a brute or a bore. If Henry had shown realaffection, she would have understood, for affection explainseverything. But he seemed without sentiment. The"thundering good sort" might at any moment become "a fellowfor whom I never did have much use, and have less now," andbe shaken off cheerily into oblivion. Margaret had done thesame as a schoolgirl. Now she never forgot anyone for whomshe had once cared; she connected, though the connectionmight be bitter, and she hoped that some day Henry would dothe same.
Evie was not to be married from Ducie Street. She had afancy for something rural, and, besides, no one would be inLondon then, so she left her boxes for a few weeks at OnitonGrange, and her banns were duly published in the parishchurch, and for a couple of days the little town, dreamingbetween the ruddy hills, was roused by the clang of ourcivilization, and drew up by the roadside to let the motorspass. Oniton had been a discovery of Mr. Wilcox's--adiscovery of which he was not altogether proud. It was uptowards the Welsh border, and so difficult of access that hehad concluded it must be something special. A ruined castlestood in the grounds. But having got there, what was one todo? The shooting was bad, the fishing indifferent, andwomen-folk reported the scenery as nothing much. The placeturned out to be in the wrong part of Shropshire, damn it,and though he never damned his own property aloud, he wasonly waiting to get it off his hands, and then to let fly.Evie's marriage was its last appearance in public. As soonas a tenant was found, it became a house for which he neverhad had much use, and had less now, and, like Howards End,faded into Limbo.
But on Margaret Oniton was destined to make a lastingimpression. She regarded it as her future home, and wasanxious to start straight with the clergy, etc., and, ifpossible, to see something of the local life. It was amarket-town--as tiny a one as England possesses--and had forages served that lonely valley, and guarded our marchesagainst the Kelt. In spite of the occasion, in spite of thenumbing hilarity that greeted her as soon as she got intothe reserved saloon at Paddington, her senses were awake andwatching, and though Oniton was to prove one of herinnumerable false starts, she never forgot it, nor thethings that happened there.
The London party only numbered eight--the Fussells,father and son, two Anglo-Indian ladies named Mrs.Plynlimmon and Lady Edser, Mrs. Warrington Wilcox and herdaughter, and lastly, the little girl, very smart and quiet,who figures at so many weddings, and who kept a watchful eyeon Margaret, the bride-elect, Dolly was absent--a domesticevent detained her at Hilton; Paul had cabled a humorousmessage; Charles was to meet them with a trio of motors atShrewsbury. Helen had refused her invitation; Tibby hadnever answered his. The management was excellent, as was tobe expected with anything that Henry undertook; one wasconscious of his sensible and generous brain in thebackground. They were his guests as soon as they reachedthe train; a special label for their luggage; a courier; aspecial lunch; they had only to look pleasant and, wherepossible, pretty. Margaret thought with dismay of her ownnuptials--presumably under the management of Tibby. "Mr.Theobald Schlegel and Miss Helen Schlegel request thepleasure of Mrs. Plynlimmon's company on the occasion of themarriage of their sister Margaret." The formula wasincredible, but it must soon be printed and sent, and thoughWickham Place need not compete with Oniton, it must feed itsguests properly, and provide them with sufficient chairs.Her wedding would either be ramshackly or bourgeois--shehoped the latter. Such an affair as the present, stagedwith a deftness that was almost beautiful, lay beyond herpowers and those of her friends.
The low rich purr of a Great Western express is not theworst background for conversation, and the journey passedpleasantly enough. Nothing could have exceeded the kindnessof the two men. They raised windows for some ladies, andlowered them for others, they rang the bell for the servant,they identified the colleges as the train slipped pastOxford, they caught books or bag-purses in the act oftumbling on to the floor. Yet there was nothing finickyabout their politeness: it had the Public School touch, and,though sedulous, was virile. More battles than Waterloohave been won on our playing-fields, and Margaret bowed to acharm of which she did not wholly approve, and said nothingwhen the Oxford colleges were identified wrongly. "Male andfemale created He them"; the journey to Shrewsbury confirmedthis questionable statement, and the long glass saloon, thatmoved so easily and felt so comfortable, became aforcing-house for the idea of sex.
At Shrewsbury came fresh air. Margaret was all forsight-seeing, and while the others were finishing their teaat the Raven, she annexed a motor and hurried over theastonishing city. Her chauffeur was not the faithful Crane,but an Italian, who dearly loved making her late. Charles,watch in hand, though with a level brow, was standing infront of the hotel when they returned. It was perfectly allright, he told her; she was by no means the last. And thenhe dived into the coffee-room, and she heard him say, "ForGod's sake, hurry the women up; we shall never be off," andAlbert Fussell reply, "Not I; I've done my share," andColonel Fussell opine that the ladies were gettingthemselves up to kill. Presently Myra (Mrs. Warrington'sdaughter) appeared, and as she was his cousin, Charles blewher up a little: she had been changing her smart travelinghat for a smart motor hat. Then Mrs. Warrington herself,leading the quiet child; the two Anglo-Indian ladies werealways last. Maids, courier, heavy luggage, had alreadygone on by a branch-line to a station nearer Oniton, butthere were five hat-boxes and four dressing-bags to bepacked, and five dust-cloaks to be put on, and to be put offat the last moment, because Charles declared them notnecessary. The men presided over everything with unfailinggood-humour. By half-past five the party was ready, andwent out of Shrewsbury by the Welsh Bridge.
Shropshire had not the reticence of Hertfordshire.Though robbed of half its magic by swift movement, it stillconveyed the sense of hills. They were nearing thebuttresses that force the Severn eastern and make it anEnglish stream, and the sun, sinking over the Sentinels ofWales, was straight in their eyes. Having picked up anotherguest, they turned southward, avoiding the greatermountains, but conscious of an occasional summit, roundedand mild, whose colouring differed in quality from that ofthe lower earth, and whose contours altered more slowly.Quiet mysteries were in progress behind those tossinghorizons: the West, as ever, was retreating with some secretwhich may not be worth the discovery, but which no practicalman will ever discover.
They spoke of Tariff Reform.
Mrs. Warrington was just back from the Colonies. Likemany other critics of Empire, her mouth had been stoppedwith food, and she could only exclaim at the hospitalitywith which she had been received, and warn the MotherCountry against trifling with young Titans. "They threatento cut the painter," she cried, "and where shall we bethen? Miss Schlegel, you'll undertake to keep Henry soundabout Tariff Reform? It is our last hope."
Margaret playfully confessed herself on the other side,and they began to quote from their respective hand-bookswhile the motor carried them deep into the hills. Curiousthese were, rather than impressive, for their outlineslacked beauty, and the pink fields--on their summitssuggested the handkerchiefs of a giant spread out to dry.An occasional outcrop of rock, an occasional wood, anoccasional "forest," treeless and brown, all hinted atwildness to follow, but the main colour was an agriculturalgreen. The air grew cooler; they had surmounted the lastgradient, and Oniton lay below them with its church, itsradiating houses, its castle, its river-girt peninsula.Close to the castle was a grey mansion, unintellectual butkindly, stretching with its grounds across the peninsula'sneck--the sort of mansion that was built all over England inthe beginning of the last century, while architecture wasstill an expression of the national character. That was theGrange, remarked Albert, over his shoulder, and then hejammed the brake on, and the motor slowed down and stopped."I'm sorry," said he, turning round. "Do you mind gettingout--by the door on the right? Steady on!"
"What's happened?" asked Mrs. Warrington.
Then the car behind them drew up, and the voice ofCharles was heard saying: "Get out the women at once." Therewas a concourse of males, and Margaret and her companionswere hustled out and received into the second car. What hadhappened? As it started off again, the door of a cottageopened, and a girl screamed wildly at them.
"What is it?" the ladies cried.
Charles drove them a hundred yards without speaking.Then he said: "It's all right. Your car just touched a dog."
"But stop!" cried Margaret, horrified.
"It didn't hurt him."
"Didn't really hurt him?" asked Myra.
"No."
"Do PLEASE stop!" said Margaret, leaning forward. Shewas standing up in the car, the other occupants holding herknees to steady her. "I want to go back, please."
Charles took no notice.
"We've left Mr. Fussell behind," said another; "andAngelo, and Crane."
"Yes, but no woman."
"I expect a little of"--Mrs. Warrington scratched herpalm--" will be more to the point than one of us!"
"The insurance company sees to that," remarked Charles,"and Albert will do the talking."
"I want to go back, though, I say!" repeated Margaret,getting angry.
Charles took no notice. The motor, loaded withrefugees, continued to travel very slowly down the hill."The men are there," chorused the others. "Men will see to it."
"The men CAN'T see to it. Oh, this is ridiculous!Charles, I ask you to stop."
"Stopping's no good," drawled Charles.
"Isn't it?" said Margaret, and jumped straight out ofthe car.
She fell on her knees, cut her gloves, shook her hatover her ear. Cries of alarm followed her. "You've hurtyourself," exclaimed Charles, jumping after her.
"Of course I've hurt myself!" she retorted.
"May I ask what--"
"There's nothing to ask," said Margaret.
"Your hand's bleeding."
"I know."
"I'm in for a frightful row from the pater."
"You should have thought of that sooner, Charles."
Charles had never been in such a position before. Itwas a woman in revolt who was hobbling away from him, andthe sight was too strange to leave any room for anger. Herecovered himself when the others caught them up: their sorthe understood. He commanded them to go back.
Albert Fussell was seen walking towards them.
"It's all right!" he called. "It wasn't a dog, it was acat."
"There!" exclaimed Charles triumphantly. "It's only arotten cat.
"Got room in your car for a little un? I cut as soon asI saw it wasn't a dog; the chauffeurs are tackling thegirl." But Margaret walked forward steadily. Why shouldthe chauffeurs tackle the girl? Ladies sheltering behindmen, men sheltering behind servants--the whole system'swrong, and she must challenge it.
"Miss Schlegel! 'Pon my word, you've hurt your hand."
"I'm just going to see," said Margaret. "Don't youwait, Mr. Fussell."
The second motor came round the corner. "lt is allright, madam," said Crane in his turn. He had taken tocalling her madam.
"What's all right? The cat?"
"Yes, madam. The girl will receive compensation for it."
"She was a very ruda girla," said Angelo from the thirdmotor thoughtfully.
"Wouldn't you have been rude?"
The Italian spread out his hands, implying that he hadnot thought of rudeness, but would produce it if it pleasedher. The situation became absurd. The gentlemen were againbuzzing round Miss Schlegel with offers of assistance, andLady Edser began to bind up her hand. She yielded,apologizing slightly, and was led back to the car, and soonthe landscape resumed its motion, the lonely cottagedisappeared, the castle swelled on its cushion of turf, andthey had arrived. No doubt she had disgraced herself. Butshe felt their whole journey from London had been unreal.They had no part with the earth and its emotions. They weredust, and a stink, and cosmopolitan chatter, and the girlwhose cat had been killed had lived more deeply than they.
"Oh, Henry," she exclaimed, "I have been so naughty,"for she had decided to take up this line. "We ran over acat. Charles told me not to jump out, but I would, andlook!" She held out her bandaged hand. "Your poor Meg wentsuch a flop."
Mr. Wilcox looked bewildered. In evening dress, he wasstanding to welcome his guests in the hall.
"Thinking it was a dog," added Mrs. Warrington.
"Ah, a dog's a companion!" said Colonel Fussell. "Adog'll remember you."
"Have you hurt yourself, Margaret?"
"Not to speak about; and it's my left hand."
"Well, hurry up and change."
She obeyed, as did the others. Mr. Wilcox then turnedto his son.
"Now, Charles, what's happened?"
Charles was absolutely honest. He described what hebelieved to have happened. Albert had flattened out a cat,and Miss Schlegel had lost her nerve, as any woman might.She had been got safely into the other car, but when it wasin motion had leapt out--again, in spite of all that theycould say. After walking a little on the road, she hadcalmed down and had said that she was sorry. His fatheraccepted this explanation, and neither knew that Margarethad artfully prepared the way for it. It fitted in too wellwith their view of feminine nature. In the smoking-room,after dinner, the Colonel put forward the view that MissSchlegel had jumped it out of devilry. Well he rememberedas a young man, in the harbour of Gibraltar once, how agirl--a handsome girl, too--had jumped overboard for a bet.He could see her now, and all the lads overboard after her.But Charles and Mr. Wilcox agreed it was much more probablynerves in Miss Schlegel's case. Charles was depressed.That woman had a tongue. She would bring worse disgrace onhis father before she had done with them. He strolled outon to the castle mound to think the matter over. Theevening was exquisite. On three sides of him a little riverwhispered, full of messages from the west; above his headthe ruins made patterns against the sky. He carefullyreviewed their dealings with this family, until he fittedHelen, and Margaret, and Aunt Juley into an orderlyconspiracy. Paternity had made him suspicious. He had twochildren to look after, and more coming, and day by day theyseemed less likely to grow up rich men. "It is all verywell," he reflected, "the pater saying that he will be justto all, but one can't be just indefinitely. Money isn'telastic. What's to happen if Evie has a family? And, cometo that, so may the pater. There'll not be enough to goround, for there's none coming in, either through Dolly orPercy. It's damnable!" He looked enviously at the Grange,whose windows poured light and laughter. First and last,this wedding would cost a pretty penny. Two ladies werestrolling up and down the garden terrace, and as thesyllables "Imperialism" were wafted to his ears, he guessedthat one of them was his aunt. She might have helped him,if she too had not had a family to provide for. "Every onefor himself," he repeated--a maxim which had cheered him inthe past, but which rang grimly enough among the ruins ofOniton. He lacked his father's ability in business, and sohad an ever higher regard for money; unless he could inheritplenty, he feared to leave his children poor.
As he sat thinking, one of the ladies left the terraceand walked into the meadow; he recognized her as Margaret bythe white bandage that gleamed on her arm, and put out hiscigar, lest the gleam should betray him. She climbed up themound in zigzags, and at times stooped down, as if she wasstroking the turf. It sounds absolutely incredible, but fora moment Charles thought that she was in love with him, andhad come out to tempt him. Charles believed in temptresses,who are indeed the strong man's necessary complement, andhaving no sense of humour, he could not purge himself of thethought by a smile. Margaret, who was engaged to hisfather, and his sister's wedding-guest, kept on her waywithout noticing him, and he admitted that he had wrongedher on this point. But what was she doing? Why was shestumbling about amongst the rubble and catching her dress inbrambles and burrs? As she edged round the keep, she musthave got to leeward and smelt his cigar-smoke, for sheexclaimed, "Hullo! Who's that?"
Charles made no answer.
"Saxon or Kelt?" she continued, laughing in thedarkness. "But it doesn't matter. Whichever you are, youwill have to listen to me. I love this place. I loveShropshire. I hate London. I am glad that this will be myhome. Ah, dear"--she was now moving back towards thehouse--"what a comfort to have arrived!"
"That woman means mischief," thought Charles, andcompressed his lips. In a few minutes he followed herindoors, as the ground was getting damp. Mists were risingfrom the river, and presently it became invisible, though itwhispered more loudly. There had been a heavy downpour inthe Welsh hills.