霍华德庄园 英文版 Howards End
爱德华.摩根.福斯特 Edward Morgan Forster
Chapter 26 Page 1
Next morning a fine mist covered the peninsula. The weatherpromised well, and the outline of the castle mound grewclearer each moment that Margaret watched it. Presently shesaw the keep, and the sun painted the rubble gold, andcharged the white sky with blue. The shadow of the housegathered itself together and fell over the garden. A catlooked up at her window and mewed. Lastly the riverappeared, still holding the mists between its banks and itsoverhanging alders, and only visible as far as a hill, whichcut off its upper reaches.
Margaret was fascinated by Oniton. She had said thatshe loved it, but it was rather its romantic tension thatheld her. The rounded Druids of whom she had caughtglimpses in her drive, the rivers hurrying down from them toEngland, the carelessly modelled masses of the lower hills,thrilled her with poetry. The house was insignificant, butthe prospect from it would be an eternal joy, and shethought of all the friends she would have to stop in it, andof the conversion of Henry himself to a rural life.Society, too, promised favourably. The rector of the parishhad dined with them last night, and she found that he was afriend of her father's, and so knew what to find in her.She liked him. He would introduce her to the town. While,on her other side, Sir James Bidder sat, repeating that sheonly had to give the word, and he would whip up the countyfamilies for twenty miles round. Whether Sir James, who wasGarden Seeds, had promised what he could perform, shedoubted, but so long as Henry mistook them for the countyfamilies when they did call, she was content.
Charles and Albert Fussell now crossed the lawn. Theywere going for a morning dip, and a servant followed themwith their bathing-dresses. She had meant to take a strollherself before breakfast, but saw that the day was stillsacred to men, and amused herself by watching theircontretemps. In the first place the key of the bathing-shedcould not be found. Charles stood by the riverside withfolded hands, tragical, while the servant shouted, and wasmisunderstood by another servant in the garden. Then came adifficulty about a spring-board, and soon three people wererunning backwards and forwards over the meadow, with ordersand counter orders and recriminations and apologies. IfMargaret wanted to jump from a motor-car, she jumped; ifTibby thought paddling would benefit his ankles, he paddled;if a clerk desired adventure, he took a walk in the dark.But these athletes seemed paralysed. They could not bathewithout their appliances, though the morning sun was callingand the last mists were rising from the dimpling stream.Had they found the life of the body after all? Could notthe men whom they despised as milksops beat them, even ontheir own ground?
She thought of the bathing arrangements as they shouldbe in her day--no worrying of servants, no appliances,beyond good sense. Her reflections were disturbed by thequiet child, who had come out to speak to the cat, but wasnow watching her watch the men. She called, "Good-morning,dear," a little sharply. Her voice spread consternation.Charles looked round, and though completely attired inindigo blue, vanished into the shed, and was seen no more.
"Miss Wilcox is up--" the child whispered, and thenbecame unintelligible.
"What's that?"
It sounded like, "--cut-yoke--sack back--"
"I can't hear."
"--On the bed--tissue-paper--"
Gathering that the wedding-dress was on view, and that avisit would be seemly, she went to Evie's room. All washilarity here. Evie, in a petticoat, was dancing with oneof the Anglo-Indian ladies, while the other was adoringyards of white satin. They screamed, they laughed, theysang, and the dog barked.
Margaret screamed a little too, but without conviction.She could not feel that a wedding was so funny. Perhapssomething was missing in her equipment.
Evie gasped: "Dolly is a rotter not to be here! Oh, wewould rag just then!" Then Margaret went down to breakfast.
Henry was already installed; he ate slowly and spokelittle, and was, in Margaret's eyes, the only member oftheir party who dodged emotion successfully. She could notsuppose him indifferent either to the loss of his daughteror to the presence of his future wife. Yet he dwelt intact,only issuing orders occasionally--orders that promoted thecomfort of his guests. He inquired after her hand; he sether to pour out the coffee and Mrs. Warrington to pour outthe tea. When Evie came down there was a moment'sawkwardness, and both ladies rose to vacate their places."Burton," called Henry, "serve tea and coffee from theside-board!" It wasn't genuine tact, but it was tact, of asort--the sort that is as useful as the genuine, and saveseven more situations at Board meetings. Henry treated amarriage like a funeral, item by item, never raising hiseyes to the whole, and "Death, where is thy sting? Love,where is thy victory?" one would exclaim at the close.
After breakfast she claimed a few words with him. Itwas always best to approach him formally. She asked for theinterview, because he was going on to shoot grouse tomorrow,and she was returning to Helen in town.
"Certainly, dear," said he. "Of course, I have thetime. What do you want?"
"Nothing."
"I was afraid something had gone wrong."
"No; I have nothing to say, but you may talk."
Glancing at his watch, he talked of the nasty curve atthe lych-gate. She heard him with interest. Her surfacecould always respond to his without contempt, though all herdeeper being might be yearning to help him. She hadabandoned any plan of action. Love is the best, and themore she let herself love him, the more chance was therethat he would set his soul in order. Such a moment as this,when they sat under fair weather by the walks of theirfuture home, was so sweet to her that its sweetness wouldsurely pierce to him. Each lift of his eyes, each partingof the thatched lip from the clean-shaven, must prelude thetenderness that kills the Monk and the Beast at a singleblow. Disappointed a hundred times, she still hoped. Sheloved him with too clear a vision to fear his cloudiness.Whether he droned trivialities, as today, or sprang kisseson her in the twilight, she could pardon him, she could respond.
"If there is this nasty curve," she suggested, "couldn'twe walk to the church? Not, of course, you and Evie; butthe rest of us might very well go on first, and that wouldmean fewer carriages."
"One can't have ladies walking through the MarketSquare. The Fussells wouldn't like it; they were awfullyparticular at Charles's wedding. My--she--one of our partywas anxious to walk, and certainly the church was just roundthe corner, and I shouldn't have minded; but the Colonelmade a great point of it."
"You men shouldn't be so chivalrous," said Margaret thoughtfully.
"Why not?"
She knew why not, but said that she did not know.
He then announced that, unless she had anything specialto say, he must visit the wine-cellar, and they went offtogether in search of Burton. Though clumsy and a littleinconvenient, Oniton was a genuine country house. Theyclattered down flagged passages, looking into room afterroom, and scaring unknown maids from the performance ofobscure duties. The wedding-breakfast must be in readinesswhen they came back from church, and tea would be served inthe garden. The sight of so many agitated and seriouspeople made Margaret smile, but she reflected that they werepaid to be serious, and enjoyed being agitated. Here werethe lower wheels of the machine that was tossing Evie upinto nuptial glory. A little boy blocked their way withpig-tails. His mind could not grasp their greatness, and hesaid: "By your leave; let me pass, please." Henry asked himwhere Burton was. But the servants were so new that theydid not know one another's names. In the still-room sat theband, who had stipulated for champagne as part of their fee,and who were already drinking beer. Scents of Araby camefrom the kitchen, mingled with cries. Margaret knew whathad happened there, for it happened at Wickham Place. Oneof the wedding dishes had boiled over, and the cook wasthrowing cedar-shavings to hide the smell. At last theycame upon the butler. Henry gave him the keys, and handedMargaret down the cellar-stairs. Two doors were unlocked.She, who kept all her wine at the bottom of thelinen-cupboard, was astonished at the sight. "We shallnever get through it!" she cried, and the two men weresuddenly drawn into brotherhood, and exchanged smiles. Shefelt as if she had again jumped out of the car while it was moving.
Certainly Oniton would take some digesting. It would beno small business to remain herself, and yet to assimilatesuch an establishment. She must remain herself, for hissake as well as her own, since a shadowy wife degrades thehusband whom she accompanies; and she must assimilate forreasons of common honesty, since she had no right to marry aman and make him uncomfortable. Her only ally was the powerof Home. The loss of Wickham Place had taught her more thanits possession. Howards End had repeated the lesson. Shewas determined to create new sanctities among these hills.
After visiting the wine-cellar, she dressed, and thencame the wedding, which seemed a small affair when comparedwith the preparations for it. Everything went like oneo'clock. Mr. Cahill materialized out of space, and waswaiting for his bride at the church door. No one droppedthe ring or mispronounced the responses, or trod on Evie'strain, or cried. In a few minutes--the clergymen performedtheir duty, the register was signed, and they were back intheir carriages, negotiating the dangerous curve by thelych-gate. Margaret was convinced that they had not beenmarried at all, and that the Norman church had been intentall the time on other business.
There were more documents to sign at the house, and thebreakfast to eat, and then a few more people dropped in forthe garden party. There had been a great many refusals, andafter all it was not a very big affair--not as big asMargaret's would be. She noted the dishes and the strips ofred carpet, that outwardly she might give Henry what wasproper. But inwardly she hoped for something better thanthis blend of Sunday church and fox-hunting. If onlysomeone had been upset! But this wedding had gone off soparticularly well--"quite like a Durbar" in the opinion ofLady Edser, and she thoroughly agreed with her.
So the wasted day lumbered forward, the bride andbridegroom drove off, yelling with laughter, and for thesecond time the sun retreated towards the hills of Wales.Henry, who was more tired than he owned, came up to her inthe castle meadow, and, in tones of unusual softness, saidthat he was pleased. Everything had gone off so well. Shefelt that he was praising her, too, and blushed; certainlyshe had done all she could with his intractable friends, andhad made a special point of kowtowing to the men. They werebreaking camp this evening: only the Warringtons and quietchild would stay the night, and the others were alreadymoving towards the house to finish their packing. "I thinkit did go off well," she agreed. "Since I had to jump outof the motor, I'm thankful I lighted on my left hand. I amso very glad about it, Henry dear; I only hope that theguests at ours may be half as comfortable. You must allremember that we have no practical person among us, exceptmy aunt, and she is not used to entertainments on a large scale."
"I know," he said gravely. "Under the circumstances, itwould be better to put everything into the hands of Harrod'sor Whiteley's, or even to go to some hotel."
"You desire a hotel?"
"Yes, because--well, I mustn't interfere with you. Nodoubt you want to be married from your old home."
"My old home's falling into pieces, Henry. I only wantmy new. Isn't it a perfect evening--"
"The Alexandrina isn't bad--"
"The Alexandrina," she echoed, more occupied with thethreads of smoke that were issuing from their chimneys, andruling the sunlit slopes with parallels of grey.
"It's off Curzon Street."
"Is it? Let's be married from off Curzon Street."
Then she turned westward, to gaze at the swirling gold.Just where the river rounded the hill the sun caught it.Fairyland must lie above the bend, and its precious liquidwas pouring towards them past Charles's bathing-shed. Shegazed so long that her eyes were dazzled, and when theymoved back to the house, she could not recognize the facesof people who were coming out of it. A parlour-maid waspreceding them.
"Who are those people?" she asked.
respond.Alexandrina isn't bad--"Is it? Let's be married.
"They're callers!" exclaimed Henry. "It's too late for callers."
"Perhaps they're town people who want to see the weddingpresents."
"I'm not at home yet to townees."
"Well, hide among the ruins, and if I can stop them, I will."
He thanked her.
Margaret went forward, smiling socially. She supposedthat these were unpunctual guests, who would have to becontent with vicarious civility, since Evie and Charles weregone, Henry tired, and the others in their rooms. Sheassumed the airs of a hostess; not for long. For one of thegroup was Helen--Helen in her oldest clothes, and dominatedby that tense, wounding excitement that had made her aterror in their nursery days.
"What is it?" she called. "Oh, what's wrong? Is Tibby ill?"
Helen spoke to her two companions, who fell back. Thenshe bore forward furiously.
"They're starving!" she shouted. "I found them starving!"
"Who? Why have you come?"
"The Basts."
"Oh, Helen!" moaned Margaret. "Whatever have you done now?"
"Perhaps. Yes. If you like, I'm mad. But I've broughtthem. I'll stand injustice no longer. I'll show up thewretchedness that lies under this luxury, this talk ofimpersonal forces, this cant about God doing what we're tooslack to do ourselves."
"Have you actually brought two starving people fromLondon to Shropshire, Helen?"
Helen was checked. She had not thought of this, and herhysteria abated. "There was a restaurant car on the train,"she said.
"Don't be absurd. They aren't starving, and you knowit. Now, begin from the beginning. I won't have suchtheatrical nonsense. How dare you! Yes, how dare you!" sherepeated, as anger filled her, "bursting in to Evie'swedding in this heartless way. My goodness! but you've aperverted notion of philanthropy. Look"--she indicated thehouse--"servants, people out of the windows. They thinkit's some vulgar scandal, and I must explain, 'Oh no, it'sonly my sister screaming, and only two hangers-on of ours,whom she has brought here for no conceivable reason.'"
"Kindly take back that word 'hangers-on,'" said Helen,ominously calm.
"Very well," conceded Margaret, who for all her wrathwas determined to avoid a real quarrel. "I, too, am sorryabout them, but it beats me why you've brought them here, orwhy you're here yourself.
"It's our last chance of seeing Mr. Wilcox."
Margaret moved towards the house at this. She wasdetermined not to worry Henry.
"He's going to Scotland. I know he is. I insist onseeing him."
"Yes, tomorrow."
"I knew it was our last chance."
"How do you do, Mr. Bast?" said Margaret, trying tocontrol her voice. "This is an odd business. What view doyou take of it?"
"There is Mrs. Bast, too," prompted Helen.
Jacky also shook hands. She, like her husband, was shy,and, furthermore, ill, and furthermore, so bestially stupidthat she could not grasp what was happening. She only knewthat the lady had swept down like a whirlwind last night,had paid the rent, redeemed the furniture, provided themwith a dinner and breakfast, and ordered them to meet her atPaddington next morning. Leonard had feebly protested, andwhen the morning came, had suggested that they shouldn'tgo. But she, half mesmerized, had obeyed. The lady hadtold them to, and they must, and their bed-sitting-room hadaccordingly changed into Paddington, and Paddington into arailway carriage, that shook, and grew hot, and grew cold,and vanished entirely, and reappeared amid torrents ofexpensive scent. "You have fainted," said the lady in anawe-struck voice. "Perhaps the air will do you good." Andperhaps it had, for here she was, feeling rather betteramong a lot of flowers.
"I'm sure I don't want to intrude," began Leonard, inanswer to Margaret's question. "But you have been so kindto me in the past in warning me about the Porphyrion that Iwondered--why, I wondered whether--"
"Whether we could get him back into the Porphyrionagain," supplied Helen. "Meg, this has been a cheerfulbusiness. A bright evening's work that was on Chelsea Embankment."
Margaret shook her head and returned to Mr. Bast.
"I don't understand. You left the Porphyrion because wesuggested it was a bad concern, didn't you?"
"That's right."
"And went into a bank instead?"
"I told you all that," said Helen; "and they reducedtheir staff after he had been in a month, and now he'spenniless, and I consider that we and our informant aredirectly to blame."
"I hate all this," Leonard muttered.
"I hope you do, Mr. Bast. But it's no good mincingmatters. You have done yourself no good by coming here. Ifyou intend to confront Mr. Wilcox, and to call him toaccount for a chance remark, you will make a very great mistake."
"I brought them. I did it all," cried Helen.
"I can only advise you to go at once. My sister has putyou in a false position, and it is kindest to tell you so.It's too late to get to town, but you'll find a comfortablehotel in Oniton, where Mrs. Bast can rest, and I hope you'llbe my guests there."
"That isn't what I want, Miss Schlegel," said Leonard."You're very kind, and no doubt it's a false position, butyou make me miserable. I seem no good at all."
companions, who fell back. Thenshe bore forward furiously!
"It's work he wants," interpreted Helen. "Can't you see?"
Then he said: "Jacky, let's go. We're more bother thanwe're worth. We're costing these ladies pounds and poundsalready to get work for us, and they never will. There'snothing we're good enough to do."
"We would like to find you work," said Margaret ratherconventionally. "We want to--I, like my sister. You'reonly down in your luck. Go to the hotel, have a goodnight's rest, and some day you shall pay me back the bill,if you prefer it."
But Leonard was near the abyss, and at such moments mensee clearly. "You don't know what you're talking about," hesaid. "I shall never get work now. If rich people fail atone profession, they can try another. Not I. I had mygroove, and I've got out of it. I could do one particularbranch of insurance in one particular office well enough tocommand a salary, but that's all. Poetry's nothing, MissSchlegel. One's thoughts about this and that are nothing.Your money, too, is nothing, if you'll understand me. Imean if a man over twenty once loses his own particular job,it's all over with him. I have seen it happen to others.Their friends gave them money for a little, but in the endthey fall over the edge. It's no good. It's the wholeworld pulling. There always will be rich and poor."