霍华德庄园 英文版 Howards End
爱德华.摩根.福斯特 Edward Morgan Forster
Chapter 3
Most complacently did Mrs. Munt rehearse her mission. Hernieces were independent young women, and it was not oftenthat she was able to help them. Emily's daughters had neverbeen quite like other girls. They had been left motherlesswhen Tibby was born, when Helen was five and Margaretherself but thirteen. It was before the passing of theDeceased Wife's Sister Bill, so Mrs. Munt could withoutimpropriety offer to go and keep house at Wickham Place.But her brother-in-law, who was peculiar and a German, hadreferred the question to Margaret, who with the crudity ofyouth had answered, "No, they could manage much betteralone." Five years later Mr. Schlegel had died too, and Mrs.Munt had repeated her offer. Margaret, crude no longer, hadbeen grateful and extremely nice, but the substance of heranswer had been the same. "I must not interfere a thirdtime," thought Mrs. Munt. However, of course she did. Shelearnt, to her horror, that Margaret, now of age, was takingher money out of the old safe investments and putting itinto Foreign Things, which always smash. Silence would havebeen criminal. Her own fortune was invested in Home Rails,and most ardently did she beg her niece to imitate her."Then we should be together, dear." Margaret, out ofpoliteness, invested a few hundreds in the Nottingham andDerby Railway, and though the Foreign Things did admirablyand the Nottingham and Derby declined with the steadydignity of which only Home Rails are capable, Mrs. Muntnever ceased to rejoice, and to say, "I did manage that, atall events. When the smash comes poor Margaret will have anest-egg to fall back upon." This year Helen came of age,and exactly the same thing happened in Helen's case; shealso would shift her money out of Consols, but she, too,almost without being pressed, consecrated a fraction of itto the Nottingham and Derby Railway. So far so good, but insocial matters their aunt had accomplished nothing. Sooneror later the girls would enter on the process known asthrowing themselves away, and if they had delayed hitherto,it was only that they might throw themselves more vehementlyin the future. They saw too many people at WickhamPlace--unshaven musicians, an actress even, German cousins(one knows what foreigners are), acquaintances picked up atContinental hotels (one knows what they are too). It wasinteresting, and down at Swanage no one appreciated culturemore than Mrs. Munt; but it was dangerous, and disaster wasbound to come. How right she was, and how lucky to be onthe spot when the disaster came!
The train sped northward, under innumerable tunnels. Itwas only an hour's journey, but Mrs. Munt had to raise andlower the window again and again. She passed through theSouth Welwyn Tunnel, saw light for a moment, and entered theNorth Welwyn Tunnel, of tragic fame. She traversed theimmense viaduct, whose arches span untroubled meadows andthe dreamy flow of Tewin Water. She skirted the parks ofpoliticians. At times the Great North Road accompanied her,more suggestive of infinity than any railway, awakening,after a nap of a hundred years, to such life as is conferredby the stench of motor-cars, and to such culture as isimplied by the advertisements of antibilious pills. Tohistory, to tragedy, to the past, to the future, Mrs. Muntremained equally indifferent; hers but to concentrate on theend of her journey, and to rescue poor Helen from thisdreadful mess.
The station for Howards End was at Hilton, one of thelarge villages that are strung so frequently along the NorthRoad, and that owe their size to the traffic of coaching andpre-coaching days. Being near London, it had not shared inthe rural decay, and its long High Street had budded outright and left into residential estates. For about a mile aseries of tiled and slated houses passed before Mrs. Munt'sinattentive eyes, a series broken at one point by six Danishtumuli that stood shoulder to shoulder along the highroad,tombs of soldiers. Beyond these tumuli habitationsthickened, and the train came to a standstill in a tanglethat was almost a town.
The station, like the scenery, like Helen's letters,struck an indeterminate note. Into which country will itlead, England or Suburbia? It was new, it had islandplatforms and a subway, and the superficial comfort exactedby business men. But it held hints of local life, personalintercourse, as even Mrs. Munt was to discover.
"I want a house," she confided to the ticket boy. "Itsname is Howards Lodge. Do you know where it is?"
"Mr. Wilcox!" the boy called.
A young man in front of them turned round.
"She's wanting Howards End."
There was nothing for it but to go forward, though Mrs.Munt was too much agitated even to stare at the stranger.But remembering that there were two brothers, she had thesense to say to him, "Excuse me asking, but are you theyounger Mr. Wilcox or the elder?"
let them know. They.
"The younger. Can I do anything for you?"
"Oh, well"--she controlled herself with difficulty."Really. Are you? I--" She moved away from the ticket boyand lowered her voice. "I am Miss Schlegels aunt. I oughtto introduce myself, oughtn't I? My name is Mrs. Munt."
She was conscious that he raised his cap and said quitecoolly, "Oh, rather; Miss Schlegel is stopping with us. Didyou want to see her?"
"Possibly--"
"I'll call you a cab. No; wait a mo--" He thought."Our motor's here. I'll run you up in it."
"That is very kind--"
"Not at all, if you'll just wait till they bring out aparcel from the office. This way."
"My niece is not with you by any chance?"
"No; I came over with my father. He has gone on northin your train. You'll see Miss Schlegel at lunch. You'recoming up to lunch, I hope?"
"I should like to come UP," said Mrs. Munt, notcommitting herself to nourishment until she had studiedHelen's lover a little more. He seemed a gentleman, but hadso rattled her round that her powers of observation werenumbed. She glanced at him stealthily. To a feminine eyethere was nothing amiss in the sharp depressions at thecorners of his mouth, nor in the rather box-likeconstruction of his forehead. He was dark, clean-shaven andseemed accustomed to command.
"In front or behind? Which do you prefer? It may bewindy in front."
"In front if I may; then we can talk."
"But excuse me one moment--I can't think what they'redoing with that parcel." He strode into the booking-officeand called with a new voice: "Hi! hi, you there! Are yougoing to keep me waiting all day? Parcel for Wilcox,Howards End. Just look sharp!" Emerging, he said inquieter tones: "This station's abominably organized; if Ihad my way, the whole lot of 'em should get the sack. May Ihelp you in?"
"This is very good of you," said Mrs. Munt, as shesettled herself into a luxurious cavern of red leather, andsuffered her person to be padded with rugs and shawls. Shewas more civil than she had intended, but really this youngman was very kind. Moreover, she was a little afraid ofhim: his self-possession was extraordinary. "Very goodindeed," she repeated, adding: "It is just what I shouldhave wished."
"Very good of you to say so," he replied, with a slightlook of surprise, which, like most slight looks, escapedMrs. Munt's attention. "I was just tooling my father overto catch the down train."
"You see, we heard from Helen this morning."
Young Wilcox was pouring in petrol, starting his engine,and performing other actions with which this story has noconcern. The great car began to rock, and the form of Mrs.Munt, trying to explain things, sprang agreeably up and downamong the red cushions. "The mater will be very glad to seeyou," he mumbled. "Hi! I say. Parcel for Howards End.Bring it out. Hi!"
and left into residential estates. For.
A bearded porter emerged with the parcel in one hand andan entry book in the other. With the gathering whir of themotor these ejaculations mingled: "Sign, must I? Whythe--should I sign after all this bother? Not even got apencil on you? Remember next time I report you to thestation-master. My time's of value, though yours mayn'tbe. Here"--here being a tip.
"Extremely sorry, Mrs. Munt."
And the lower orders vanished in a cloud.
"Not at all, Mr. Wilcox."
"And do you object to going through the village? It israther a longer spin, but I have one or two commissions."
"I should love going through the village. Naturally Iam very anxious to talk things over with you."
As she said this she felt ashamed, for she wasdisobeying Margaret's instructions. Only disobeying them inthe letter, surely. Margaret had only warned her againstdiscussing the incident with outsiders. Surely it was not"uncivilized or wrong" to discuss it with the young manhimself, since chance had thrown them together.
A reticent fellow, he made no reply. Mounting by herside, he put on gloves and spectacles, and off they drove,the bearded porter--life is a mysterious business--lookingafter them with admiration.
The wind was in their faces down the station road,blowing the dust into Mrs. Munt's eyes. But as soon as theyturned into the Great North Road she opened fire. "You canwell imagine," she said, "that the news was a great shock tous."
"What news?"
"Mr. Wilcox," she said frankly. "Margaret has told meeverything--everything. I have seen Helen's letter."
He could not look her in the face, as his eyes werefixed on his work; he was travelling as quickly as he dareddown the High Street. But he inclined his head in herdirection, and said, "I beg your pardon; I didn't catch."
"About Helen. Helen, of course. Helen is a veryexceptional person--I am sure you will let me say this,feeling towards her as you do--indeed, all the Schlegels areexceptional. I come in no spirit of interference, but itwas a great shock."
They drew up opposite a draper's. Without replying, heturned round in his seat, and contemplated the cloud of dustthat they had raised in their passage through the village.It was settling again, but not all into the road from whichhe had taken it. Some of it had percolated through the openwindows, some had whitened the roses and gooseberries of thewayside gardens, while a certain proportion had entered thelungs of the villagers. "I wonder when they'll learn wisdomand tar the roads," was his comment. Then a man ran out ofthe draper's with a roll of oilcloth, and off they went again.
"Margaret could not come herself, on account of poorTibby, so I am here to represent her and to have a good talk."
"I'm sorry to be so dense," said the young man, againdrawing up outside a shop. "But I still haven't quite understood."
"Helen, Mr. Wilcox--my niece and you."
He pushed up his goggles and gazed at her, absolutelybewildered. Horror smote her to the heart, for even shebegan to suspect that they were at cross-purposes, and thatshe had commenced her mission by some hideous blunder.
"Miss Schlegel and myself." he asked, compressing his lips.
"I trust there has been no misunderstanding," quaveredMrs. Munt. "Her letter certainly read that way."
"What way?"
"That you and she--" She paused, then drooped her eyelids.
"I think I catch your meaning," he said stickily. "Whatan extraordinary mistake!"
"Then you didn't the least--" she stammered, gettingblood-red in the face, and wishing she had never been born.
"But you are Paul."
"I'm not."
"Then why did you say so at the station?"
"I said nothing of the sort."
"I beg your pardon, you did."
"I beg your pardon, I did not. My name is Charles."
"Younger" may mean son as opposed to father, or secondbrother as opposed to first. There is much to be said foreither view, and later on they said it. But they had otherquestions before them now.
"Do you mean to tell me that Paul--"
But she did not like his voice. He sounded as if he wastalking to a porter, and, certain that he had deceived herat the station, she too grew angry.
"Do you mean to tell me that Paul and your niece--"
Mrs. Munt--such is human nature--determined that shewould champion the lovers. She was not going to be bulliedby a severe young man. "Yes, they care for one another verymuch indeed," she said. "I dare say they will tell youabout it by-and-by. We heard this morning."
And Charles clenched his fist and cried, "The idiot, theidiot, the little fool!"
Mrs. Munt tried to divest herself of her rugs. "If thatis your attitude, Mr. Wilcox, I prefer to walk."
"I beg you will do no such thing. I'll take you up thismoment to the house. Let me tell you the thing'simpossible, and must be stopped."
Mrs. Munt did not often lose her temper, and when shedid it was only to protect those whom she loved. On thisoccasion she blazed out. "I quite agree, sir. The thing isimpossible, and I will come up and stop it. My niece is avery exceptional person, and I am not inclined to sit stillwhile she throws herself away on those who will notappreciate her."
Charles worked his jaws.
"Considering she has only known your brother sinceWednesday, and only met your father and mother at a stray hotel--"
"Could you possibly lower your voice? The shopman will overhear."
"Esprit de classe"--if one may coin the phrase--wasstrong in Mrs. Munt. She sat quivering while a member ofthe lower orders deposited a metal funnel, a saucepan, and agarden squirt beside the roll of oilcloth.
"Right behind?"
"Yes, sir." And the lower orders vanished in a cloud of dust.
"I warn you: Paul hasn't a penny; it's useless."
"No need to warn us, Mr. Wilcox, I assure you. Thewarning is all the other way. My niece has been veryfoolish, and I shall give her a good scolding and take herback to London with me."
"He has to make his way out in Nigeria. He couldn'tthink of marrying for years and when he does it must be awoman who can stand the climate, and is in other ways--Whyhasn't he told us? Of course he's ashamed. He knows he'sbeen a fool. And so he has--a damned fool."
She grew furious.
"Whereas Miss Schlegel has lost no time in publishingthe news."
"If I were a man, Mr. Wilcox, for that last remark I'dbox your ears. You're not fit to clean my niece's boots, tosit in the same room with her, and you dare--you actuallydare--I decline to argue with such a person."
"All I know is, she's spread the thing and he hasn't,and my father's away and I--"
"And all that I know is--"
"Might I finish my sentence, please?"
"No."
Charles clenched his teeth and sent the motor swervingall over the lane.
She screamed.
So they played the game of Capping Families, a round ofwhich is always played when love would unite two members ofour race. But they played it with unusual vigour, statingin so many words that Schlegels were better than Wilcoxes,Wilcoxes better than Schlegels. They flung decency aside.The man was young, the woman deeply stirred; in both a veinof coarseness was latent. Their quarrel was no moresurprising than are most quarrels--inevitable at the time,incredible afterwards. But it was more than usuallyfutile. A few minutes, and they were enlightened. Themotor drew up at Howards End, and Helen, looking very pale,ran out to meet her aunt.
"Aunt Juley, I have just had a telegram from Margaret;I--I meant to stop your coming. It isn't--it's over."
The climax was too much for Mrs. Munt. She burst into tears.
"Aunt Juley dear, don't. Don't let them know I've beenso silly. It wasn't anything. Do bear up for my sake."
"Paul," cried Charles Wilcox, pulling his gloves off.
"Don't let them know. They are never to know."
"Oh, my darling Helen--"
"Paul! Paul!"
A very young man came out of the house.
"Paul, is there any truth in this?"
"I didn't--I don't--"
"Yes or no, man; plain question, plain answer. Did ordidn't Miss Schlegel--"
"Charles dear," said a voice from the garden. "Charles,dear Charles, one doesn't ask plain questions. There aren'tsuch things."
They were all silent. It was Mrs. Wilcox.
She approached just as Helen's letter had described her,trailing noiselessly over the lawn, and there was actually awisp of hay in her hands. She seemed to belong not to theyoung people and their motor, but to the house, and to thetree that overshadowed it. One knew that she worshipped thepast, and that the instinctive wisdom the past can alonebestow had descended upon her--that wisdom to which we givethe clumsy name of aristocracy. High born she might notbe. But assuredly she cared about her ancestors, and letthem help her. When she saw Charles angry, Paul frightened,and Mrs. Munt in tears, she heard her ancestors say,"Separate those human beings who will hurt each other most.The rest can wait." So she did not ask questions. Stillless did she pretend that nothing had happened, as acompetent society hostess would have done. She said, "MissSchlegel, would you take your aunt up to your room or to myroom, whichever you think best. Paul, do find Evie, andtell her lunch for six, but I'm not sure whether we shallall be downstairs for it." And when they had obeyed her, sheturned to her elder son, who still stood in the throbbingstinking car, and smiled at him with tenderness, and withouta word, turned away from him towards her flowers.
"Mother," he called, "are you aware that Paul has beenplaying the fool again?"
"It's all right, dear. They have broken off the engagement."
"Engagement--!"
"They do not love any longer, if you prefer it put thatway," said Mrs. Wilcox, stooping down to smell a rose.