霍华德庄园 英文版 Howards End
爱德华.摩根.福斯特 Edward Morgan Forster
Chapter 31
Houses have their own ways of dying, falling as variously asthe generations of men, some with a tragic roar, somequietly, but to an after-life in the city of ghosts, whilefrom others--and thus was the death of Wickham Place--thespirit slips before the body perishes. It had decayed inthe spring, disintegrating the girls more than they knew,and causing either to accost unfamiliar regions. BySeptember it was a corpse, void of emotion, and scarcelyhallowed by the memories of thirty years of happiness.Through its round-topped doorway passed furniture, andpictures, and books, until the last room was gutted and thelast van had rumbled away. It stood for a week or twolonger, open-eyed, as if astonished at its own emptiness.Then it fell. Navvies came, and spilt it back into thegrey. With their muscles and their beery good temper, theywere not the worst of undertakers for a house which hadalways been human, and had not mistaken culture for an end.
The furniture, with a few exceptions, went down intoHertfordshire, Mr. Wilcox having most kindly offered HowardsEnd as a warehouse. Mr. Bryce had died abroad--anunsatisfactory affair--and as there seemed little guaranteethat the rent would be paid regularly, he cancelled theagreement, and resumed possession himself. Until he reletthe house, the Schlegels were welcome to stack theirfurniture in the garage and lower rooms. Margaret demurred,but Tibby accepted the offer gladly; it saved him fromcoming to any decision about the future. The plate and themore valuable pictures found a safer home in London, but thebulk of the things went country-ways, and were entrusted tothe guardianship of Miss Avery.
Shortly before the move, our hero and heroine weremarried. They have weathered the storm, and may reasonablyexpect peace. To have no illusions and yet to love--whatstronger surety can a woman find? She had seen herhusband's past as well as his heart. She knew her own heartwith a thoroughness that commonplace people believeimpossible. The heart of Mrs. Wilcox was alone hidden, andperhaps it is superstitious to speculate on the feelings ofthe dead. They were married quietly--really quietly, for asthe day approached she refused to go through anotherOniton. Her brother gave her away, her aunt, who was out ofhealth, presided over a few colourless refreshments. TheWilcoxes were represented by Charles, who witnessed themarriage settlement, and by Mr. Cahill. Paul did send acablegram. In a few minutes, and without the aid of music,the clergyman made them man and wife, and soon the glassshade had fallen that cuts off married couples from theworld. She, a monogamist, regretted the cessation of someof life's innocent odours; he, whose instincts werepolygamous, felt morally braced by the change, and lessliable to the temptations that had assailed him in the past.
They spent their honeymoon near Innsbruck. Henry knewof a reliable hotel there, and Margaret hoped for a meetingwith her sister. In this she was disappointed. As theycame south, Helen retreated over the Brenner, and wrote anunsatisfactory postcard from the shores of the Lake ofGarda, saying that her plans were uncertain and had betterbe ignored. Evidently she disliked meeting Henry. Twomonths are surely enough to accustom an outsider to asituation which a wife has accepted in two days, andMargaret had again to regret her sister's lack ofself-control. In a long letter she pointed out the need ofcharity in sexual matters: so little is known about them; itis hard enough for those who are personally touched tojudge; then how futile must be the verdict of Society. "Idon't say there is no standard, for that would destroymorality; only that there can be no standard until ourimpulses are classified and better understood." Helenthanked her for her kind letter--rather a curious reply.She moved south again, and spoke of wintering in Naples.
Mr. Wilcox was not sorry that the meeting failed. Helenleft him time to grow skin over his wound. There were stillmoments when it pained him. Had he only known that Margaretwas awaiting him--Margaret, so lively and intelligent, andyet so submissive--he would have kept himself worthier ofher. Incapable of grouping the past, he confused theepisode of Jacky with another episode that had taken placein the days of his bachelorhood. The two made one crop ofwild oats, for which he was heartily sorry, and he could notsee that those oats are of a darker stock which are rootedin another's dishonour. Unchastity and infidelity were asconfused to him as to the Middle Ages, his only moralteacher. Ruth (poor old Ruth!) did not enter into hiscalculations at all, for poor old Ruth had never found him out.
His affection for his present wife grew steadily. Hercleverness gave him no trouble, and, indeed, he liked to seeher reading poetry or something about social questions; itdistinguished her from the wives of other men. He had onlyto call, and she clapped the book up and was ready to dowhat he wished. Then they would argue so jollily, and onceor twice she had him in quite a tight corner, but as soon ashe grew really serious, she gave in. Man is for war, womanfor the recreation of the warrior, but he does not dislikeit if she makes a show of fight. She cannot win in a realbattle, having no muscles, only nerves. Nerves make herjump out of a moving motor-car, or refuse to be marriedfashionably. The warrior may well allow her to triumph onsuch occasions; they move not the imperishable plinth ofthings that touch his peace.
Margaret had a bad attack of these nerves during thehoneymoon. He told her--casually, as was his habit--thatOniton Grange was let. She showed her annoyance, and askedrather crossly why she had not been consulted.
"I didn't want to bother you," he replied. "Besides, Ihave only heard for certain this morning."
"Where are we to live?" said Margaret, trying to laugh."I loved the place extraordinarily. Don't you believe inhaving a permanent home, Henry?"
Theosophy."Certainly not."he believed it as soon as it was spoken.touched !
He assured her that she misunderstood him. It is homelife that distinguishes us from the foreigner. But he didnot believe in a damp home.
"This is news. I never heard till this minute thatOniton was damp."
"My dear girl!"--he flung out his hand--"have you eyes?have you a skin? How could it be anything but damp in sucha situation? In the first place, the Grange is on clay, andbuilt where the castle moat must have been; then there'sthat destestable little river, steaming all night like akettle. Feel the cellar walls; look up under the eaves.Ask Sir James or anyone. Those Shropshire valleys arenotorious. The only possible place for a house inShropshire is on a hill; but, for my part, I think thecountry is too far from London, and the scenery nothingspecial. "
Margaret could not resist saying, "Why did you go there,then?"
"I--because--" He drew his head back and grew ratherangry. "Why have we come to the Tyrol, if it comes tothat? One might go on asking such questions indefinitely."
One might; but he was only gaining time for a plausibleanswer. Out it came, and he believed it as soon as it was spoken.
"The truth is, I took Oniton on account of Evie. Don'tlet this go any further."
"Certainly not."
"I shouldn't like her to know that she nearly let me infor a very bad bargain. No sooner did I sign the agreementthan she got engaged. Poor little girl! She was so keen onit all, and wouldn't even wait to make proper inquiriesabout the shooting. Afraid it would get snapped up--justlike all of your sex. Well, no harm's done. She has hadher country wedding, and I've got rid of my house to somefellows who are starting a preparatory school."
"Where shall we live, then, Henry? I should enjoyliving somewhere."
"I have not yet decided. What about Norfolk?"
Margaret was silent. Marriage had not saved her fromthe sense of flux. London was but a foretaste of thisnomadic civilization which is altering human nature soprofoundly, and throws upon personal relations a stressgreater than they have ever borne before. Undercosmopolitanism, if it comes, we shall receive no help fromthe earth. Trees and meadows and mountains will only be aspectacle, and the binding force that they once exercised oncharacter must be entrusted to Love alone. May Love beequal to the task!
"It is now what?" continued Henry. "Nearly October.Let us camp for the winter at Ducie Street, and look out forsomething in the spring.
"If possible, something permanent. I can't be as youngas I was, for these alterations don't suit me. "
"But, my dear, which would you rather have--alterationsor rheumatism?"
"I see your point," said Margaret, getting up. "IfOniton is really damp, it is impossible, and must beinhabited by little boys. Only, in the spring, let us lookbefore we leap. I will take warning by Evie, and not hurryyou. Remember that you have a free hand this time. Theseendless moves must be bad for the furniture, and arecertainly expensive."
"What a practical little woman it is! What's it beenreading? Theo--theo--how much?"
"Theosophy."
so jollily, and onceor twice she had him in quite a tight corner, but as soon ashe grew really serious?
So Ducie Street was her first fate--a pleasant enoughfate. The house, being only a little larger than WickhamPlace, trained her for the immense establishment that waspromised in the spring. They were frequently away, but athome life ran fairly regularly. In the morning Henry wentto the business, and his sandwich--a relic this of someprehistoric craving--was always cut by her own hand. He didnot rely upon the sandwich for lunch, but liked to have itby him in case he grew hungry at eleven. When he had gone,there was the house to look after, and the servants tohumanize, and several kettles of Helen's to keep on theboil. Her conscience pricked her a little about the Basts;she was not sorry to have lost sight of them. No doubtLeonard was worth helping, but being Henry's wife, shepreferred to help someone else. As for theatres anddiscussion societies, they attracted her less and less. Shebegan to "miss" new movements, and to spend her spare timere-reading or thinking, rather to the concern of her Chelseafriends. They attributed the change to her marriage, andperhaps some deep instinct did warn her not to travelfurther from her husband than was inevitable. Yet the maincause lay deeper still; she had outgrown stimulants, and waspassing from words to things. It was doubtless a pity notto keep up with Wedekind or John, but some closing of thegates is inevitable after thirty, if the mind itself is tobecome a creative power.