霍华德庄园 英文版 Howards End
爱德华.摩根.福斯特 Edward Morgan Forster
Chapter 7
"Oh, Margaret," cried her aunt next morning, "such a mostunfortunate thing has happened. I could not get you alone."
The most unfortunate thing was not very serious. One ofthe flats in the ornate block opposite had been takenfurnished by the Wilcox family, "coming up, no doubt, in thehope of getting into London society." That Mrs. Munt shouldbe the first to discover the misfortune was not remarkable,for she was so interested in the flats, that she watchedtheir every mutation with unwearying care. In theory shedespised them--they took away that old-world look--they cutoff the sun--flats house a flashy type of person. But ifthe truth had been known, she found her visits to WickhamPlace twice as amusing since Wickham Mansions had arisen,and would in a couple of days learn more about them than hernieces in a couple of months, or her nephew in a couple ofyears. She would stroll across and make friends with theporters, and inquire what the rents were, exclaiming forexample: "What! a hundred and twenty for a basement?You'll never get it!" And they would answer: "One can buttry, madam." The passenger lifts, the provision lifts, thearrangement for coals (a great temptation for a dishonestporter), were all familiar matters to her, and perhaps arelief from the politico-economical-aesthetic atmosphere thatreigned at the Schlegels'.
Margaret received the information calmly, and did notagree that it would throw a cloud over poor Helen's life.
"Oh, but Helen isn't a girl with no interests," sheexplained. "She has plenty of other things and other peopleto think about. She made a false start with the Wilcoxes,and she'll be as willing as we are to have nothing more todo with them."
"For a clever girl, dear, how very oddly you do talk.Helen'll HAVE to have something more to do with them, nowthat they're all opposite. She may meet that Paul in thestreet. She cannot very well not bow."
"Of course she must bow. But look here; let's do theflowers. I was going to say, the will to be interested inhim has died, and what else matters? I look on thatdisastrous episode (over which you were so kind) as thekilling of a nerve in Helen. It's dead, and she'll never betroubled with it again. The only things that matter are thethings that interest one. Bowing, even calling and leavingcards, even a dinner-party--we can do all those things tothe Wilcoxes, if they find it agreeable; but the otherthing, the one important thing--never again. Don't you see?"
Mrs. Munt did not see, and indeed Margaret was making amost questionable statement--that any emotion, any interestonce vividly aroused, can wholly die.
"I also have the honour to inform you that the Wilcoxesare bored with us. I didn't tell you at the time--it mighthave made you angry, and you had enough to worry you--but Iwrote a letter to Mrs. W., and apologized for the troublethat Helen had given them. She didn't answer it."
"How very rude!"
"I wonder. Or was it sensible?"
"No, Margaret, most rude."
"In either case one can class it as reassuring."
Mrs. Munt sighed. She was going back to Swanage on themorrow, just as her nieces were wanting her most. Otherregrets crowded upon her: for instance, how magnificentlyshe would have cut Charles if she had met him face to face.She had already seen him, giving an order to the porter--andvery common he looked in a tall hat. But unfortunately hisback was turned to her, and though she had cut his back, shecould not regard this as a telling snub.
that the woman who lacedtoo tightly's name !
"But you will be careful, won't you?" she exhorted.
"Oh, certainly. Fiendishly careful."
"And Helen must be careful, too,"
"Careful over what?" cried Helen, at that moment cominginto the room with her cousin.
"Nothing," said Margaret, seized with a momentary awkwardness.
"Careful over what, Aunt Juley?"
Mrs. Munt assumed a cryptic air. "It is only that acertain family, whom we know by name but do not mention, asyou said yourself last night after the concert, have takenthe flat opposite from the Mathesons--where the plants arein the balcony."
Helen began some laughing reply, and then disconcertedthem all by blushing. Mrs. Munt was so disconcerted thatshe exclaimed, "What, Helen, you don't mind them coming, doyou?" and deepened the blush to crimson.
"Of course I don't mind," said Helen a little crossly."It is that you and Meg are both so absurdly grave about it,when there's nothing to be grave about at all."
"I'm not grave," protested Margaret, a little cross inher turn.
"Well, you look grave; doesn't she, Frieda?"
"I don't feel grave, that's all I can say; you're goingquite on the wrong tack."
"No, she does not feel grave," echoed Mrs. Munt. "I canbear witness to that. She disagrees--"
"Hark!" interrupted Fraulein Mosebach. "I hear Brunoentering the hall."
For Herr Liesecke was due at Wickham Place to call forthe two younger girls. He was not entering the hall--infact, he did not enter it for quite five minutes. ButFrieda detected a delicate situation, and said that she andHelen had much better wait for Bruno down below, and leaveMargaret and Mrs. Munt to finish arranging the flowers.Helen acquiesced. But, as if to prove that the situationwas not delicate really, she stopped in the doorway and said:
"Come, Helen," said her cousin.
"Go, Helen," said her aunt; and continued to Margaretalmost in the same breath: "Helen cannot deceive me, Shedoes mind."
"Oh, hush!" breathed Margaret. "Frieda'll hear you, andshe can be so tiresome."
"She minds," persisted Mrs. Munt, moving thoughtfullyabout the room, and pulling the dead chrysanthemums out ofthe vases. "I knew she'd mind--and I'm sure a girl oughtto! Such an experience! Such awful coarse-grained people!I know more about them than you do, which you forget, and ifCharles had taken you that motor drive--well, you'd havereached the house a perfect wreck. Oh, Margaret, you don'tknow what you are in for. They're all bottled up againstthe drawing-room window. There's Mrs. Wilcox--I've seenher. There's Paul. There's Evie, who is a minx. There'sCharles--I saw him to start with. And who would an elderlyman with a moustache and a copper-coloured face be?"
"Mr. Wilcox, possibly."
"I knew it. And there's Mr. Wilcox."
"It's a shame to call his face copper colour,"complained Margaret. "He has a remarkably good complexionfor a man of his age."
Mrs. Munt, triumphant elsewhere, could afford to concedeMr. Wilcox his complexion. She passed on from it to theplan of campaign that her nieces should pursue in thefuture. Margaret tried to stop her.
"Helen did not take the news quite as I expected, butthe Wilcox nerve is dead in her really, so there's no needfor plans."
"It's as well to be prepared."
"No--it's as well not to be prepared."
"Because--'
Her thought drew being from the obscure borderland. Shecould not explain in so many words, but she felt that thosewho prepare for all the emergencies of life beforehand mayequip themselves at the expense of joy. It is necessary toprepare for an examination, or a dinner-party, or a possiblefall in the price of stock: those who attempt humanrelations must adopt another method, or fail. "Because I'dsooner risk it," was her lame conclusion.
"But imagine the evenings," exclaimed her aunt, pointingto the Mansions with the spout of the watering-can. "Turnthe electric light on her or there, and it's almost the sameroom. One evening they may forget to draw their blindsdown, and you'll see them; and the next, you yours, andthey'll see you. Impossible to sit out on the balconies.Impossible to water the plants, or even speak. Imaginegoing out of the front-door, and they come out opposite atthe same moment. And yet you tell me that plans areunnecessary, and you'd rather risk it."
"I hope to risk things all my life."
"Oh, Margaret, most dangerous."
"But after all," she continued with a smile, "there'snever any great risk as long as you have money."
"Oh, shame! What a shocking speech!"
"Money pads the edges of things," said Miss Schlegel."God help those who have none."
"But this is something quite new!" said Mrs. Munt, whocollected new ideas as a squirrel collects nuts, and wasespecially attracted by those that are portable.
"New for me; sensible people have acknowledged it foryears. You and I and the Wilcoxes stand upon money as uponislands. It is so firm beneath our feet that we forget itsvery existence. It's only when we see someone near ustottering that we realize all that an independent incomemeans. Last night, when we were talking up here round thefire, I began to think that the very soul of the world iseconomic, and that the lowest abyss is not the absence oflove, but the absence of coin."
"I call that rather cynical."
"So do I. But Helen and I, we ought to remember, when weare tempted to criticize others, that we are standing onthese islands, and that most of the others, are down belowthe surface of the sea. The poor cannot always reach thosewhom they want to love, and they can hardly ever escape fromthose whom they love no longer. We rich can. Imagine thetragedy last June, if Helen and Paul Wilcox had been poorpeople, and couldn't invoke railways and motor-cars to part them."
"That's more like Socialism," said Mrs. Munt suspiciously.
"Call it what you like. I call it going through lifewith one's hand spread open on the table. I'm tired ofthese rich people who pretend to be poor, and think it showsa nice mind to ignore the piles of money that keep theirfeet above the waves. I stand each year upon six hundredpounds, and Helen upon the same, and Tibby will stand uponeight, and as fast as our pounds crumble away into the seathey are renewed--from the sea, yes, from the sea. And allour thoughts are the thoughts of six-hundred-pounders, andall our speeches; and because we don't want to stealumbrellas ourselves, we forget that below the sea people dowant to steal them, and do steal them sometimes, and thatwhat's a joke up here is down there reality--"
"There they go--there goes Fraulein Mosebach. Really,for a German she does dress charmingly. Oh--!"
"What is it?"
"Helen was looking up at the Wilcoxes' flat."
"Why shouldn't she?"
"I beg your pardon, I interrupted you. What was it youwere saying about reality?"
"I had worked round to myself, as usual," answeredMargaret in tones that were suddenly preoccupied.
"Do tell me this, at all events. Are you for the richor for the poor?"
"Too difficult. Ask me another. Am I for poverty orfor riches? For riches. Hurrah for riches!"
"For riches!" echoed Mrs. Munt, having, as it were, atlast secured her nut.
"Yes. For riches. Money for ever!"
"So am I, and so, I am afraid, are most of myacquaintances at Swanage, but I am surprised that you agreewith us."
"Thank you so much, Aunt Juley. While I have talkedtheories, you have done the flowers."
"Not at all, dear. I wish you would let me help you inmore important things."
"Well, would you be very kind? Would you come roundwith me to the registry office? There's a housemaid whowon't say yes but doesn't say no."
On their way thither they too looked up at the Wilcoxes'flat. Evie was in the balcony, "staring most rudely,"according to Mrs. Munt. Oh yes, it was a nuisance, therewas no doubt of it. Helen was proof against a passingencounter but--Margaret began to lose confidence. Might itreawake the dying nerve if the family were living closeagainst her eyes? And Frieda Mosebach was stopping withthem for another fortnight, and Frieda was sharp, abominablysharp, and quite capable of remarking, "You love one of theyoung gentlemen opposite, yes?" The remark would be untrue,but of the kind which, if stated often enough, may becometrue; just as the remark, "England and Germany are bound tofight," renders war a little more likely each time that itis made, and is therefore made the more readily by thegutter press of either nation. Have the private emotionsalso their gutter press? Margaret thought so, and fearedthat good Aunt Juley and Frieda were typical specimens ofit. They might, by continual chatter, lead Helen into arepetition of the desires of June. Into a repetition--theycould not do more; they could not lead her into lastinglove. They were--she saw it clearly--Journalism; herfather, with all his defects and wrong-headedness, had beenLiterature, and had he lived, he would have persuaded hisdaughter rightly.
The registry office was holding its morning reception.A string of carriages filled the street. Miss Schlegelwaited her turn, and finally had to be content with aninsidious "temporary," being rejected by genuine housemaidson the ground of her numerous stairs. Her failure depressedher, and though she forgot the failure, the depressionremained. On her way home she again glanced up at theWilcoxes' flat, and took the rather matronly step ofspeaking about the matter to Helen.
"Helen, you must tell me whether this thing worries you."
"If what?" said Helen, who was washing her hands for lunch.
"The W.'s coming."
"No, of course not."
"Really?"
"Really." Then she admitted that she was a littleworried on Mrs. Wilcox's account; she implied that Mrs.Wilcox might reach backward into deep feelings, and bepained by things that never touched the other members ofthat clan. "I shan't mind if Paul points at our house andsays, 'There lives the girl who tried to catch me.' But she might."
"If even that worries you, we could arrange something.There's no reason we should be near people who displease usor whom we displease, thanks to our money. We might even goaway for a little."
"Well, I am going away. Frieda's just asked me toStettin, and I shan't be back till after the New Year. Willthat do? Or must I fly the country altogether? Really,Meg, what has come over you to make such a fuss?"
"Oh, I'm getting an old maid, I suppose. I thought Iminded nothing, but really I--I should be bored if you fellin love with the same man twice and"--she cleared herthroat--"you did go red, you know, when Aunt Juley attackedyou this morning. I shouldn't have referred to it otherwise."
But Helen's laugh rang true, as she raised a soapy handto heaven and swore that never, nowhere and nohow, would sheagain fall in love with any of the Wilcox family, down toits remotest collaterals.