霍华德庄园 英文版 Howards End
爱德华.摩根.福斯特 Edward Morgan Forster
Chapter 8
The friendship between Margaret and Mrs. Wilcox, which wasto develop so--quickly and with such strange results, mayperhaps have had its beginnings at Speyer, in the spring.Perhaps the elder lady, as she gazed at the vulgar, ruddycathedral, and listened to the talk of Helen and herhusband, may have detected in the other and less charming ofthe sisters a deeper sympathy, a sounder judgment. She wascapable of detecting such things. Perhaps it was she whohad desired the Miss Schlegels to be invited to Howards End,and Margaret whose presence she had particularly desired.All this is speculation: Mrs. Wilcox has left few clearindications behind her. It is certain that she came to callat Wickham Place a fortnight later, the very day that Helenwas going with her cousin to Stettin.
"Helen!" cried Fraulein Mosebach in awestruck tones (shewas now in her cousin's confidence)--"his mother hasforgiven you!" And then, remembering that in England thenew-comer ought not to call before she is called upon, shechanged her tone from awe to disapproval, and opined thatMrs. Wilcox was "keine Dame."
"Bother the whole family!" snapped Margaret. "Helen,stop giggling and pirouetting, and go and finish yourpacking. Why can't the woman leave us alone?"
"I don't know what I shall do with Meg," Helen retorted,collapsing upon the stairs. "She's got Wilcox and Box uponthe brain. Meg, Meg, I don't love the young gentleman; Idon't love the young gentleman, Meg, Meg. Can a body speak plainer?"
"Most certainly her love has died," asserted Fraulein Mosebach.
"Most certainly it has, Frieda, but that will notprevent me from being bored with the Wilcoxes if I returnthe call."
Then Helen simulated tears, and Fraulein Mosebach, whothought her extremely amusing, did the same. "Oh, boo hoo!boo hoo hoo! Meg's going to return the call, and I can't.'Cos why? 'Cos I'm going to German-eye."
"If you are going to Germany, go and pack; if youaren't, go and call on the Wilcoxes instead of me."
"But, Meg, Meg, I don't love the young gentleman; Idon't love the young--0 lud, who's that coming down thestairs? I vow 'tis my brother. 0 crimini!"
A male--even such a male as Tibby--was enough to stopthe foolery. The barrier of sex, though decreasing amongthe civilized, is still high, and higher on the side ofwomen. Helen could tell her sister all, and her cousin muchabout Paul; she told her brother nothing. It was notprudishness, for she now spoke of "the Wilcox ideal" withlaughter, and even with a growing brutality. Nor was itprecaution, for Tibby seldom repeated any news that did notconcern himself. It was rather the feeling that shebetrayed a secret into the camp of men, and that, howevertrivial it was on this side of the barrier, it would becomeimportant on that. So she stopped, or rather began to foolon other subjects, until her long-suffering relatives droveher upstairs. Fraulein Mosebach followed her, but lingeredto say heavily over the banisters to Margaret, "It is allright--she does not love the young man--he has not beenworthy of her."
"Yes, I know; thanks very much."
"I thought I did right to tell you."
"Ever so many thanks."
"What's that?" asked Tibby. No one told him, and heproceeded into the dining-room, to eat Elvas plums.
That evening Margaret took decisive action. The housewas very quiet, and the fog--we are in November now--pressedagainst the windows like an excluded ghost. Frieda andHelen and all their luggage had gone. Tibby, who was notfeeling well, lay stretched on a sofa by the fire. Margaretsat by him, thinking. Her mind darted from impulse toimpulse, and finally marshalled them all in review. Thepractical person, who knows what he wants at once, andgenerally knows nothing else, will excuse her ofindecision. But this was the way her mind worked. And whenshe did act, no one could accuse her of indecision then.She hit out as lustily as if she had not considered thematter at all. The letter that she wrote Mrs. Wilcox glowedwith the native hue of resolution. The pale cast of thoughtwas with her a breath rather than a tarnish, a breath thatleaves the colours all the more vivid when it has been wipedaway.
Dear Mrs. Wilcox,
I have to write something discourteous. It would bebetter if we did not meet. Both my sister and my aunthave given displeasure to your family, and, in mysister's case, the grounds for displeasure might recur.As far as I know, she no longer occupies her thoughtswith your son. But it would not be fair, either to heror to you, if they met, and it is therefore right thatour acquaintance which began so pleasantly, should end.
I fear that you will not agree with this; indeed, Iknow that you will not, since you have been good enoughto call on us. It is only an instinct on my part, and nodoubt the instinct is wrong. My sister would,undoubtedly, say that it is wrong. I write without herknowledge, and I hope that you will not associate herwith my discourtesy.
Believe me,Yours truly,M. J. Schlegel
Margaret sent this letter round by post. Next morningshe received the following reply by hand:
wildly girlish.
Dear Miss Schlegel,
You should not have written me such a letter. Icalled to tell you that Paul has gone abroad.
Now why?"Wilcox, Italy."interrupting?
Ruth Wilcox
Margaret's cheeks burnt. She could not finish herbreakfast. She was on fire with shame. Helen had told herthat the youth was leaving England, but other things hadseemed more important, and she had forgotten. All herabsurd anxieties fell to the ground, and in their placearose the certainty that she had been rude to Mrs. Wilcox.Rudeness affected Margaret like a bitter taste in themouth. It poisoned life. At times it is necessary, but woeto those who employ it without due need. She flung on a hatand shawl, just like a poor woman, and plunged into the fog,which still continued. Her lips were compressed, the letterremained in her hand, and in this state she crossed thestreet, entered the marble vestibule of the flats, eludedthe concierges, and ran up the stairs till she reached thesecond-floor.
She sent in her name, and to her surprise was shownstraight into Mrs. Wilcox's bedroom.
"Oh, Mrs. Wilcox, I have made the baddest blunder. I ammore, more ashamed and sorry than I can say."
Mrs. Wilcox bowed gravely. She was offended, and didnot pretend to the contrary. She was sitting up in bed,writing letters on an invalid table that spanned her knees.A breakfast tray was on another table beside her. The lightof the fire, the light from the window, and the light of acandle-lamp, which threw a quivering halo round her hands,combined to create a strange atmosphere of dissolution.
pause of shifting!
"I knew he was going to India in November, but I forgot."
"He sailed on the 17th for Nigeria, in Africa."
"I knew--I know. I have been too absurd all through. Iam very much ashamed."
Mrs. Wilcox did not answer.
"I am more sorry than I can say, and I hope that youwill forgive me."
"It doesn't matter, Miss Schlegel. It is good of you tohave come round so promptly."
"It does matter," cried Margaret. "I have been rude toyou; and my sister is not even at home, so there was noteven that excuse.
"Indeed?"
"She has just gone to Germany."
"She gone as well," murmured the other. "Yes,certainly, it is quite safe--safe, absolutely, now."
"You've been worrying too!" exclaimed Margaret, gettingmore and more excited, and taking a chair withoutinvitation. "How perfectly extraordinary! I can see thatyou have. You felt as I do; Helen mustn't meet him again."
"I did think it best."
"Now why?"
"It wasn't that your son still--"
"Oh no; he often--my Paul is very young, you see."
"Then what was it?"
She repeated: "An instinct which may be wrong."
"In other words, they belong to types that can fall inlove, but couldn't live together. That's dreadfullyprobable. I'm afraid that in nine cases out of ten Naturepulls one way and human nature another."
"These are indeed 'other words,'" said Mrs. Wilcox." Ihad nothing so coherent in my head. I was merely alarmedwhen I knew that my boy cared for your sister."
"Ah, I have always been wanting to ask you. How did youknow? Helen was so surprised when our aunt drove up, andyou stepped forward and arranged things. Did Paul tell you?"
"There is nothing to be gained by discussing that," saidMrs. Wilcox after a moment's pause.
"Mrs. Wilcox, were you very angry with us last June? Iwrote you a letter and you didn't answer it."
"I was certainly against taking Mrs. Matheson's flat. Iknew it was opposite your house."
"But it's all right now?"
"I think so."
"You only think? You aren't sure? I do love theselittle muddles tidied up?"
"Oh yes, I'm sure," said Mrs. Wilcox, moving withuneasiness beneath the clothes. "I always sound uncertainover things. It is my way of speaking."
"That's all right, and I'm sure too."
Here the maid came in to remove the breakfast-tray.They were interrupted, and when they resumed conversation itwas on more normal lines.
"I must say good-bye now--you will be getting up."
another sometime. They.
"No--please stop a little longer--I am taking a day inbed. Now and then I do."
"I thought of you as one of the early risers."
"At Howards End--yes; there is nothing to get up for in London."
"Nothing to get up for?" cried the scandalizedMargaret. "When there are all the autumn exhibitions, andYsaye playing in the afternoon! Not to mention people."
"The truth is, I am a little tired. First came thewedding, and then Paul went off, and, instead of restingyesterday, I paid a round of calls."
"A wedding?"
"Yes; Charles, my elder son, is married."
"Indeed!"
"We took the flat chiefly on that account, and also thatPaul could get his African outfit. The flat belongs to acousin of my husband's, and she most kindly offered it tous. So before the day came we were able to make theacquaintance of Dolly's people, which we had not yet done."
Margaret asked who Dolly's people were.
"Fussell. The father is in the Indian army--retired;the brother is in the army. The mother is dead."
So perhaps these were the "chinless sunburnt men" whomHelen had espied one afternoon through the window. Margaretfelt mildly interested in the fortunes of the Wilcoxfamily. She had acquired the habit on Helen's account, andit still clung to her. She asked for more information aboutMiss Dolly Fussell that was, and was given it in even,unemotional tones. Mrs. Wilcox's voice, though sweet andcompelling, had little range of expression. It suggestedthat pictures, concerts, and people are all of small andequal value. Only once had it quickened--when speaking ofHowards End.
"Charles and Albert Fussell have known one another sometime. They belong to the same club, and are both devoted togolf. Dolly plays golf too, though I believe not so well,and they first met in a mixed foursome. We all like her,and are very much pleased. They were married on the 11th, afew days before Paul sailed. Charles was very anxious tohave his brother as best man, so he made a great point ofhaving it on the 11th. The Fussells would have preferred itafter Christmas, but they were very nice about it. There isDolly's photograph--in that double frame."
"Are you quite certain that I'm not interrupting, Mrs. Wilcox?"
many thanks."She?
"Yes, quite."
"Then I will stay. I'm enjoying this."
Dolly's photograph was now examined. It was signed "Fordear Mims," which Mrs. Wilcox interpreted as "the name sheand Charles had settled that she should call me." Dollylooked silly, and had one of those triangular faces that sooften prove attractive to a robust man. She was verypretty. From her Margaret passed to Charles, whose featuresprevailed opposite. She speculated on the forces that haddrawn the two together till God parted them. She found timeto hope that they would be happy.
"They have gone to Naples for their honeymoon."
"Lucky people!"
"I can hardly imagine Charles in Italy."
"Doesn't he care for travelling?"
"He likes travel, but he does see through foreignersso. What he enjoys most is a motor tour in England, and Ithink that would have carried the day if the weather had notbeen so abominable. His father gave him a car of his ownfor a wedding present, which for the present is being storedat Howards End."
"I suppose you have a garage there?"
"Yes. My husband built a little one only last month, tothe west of the house, not far from the wych-elm, in whatused to be the paddock for the pony."
The last words had an indescribable ring about them.
"Where's the pony gone?" asked Margaret after a pause.
"The pony? Oh, dead, ever so long ago." "The wych-elm Iremember. Helen spoke of it as a very splendid tree."
"It is the finest wych-elm in Hertfordshire. Did yoursister tell you about the teeth?"
"No."
"Oh, it might interest you. There are pigs' teeth stuckinto the trunk, about four feet from the ground. Thecountry people put them in long ago, and they think that ifthey chew a piece of the bark, it will cure the toothache.The teeth are almost grown over now, and no one comes to thetree."
"I should. I love folklore and all festering superstitions."
"Do you think that the tree really did cure toothache,if one believed in it?"
"Of course it did. It would cure anything--once."
"Certainly I remember cases--you see I lived at HowardsEnd long, long before Mr. Wilcox knew it. I was born there."
The conversation again shifted. At the time it seemedlittle more than aimless chatter. She was interested whenher hostess explained that Howards End was her ownproperty. She was bored when too minute an account wasgiven of the Fussell family, of the anxieties of Charlesconcerning Naples, of the movements of Mr. Wilcox and Evie,who were motoring in Yorkshire. Margaret could not bearbeing bored. She grew inattentive, played with thephotograph frame, dropped it, smashed Dolly's glass,apologized, was pardoned, cut her finger thereon, waspitied, and finally said she must be going--there was allthe housekeeping to do, and she had to interview Tibby'sriding-master.
Then the curious note was struck again.
"Good-bye, Miss Schlegel, good-bye. Thank you forcoming. You have cheered me up."
"I'm so glad!"
"I--I wonder whether you ever think about yourself.?"
"I think of nothing else," said Margaret, blushing, butletting her hand remain in that of the invalid.
"I wonder. I wondered at Heidelberg."
"I'M sure!"
"I almost think--"
"Yes?" asked Margaret, for there was a long pause--apause that was somehow akin to the flicker of the fire, thequiver of the reading-lamp upon their hands, the white blurfrom the window; a pause of shifting and eternal shadows.
"I almost think you forget you're a girl."
Margaret was startled and a little annoyed. "I'mtwenty-nine," she remarked. "That not so wildly girlish."
Mrs. Wilcox smiled.
"What makes you say that? Do you mean that I have beengauche and rude?"
A shake of the head. "I only meant that I am fifty-one,and that to me both of you--Read it all in some book orother; I cannot put things clearly."
"Oh, I've got it--inexperience. I'm no better thanHelen, you mean, and yet I presume to advise her."
"Yes. You have got it. Inexperience is the word."
"Inexperience," repeated Margaret, in serious yetbuoyant tones. "Of course, I have everything tolearn--absolutely everything--just as much as Helen. Life'svery difficult and full of surprises. At all events, I'vegot as far as that. To be humble and kind, to go straightahead, to love people rather than pity them, to remember thesubmerged--well, one can't do all these things at once,worse luck, because they're so contradictory. It's thenthat proportion comes in--to live by proportion. Don'tBEGIN with proportion. Only prigs do that. Let proportioncome in as a last resource, when the better things havefailed, and a deadlock--Gracious me, I've started preaching!"
"Indeed, you put the difficulties of life splendidly,"said Mrs. Wilcox, withdrawing her hand into the deepershadows. "It is just what I should have liked to say aboutthem myself."