Howard's End
by
E.M. Forster
Chapters 1-10
Chapters 1-10Chapters 11-20
Chapters 21-30
Chapters 31-40
Chapters 41-44
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[2] Chapter 1
[3]
[4] One may as well begin with Helen's letters to her sister.
[5]
[6]
[7] HOWARDS END,
[8] TUESDAY.
[9]
[10] Dearest Meg,
[11]
[12] It isn't going to be what we expected. It is old and
[13] little, and altogether delightful--red brick. We can
[14] scarcely pack in as it is, and the dear knows what will
[15] happen when Paul (younger son) arrives tomorrow. From hall
[16] you go right or left into dining-room or drawing-room. Hall
[17] itself is practically a room. You open another door in it,
[18] and there are the stairs going up in a sort of tunnel to the
[19] first-floor. Three bedrooms in a row there, and three
[20] attics in a row above. That isn't all the house really, but
[21] it's all that one notices--nine windows as you look up from
[22] the front garden.
[23]
[24] Then there's a very big wych-elm--to the left as you
[25] look up--leaning a little over the house, and standing on
[26] the boundary between the garden and meadow. I quite love
[27] that tree already. Also ordinary elms, oaks--no nastier
[28] than ordinary oaks--pear-trees, apple-trees, and a vine. No
[29] silver birches, though. However, I must get on to my host
[30] and hostess. I only wanted to show that it isn't the least
[31] what we expected. Why did we settle that their house would
[32] be all gables and wiggles, and their garden all
[33] gamboge-coloured paths? I believe simply because we
[34] associate them with expensive hotels--Mrs. Wilcox trailing
[35] in beautiful dresses down long corridors, Mr. Wilcox
[36] bullying porters, etc. We females are that unjust.
[37]
[38] I shall be back Saturday; will let you know train
[39] later. They are as angry as I am that you did not come too;
[40] really Tibby is too tiresome, he starts a new mortal disease
[41] every month. How could he have got hay fever in London?
[42] and even if he could, it seems hard that you should give up
[43] a visit to hear a schoolboy sneeze. Tell him that Charles
[44] Wilcox (the son who is here) has hay fever too, but he's
[45] brave, and gets quite cross when we inquire after it. Men
[46] like the Wilcoxes would do Tibby a power of good. But you
[47] won't agree, and I'd better change the subject.
[48]
[49] This long letter is because I'm writing before
[50] breakfast. Oh, the beautiful vine leaves! The house is
[51] covered with a vine. I looked out earlier, and Mrs. Wilcox
[52] was already in the garden. She evidently loves it. No
[53] wonder she sometimes looks tired. She was watching the
[54] large red poppies come out. Then she walked off the lawn to
[55] the meadow, whose corner to the right I can just see.
[56] Trail, trail, went her long dress over the sopping grass,
[57] and she came back with her hands full of the hay that was
[58] cut yesterday--I suppose for rabbits or something, as she
[59] kept on smelling it. The air here is delicious. Later on I
[60] heard the noise of croquet balls, and looked out again, and
[61] it was Charles Wilcox practising; they are keen on all
[62] games. Presently he started sneezing and had to stop. Then
[63] I hear more clicketing, and it is Mr. Wilcox practising, and
[64] then, 'a-tissue, a-tissue': he has to stop too. Then Evie
[65] comes out, and does some calisthenic exercises on a machine
[66] that is tacked on to a greengage-tree--they put everything
[67] to use--and then she says 'a-tissue,' and in she goes. And
[68] finally Mrs. Wilcox reappears, trail, trail, still smelling
[69] hay and looking at the flowers. I inflict all this on you
[70] because once you said that life is sometimes life and
[71] sometimes only a drama, and one must learn to distinguish
[72] t'other from which, and up to now I have always put that
[73] down as 'Meg's clever nonsense.' But this morning, it really
[74] does seem not life but a play, and it did amuse me
[75] enormously to watch the W's. Now Mrs. Wilcox has come in.
[76]
[77] I am going to wear [omission]. Last night Mrs. Wilcox
[78] wore an [omission], and Evie [omission]. So it isn't
[79] exactly a go-as-you-please place, and if you shut your eyes
[80] it still seems the wiggly hotel that we expected. Not if
[81] you open them. The dog-roses are too sweet. There is a
[82] great hedge of them over the lawn--magnificently tall, so
[83] that they fall down in garlands, and nice and thin at the
[84] bottom, so that you can see ducks through it and a cow.
[85] These belong to the farm, which is the only house near us.
[86] There goes the breakfast gong. Much love. Modified love to
[87] Tibby. Love to Aunt Juley; how good of her to come and keep
[88] you company, but what a bore. Burn this. Will write again
[89] Thursday.
[90]
[91] Helen
[92]
[93]
[94] HOWARDS END,
[95] FRIDAY.
[96]
[97] Dearest Meg,
[98]
[99] I am having a glorious time. I like them all. Mrs.
[100] Wilcox, if quieter than in Germany, is sweeter than ever,
[101] and I never saw anything like her steady unselfishness, and
[102] the best of it is that the others do not take advantage of
[103] her. They are the very happiest, jolliest family that you
[104] can imagine. I do really feel that we are making friends.
[105] The fun of it is that they think me a noodle, and say so--at
[106] least Mr. Wilcox does--and when that happens, and one
[107] doesn't mind, it's a pretty sure test, isn't it? He says
[108] the most horrid things about women's suffrage so nicely, and
[109] when I said I believed in equality he just folded his arms
[110] and gave me such a setting down as I've never had. Meg,
[111] shall we ever learn to talk less? I never felt so ashamed
[112] of myself in my life. I couldn't point to a time when men
[113] had been equal, nor even to a time when the wish to be equal
[114] had made them happier in other ways. I couldn't say a
[115] word. I had just picked up the notion that equality is good
[116] from some book--probably from poetry, or you. Anyhow, it's
[117] been knocked into pieces, and, like all people who are
[118] really strong, Mr. Wilcox did it without hurting me. On the
[119] other hand, I laugh at them for catching hay fever. We live
[120] like fighting-cocks, and Charles takes us out every day in
[121] the motor--a tomb with trees in it, a hermit's house, a
[122] wonderful road that was made by the Kings of
[123] Mercia--tennis--a cricket match--bridge--and at night we
[124] squeeze up in this lovely house. The whole clan's here
[125] now--it's like a rabbit warren. Evie is a dear. They want
[126] me to stop over Sunday--I suppose it won't matter if I do.
[127] Marvellous weather and the view's marvellous--views westward
[128] to the high ground. Thank you for your letter. Burn this.
[129]
[130] Your affectionate
[131] Helen
[132]
[133]
[134] HOWARDS END,
[135] SUNDAY.
[136]
[137] Dearest, dearest Meg,--I do not know what you will say:
[138] Paul and I are in love--the younger son who only came here
[139] Wednesday.
[140]
[141]
[142] Chapter 2
[143]
[144] Margaret glanced at her sister's note and pushed it over the
[145] breakfast-table to her aunt. There was a moment's hush, and
[146] then the flood-gates opened.
[147]
[148] "I can tell you nothing, Aunt Juley. I know no more
[149] than you do. We met--we only met the father and mother
[150] abroad last spring. I know so little that I didn't even
[151] know their son's name. It's all so--" She waved her hand
[152] and laughed a little.
[153]
[154] "In that case it is far too sudden."
[155]
[156] "Who knows, Aunt Juley, who knows?"
[157]
[158] "But, Margaret dear, I mean we mustn't be unpractical
[159] now that we've come to facts. It is too sudden, surely."
[160]
[161] "Who knows!"
[162]
[163] "But Margaret dear--"
[164]
[165] "I'll go for her other letters," said Margaret. "No, I
[166] won't, I'll finish my breakfast. In fact, I haven't them.
[167] We met the Wilcoxes on an awful expedition that we made from
[168] Heidelberg to Speyer. Helen and I had got it into our heads
[169] that there was a grand old cathedral at Speyer--the
[170] Archbishop of Speyer was one of the seven electors--you
[171] know--'Speyer, Maintz, and Koln.' Those three sees once
[172] commanded the Rhine Valley and got it the name of Priest Street."
[173]
[174] "I still feel quite uneasy about this business, Margaret."
[175]
[176] "The train crossed by a bridge of boats, and at first
[177] sight it looked quite fine. But oh, in five minutes we had
[178] seen the whole thing. The cathedral had been ruined,
[179] absolutely ruined, by restoration; not an inch left of the
[180] original structure. We wasted a whole day, and came across
[181] the Wilcoxes as we were eating our sandwiches in the public
[182] gardens. They too, poor things, had been taken in--they
[183] were actually stopping at Speyer--and they rather liked
[184] Helen insisting that they must fly with us to Heidelberg.
[185] As a matter of fact, they did come on next day. We all took
[186] some drives together. They knew us well enough to ask Helen
[187] to come and see them--at least, I was asked too, but Tibby's
[188] illness prevented me, so last Monday she went alone. That's
[189] all. You know as much as I do now. It's a young man out
[190] the unknown. She was to have come back Saturday, but put
[191] off till Monday, perhaps on account of--I don't know.
[192]
[193] She broke off, and listened to the sounds of a London
[194] morning. Their house was in Wickham Place, and fairly
[195] quiet, for a lofty promontory of buildings separated it from
[196] the main thoroughfare. One had the sense of a backwater, or
[197] rather of an estuary, whose waters flowed in from the
[198] invisible sea, and ebbed into a profound silence while the
[199] waves without were still beating. Though the promontory
[200] consisted of flats--expensive, with cavernous entrance
[201] halls, full of concierges and palms--it fulfilled its
[202] purpose, and gained for the older houses opposite a certain
[203] measure of peace. These, too, would be swept away in time,
[204] and another promontory would rise upon their site, as
[205] humanity piled itself higher and higher on the precious soil
[206] of London.
[207]
[208] Mrs. Munt had her own method of interpreting her
[209] nieces. She decided that Margaret was a little hysterical,
[210] and was trying to gain time by a torrent of talk. Feeling
[211] very diplomatic, she lamented the fate of Speyer, and
[212] declared that never, never should she be so misguided as to
[213] visit it, and added of her own accord that the principles of
[214] restoration were ill understood in Germany. "The Germans,"
[215] she said, "are too thorough, and this is all very well
[216] sometimes, but at other times it does not do."
[217]
[218] "Exactly," said Margaret; "Germans are too thorough."
[219] And her eyes began to shine.
[220]
[221] "Of course I regard you Schlegels as English," said Mrs.
[222] Munt hastily--"English to the backbone."
[223]
[224] Margaret leaned forward and stroked her hand.
[225]
[226] "And that reminds me--Helen's letter--"
[227]
[228] "Oh, yes, Aunt Juley, I am thinking all right about
[229] Helen's letter. I know--I must go down and see her. I am
[230] thinking about her all right. I am meaning to go down"
[231]
[232] "But go with some plan," said Mrs. Munt, admitting into
[233] her kindly voice a note of exasperation. "Margaret, if I
[234] may interfere, don't be taken by surprise. What do you
[235] think of the Wilcoxes? Are they our sort? Are they likely
[236] people? Could they appreciate Helen, who is to my mind a
[237] very special sort of person? Do they care about Literature
[238] and Art? That is most important when you come to think of
[239] it. Literature and Art. Most important. How old would the
[240] son be? She says 'younger son.' Would he be in a position
[241] to marry? Is he likely to make Helen happy? Did you gather--"
[242]
[243] "I gathered nothing."
[244]
[245] They began to talk at once.
[246]
[247] "Then in that case--"
[248]
[249] "In that case I can make no plans, don't you see."
[250]
[251] "On the contrary--"
[252]
[253] "I hate plans. I hate lines of action. Helen isn't a baby."
[254]
[255] "Then in that case, my dear, why go down?"
[256]
[257] Margaret was silent. If her aunt could not see why she
[258] must go down, she was not going to tell her. She was not
[259] going to say "I love my dear sister; I must be near her at
[260] this crisis of her life." The affections are more reticent
[261] than the passions, and their expression more subtle. If she
[262] herself should ever fall in love with a man, she, like
[263] Helen, would proclaim it from the house-tops, but as she
[264] only loved a sister she used the voiceless language of sympathy.
[265]
[266] "I consider you odd girls," continued Mrs. Munt, "and
[267] very wonderful girls, and in many ways far older than your
[268] years. But--you won't be offended? --frankly I feel you are
[269] not up to this business. It requires an older person.
[270] Dear, I have nothing to call me back to Swanage." She spread
[271] out her plump arms. "I am all at your disposal. Let me go
[272] down to this house whose name I forget instead of you."
[273]
[274] "Aunt Juley"--she jumped up and kissed her--"I must,
[275] must go to Howards End myself. You don't exactly
[276] understand, though I can never thank you properly for offering."
[277]
[278] "I do understand," retorted Mrs. Munt, with immense
[279] confidence. "I go down in no spirit of interference, but to
[280] make inquiries. Inquiries are necessary. Now, I am going
[281] to be rude. You would say the wrong thing; to a certainty
[282] you would. In your anxiety for Helen's happiness you would
[283] offend the whole of these Wilcoxes by asking one of your
[284] impetuous questions--not that one minds offending them."
[285]
[286] "I shall ask no questions. I have it in Helen's writing
[287] that she and a man are in love. There is no question to ask
[288] as long as she keeps to that. All the rest isn't worth a
[289] straw. A long engagement if you like, but inquiries,
[290] questions, plans, lines of action--no, Aunt Juley, no."
[291]
[292] Away she hurried, not beautiful, not supremely
[293] brilliant, but filled with something that took the place of
[294] both qualities--something best described as a profound
[295] vivacity, a continual and sincere response to all that she
[296] encountered in her path through life.
[297]
[298] "If Helen had written the same to me about a
[299] shop-assistant or a penniless clerk--"
[300]
[301] "Dear Margaret, do come into the library and shut the
[302] door. Your good maids are dusting the banisters."
[303]
[304] "--or if she had wanted to marry the man who calls for
[305] Carter Paterson, I should have said the same." Then, with
[306] one of those turns that convinced her aunt that she was not
[307] mad really and convinced observers of another type that she
[308] was not a barren theorist, she added: "Though in the case of
[309] Carter Paterson I should want it to be a very long
[310] engagement indeed, I must say."
[311]
[312] "I should think so," said Mrs. Munt; "and, indeed, I can
[313] scarcely follow you. Now, just imagine if you said anything
[314] of that sort to the Wilcoxes. I understand it, but most
[315] good people would think you mad. Imagine how disconcerting
[316] for Helen! What is wanted is a person who will go slowly,
[317] slowly in this business, and see how things are and where
[318] they are likely to lead to."
[319]
[320] Margaret was down on this.
[321]
[322] "But you implied just now that the engagement must be
[323] broken off."
[324]
[325] "I think probably it must; but slowly."
[326]
[327] "Can you break an engagement off slowly?" Her eyes lit
[328] up. "What's an engagement made of, do you suppose? I think
[329] it's made of some hard stuff, that may snap, but can't
[330] break. It is different to the other ties of life. They
[331] stretch or bend. They admit of degree. They're different."
[332]
[333] "Exactly so. But won't you let me just run down to
[334] Howards House, and save you all the discomfort? I will
[335] really not interfere, but I do so thoroughly understand the
[336] kind of thing you Schlegels want that one quiet look round
[337] will be enough for me."
[338]
[339] Margaret again thanked her, again kissed her, and then
[340] ran upstairs to see her brother.
[341]
[342] He was not so well.
[343]
[344] The hay fever had worried him a good deal all night.
[345] His head ached, his eyes were wet, his mucous membrane, he
[346] informed her, was in a most unsatisfactory condition. The
[347] only thing that made life worth living was the thought of
[348] Walter Savage Landor, from whose IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS she
[349] had promised to read at frequent intervals during the day.
[350]
[351] It was rather difficult. Something must be done about
[352] Helen. She must be assured that it is not a criminal
[353] offence to love at first sight. A telegram to this effect
[354] would be cold and cryptic, a personal visit seemed each
[355] moment more impossible. Now the doctor arrived, and said
[356] that Tibby was quite bad. Might it really be best to accept
[357] Aunt Juley's kind offer, and to send her down to Howards End
[358] with a note?
[359]
[360] Certainly Margaret was impulsive. She did swing rapidly
[361] from one decision to another. Running downstairs into the
[362] library, she cried--"Yes, I have changed my mind; I do wish
[363] that you would go."
[364]
[365] There was a train from King's Cross at eleven. At
[366] half-past ten Tibby, with rare self-effacement, fell asleep,
[367] and Margaret was able to drive her aunt to the station.
[368]
[369] "You will remember, Aunt Juley, not to be drawn into
[370] discussing the engagement. Give my letter to Helen, and say
[371] whatever you feel yourself, but do keep clear of the
[372] relatives. We have scarcely got their names straight yet,
[373] and besides, that sort of thing is so uncivilized and wrong.
[374]
[375] "So uncivilized?" queried Mrs. Munt, fearing that she
[376] was losing the point of some brilliant remark.
[377]
[378] "Oh, I used an affected word. I only meant would you
[379] please only talk the thing over with Helen."
[380]
[381] "Only with Helen."
[382]
[383] "Because--" But it was no moment to expound the personal
[384] nature of love. Even Margaret shrank from it, and contented
[385] herself with stroking her good aunt's hand, and with
[386] meditating, half sensibly and half poetically, on the
[387] journey that was about to begin from King's Cross.
[388]
[389] Like many others who have lived long in a great capital,
[390] she had strong feelings about the various railway termini.
[391] They are our gates to the glorious and the unknown. Through
[392] them we pass out into adventure and sunshine, to them alas!
[393] we return. In Paddington all Cornwall is latent and the
[394] remoter west; down the inclines of Liverpool Street lie
[395] fenlands and the illimitable Broads; Scotland is through the
[396] pylons of Euston; Wessex behind the poised chaos of
[397] Waterloo. Italians realize this, as is natural; those of
[398] them who are so unfortunate as to serve as waiters in Berlin
[399] call the Anhalt Bahnhof the Stazione d'Italia, because by it
[400] they must return to their homes. And he is a chilly
[401] Londoner who does not endow his stations with some
[402] personality, and extend to them, however shyly, the emotions
[403] of fear and love.
[404]
[405] To Margaret--I hope that it will not set the reader
[406] against her--the station of King's Cross had always
[407] suggested Infinity. Its very situation--withdrawn a little
[408] behind the facile splendours of St. Pancras--implied a
[409] comment on the materialism of life. Those two great arches,
[410] colourless, indifferent, shouldering between them an
[411] unlovely clock, were fit portals for some eternal adventure,
[412] whose issue might be prosperous, but would certainly not be
[413] expressed in the ordinary language of prosperity. If you
[414] think this ridiculous, remember that it is not Margaret who
[415] is telling you about it; and let me hasten to add that they
[416] were in plenty of time for the train; that Mrs. Munt, though
[417] she took a second-class ticket, was put by the guard into a
[418] first (only two seconds on the train, one smoking and the
[419] other babies--one cannot be expected to travel with babies);
[420] and that Margaret, on her return to Wickham Place, was
[421] confronted with the following telegram:
[422]
[423] ALL OVER. WISH I HAD NEVER WRITTEN. TELL NO ONE.
[424] --HELEN
[425]
[426] But Aunt Juley was gone--gone irrevocably, and no power
[427] on earth could stop her.
[428]
[429]
[430] Chapter 3
[431]
[432] Most complacently did Mrs. Munt rehearse her mission. Her
[433] nieces were independent young women, and it was not often
[434] that she was able to help them. Emily's daughters had never
[435] been quite like other girls. They had been left motherless
[436] when Tibby was born, when Helen was five and Margaret
[437] herself but thirteen. It was before the passing of the
[438] Deceased Wife's Sister Bill, so Mrs. Munt could without
[439] impropriety offer to go and keep house at Wickham Place.
[440] But her brother-in-law, who was peculiar and a German, had
[441] referred the question to Margaret, who with the crudity of
[442] youth had answered, "No, they could manage much better
[443] alone." Five years later Mr. Schlegel had died too, and Mrs.
[444] Munt had repeated her offer. Margaret, crude no longer, had
[445] been grateful and extremely nice, but the substance of her
[446] answer had been the same. "I must not interfere a third
[447] time," thought Mrs. Munt. However, of course she did. She
[448] learnt, to her horror, that Margaret, now of age, was taking
[449] her money out of the old safe investments and putting it
[450] into Foreign Things, which always smash. Silence would have
[451] been criminal. Her own fortune was invested in Home Rails,
[452] and most ardently did she beg her niece to imitate her.
[453] "Then we should be together, dear." Margaret, out of
[454] politeness, invested a few hundreds in the Nottingham and
[455] Derby Railway, and though the Foreign Things did admirably
[456] and the Nottingham and Derby declined with the steady
[457] dignity of which only Home Rails are capable, Mrs. Munt
[458] never ceased to rejoice, and to say, "I did manage that, at
[459] all events. When the smash comes poor Margaret will have a
[460] nest-egg to fall back upon." This year Helen came of age,
[461] and exactly the same thing happened in Helen's case; she
[462] also would shift her money out of Consols, but she, too,
[463] almost without being pressed, consecrated a fraction of it
[464] to the Nottingham and Derby Railway. So far so good, but in
[465] social matters their aunt had accomplished nothing. Sooner
[466] or later the girls would enter on the process known as
[467] throwing themselves away, and if they had delayed hitherto,
[468] it was only that they might throw themselves more vehemently
[469] in the future. They saw too many people at Wickham
[470] Place--unshaven musicians, an actress even, German cousins
[471] (one knows what foreigners are), acquaintances picked up at
[472] Continental hotels (one knows what they are too). It was
[473] interesting, and down at Swanage no one appreciated culture
[474] more than Mrs. Munt; but it was dangerous, and disaster was
[475] bound to come. How right she was, and how lucky to be on
[476] the spot when the disaster came!
[477]
[478] The train sped northward, under innumerable tunnels. It
[479] was only an hour's journey, but Mrs. Munt had to raise and
[480] lower the window again and again. She passed through the
[481] South Welwyn Tunnel, saw light for a moment, and entered the
[482] North Welwyn Tunnel, of tragic fame. She traversed the
[483] immense viaduct, whose arches span untroubled meadows and
[484] the dreamy flow of Tewin Water. She skirted the parks of
[485] politicians. At times the Great North Road accompanied her,
[486] more suggestive of infinity than any railway, awakening,
[487] after a nap of a hundred years, to such life as is conferred
[488] by the stench of motor-cars, and to such culture as is
[489] implied by the advertisements of antibilious pills. To
[490] history, to tragedy, to the past, to the future, Mrs. Munt
[491] remained equally indifferent; hers but to concentrate on the
[492] end of her journey, and to rescue poor Helen from this
[493] dreadful mess.
[494]
[495] The station for Howards End was at Hilton, one of the
[496] large villages that are strung so frequently along the North
[497] Road, and that owe their size to the traffic of coaching and
[498] pre-coaching days. Being near London, it had not shared in
[499] the rural decay, and its long High Street had budded out
[500] right and left into residential estates. For about a mile a
[501] series of tiled and slated houses passed before Mrs. Munt's
[502] inattentive eyes, a series broken at one point by six Danish
[503] tumuli that stood shoulder to shoulder along the highroad,
[504] tombs of soldiers. Beyond these tumuli habitations
[505] thickened, and the train came to a standstill in a tangle
[506] that was almost a town.
[507]
[508] The station, like the scenery, like Helen's letters,
[509] struck an indeterminate note. Into which country will it
[510] lead, England or Suburbia? It was new, it had island
[511] platforms and a subway, and the superficial comfort exacted
[512] by business men. But it held hints of local life, personal
[513] intercourse, as even Mrs. Munt was to discover.
[514]
[515] "I want a house," she confided to the ticket boy. "Its
[516] name is Howards Lodge. Do you know where it is?"
[517]
[518] "Mr. Wilcox!" the boy called.
[519]
[520] A young man in front of them turned round.
[521]
[522] "She's wanting Howards End."
[523]
[524] There was nothing for it but to go forward, though Mrs.
[525] Munt was too much agitated even to stare at the stranger.
[526] But remembering that there were two brothers, she had the
[527] sense to say to him, "Excuse me asking, but are you the
[528] younger Mr. Wilcox or the elder?"
[529]
[530] "The younger. Can I do anything for you?"
[531]
[532] "Oh, well"--she controlled herself with difficulty.
[533] "Really. Are you? I--" She moved away from the ticket boy
[534] and lowered her voice. "I am Miss Schlegels aunt. I ought
[535] to introduce myself, oughtn't I? My name is Mrs. Munt."
[536]
[537] She was conscious that he raised his cap and said quite
[538] coolly, "Oh, rather; Miss Schlegel is stopping with us. Did
[539] you want to see her?"
[540]
[541] "Possibly--"
[542]
[543] "I'll call you a cab. No; wait a mo--" He thought.
[544] "Our motor's here. I'll run you up in it."
[545]
[546] "That is very kind--"
[547]
[548] "Not at all, if you'll just wait till they bring out a
[549] parcel from the office. This way."
[550]
[551] "My niece is not with you by any chance?"
[552]
[553] "No; I came over with my father. He has gone on north
[554] in your train. You'll see Miss Schlegel at lunch. You're
[555] coming up to lunch, I hope?"
[556]
[557] "I should like to come UP," said Mrs. Munt, not
[558] committing herself to nourishment until she had studied
[559] Helen's lover a little more. He seemed a gentleman, but had
[560] so rattled her round that her powers of observation were
[561] numbed. She glanced at him stealthily. To a feminine eye
[562] there was nothing amiss in the sharp depressions at the
[563] corners of his mouth, nor in the rather box-like
[564] construction of his forehead. He was dark, clean-shaven and
[565] seemed accustomed to command.
[566]
[567] "In front or behind? Which do you prefer? It may be
[568] windy in front."
[569]
[570] "In front if I may; then we can talk."
[571]
[572] "But excuse me one moment--I can't think what they're
[573] doing with that parcel." He strode into the booking-office
[574] and called with a new voice: "Hi! hi, you there! Are you
[575] going to keep me waiting all day? Parcel for Wilcox,
[576] Howards End. Just look sharp!" Emerging, he said in
[577] quieter tones: "This station's abominably organized; if I
[578] had my way, the whole lot of 'em should get the sack. May I
[579] help you in?"
[580]
[581] "This is very good of you," said Mrs. Munt, as she
[582] settled herself into a luxurious cavern of red leather, and
[583] suffered her person to be padded with rugs and shawls. She
[584] was more civil than she had intended, but really this young
[585] man was very kind. Moreover, she was a little afraid of
[586] him: his self-possession was extraordinary. "Very good
[587] indeed," she repeated, adding: "It is just what I should
[588] have wished."
[589]
[590] "Very good of you to say so," he replied, with a slight
[591] look of surprise, which, like most slight looks, escaped
[592] Mrs. Munt's attention. "I was just tooling my father over
[593] to catch the down train."
[594]
[595] "You see, we heard from Helen this morning."
[596]
[597] Young Wilcox was pouring in petrol, starting his engine,
[598] and performing other actions with which this story has no
[599] concern. The great car began to rock, and the form of Mrs.
[600] Munt, trying to explain things, sprang agreeably up and down
[601] among the red cushions. "The mater will be very glad to see
[602] you," he mumbled. "Hi! I say. Parcel for Howards End.
[603] Bring it out. Hi!"
[604]
[605] A bearded porter emerged with the parcel in one hand and
[606] an entry book in the other. With the gathering whir of the
[607] motor these ejaculations mingled: "Sign, must I? Why
[608] the--should I sign after all this bother? Not even got a
[609] pencil on you? Remember next time I report you to the
[610] station-master. My time's of value, though yours mayn't
[611] be. Here"--here being a tip.
[612]
[613] "Extremely sorry, Mrs. Munt."
[614]
[615] "Not at all, Mr. Wilcox."
[616]
[617] "And do you object to going through the village? It is
[618] rather a longer spin, but I have one or two commissions."
[619]
[620] "I should love going through the village. Naturally I
[621] am very anxious to talk things over with you."
[622]
[623] As she said this she felt ashamed, for she was
[624] disobeying Margaret's instructions. Only disobeying them in
[625] the letter, surely. Margaret had only warned her against
[626] discussing the incident with outsiders. Surely it was not
[627] "uncivilized or wrong" to discuss it with the young man
[628] himself, since chance had thrown them together.
[629]
[630] A reticent fellow, he made no reply. Mounting by her
[631] side, he put on gloves and spectacles, and off they drove,
[632] the bearded porter--life is a mysterious business--looking
[633] after them with admiration.
[634]
[635] The wind was in their faces down the station road,
[636] blowing the dust into Mrs. Munt's eyes. But as soon as they
[637] turned into the Great North Road she opened fire. "You can
[638] well imagine," she said, "that the news was a great shock to
[639] us."
[640]
[641] "What news?"
[642]
[643] "Mr. Wilcox," she said frankly. "Margaret has told me
[644] everything--everything. I have seen Helen's letter."
[645]
[646] He could not look her in the face, as his eyes were
[647] fixed on his work; he was travelling as quickly as he dared
[648] down the High Street. But he inclined his head in her
[649] direction, and said, "I beg your pardon; I didn't catch."
[650]
[651] "About Helen. Helen, of course. Helen is a very
[652] exceptional person--I am sure you will let me say this,
[653] feeling towards her as you do--indeed, all the Schlegels are
[654] exceptional. I come in no spirit of interference, but it
[655] was a great shock."
[656]
[657] They drew up opposite a draper's. Without replying, he
[658] turned round in his seat, and contemplated the cloud of dust
[659] that they had raised in their passage through the village.
[660] It was settling again, but not all into the road from which
[661] he had taken it. Some of it had percolated through the open
[662] windows, some had whitened the roses and gooseberries of the
[663] wayside gardens, while a certain proportion had entered the
[664] lungs of the villagers. "I wonder when they'll learn wisdom
[665] and tar the roads," was his comment. Then a man ran out of
[666] the draper's with a roll of oilcloth, and off they went again.
[667]
[668] "Margaret could not come herself, on account of poor
[669] Tibby, so I am here to represent her and to have a good talk."
[670]
[671] "I'm sorry to be so dense," said the young man, again
[672] drawing up outside a shop. "But I still haven't quite understood."
[673]
[674] "Helen, Mr. Wilcox--my niece and you."
[675]
[676] He pushed up his goggles and gazed at her, absolutely
[677] bewildered. Horror smote her to the heart, for even she
[678] began to suspect that they were at cross-purposes, and that
[679] she had commenced her mission by some hideous blunder.
[680]
[681] "Miss Schlegel and myself." he asked, compressing his lips.
[682]
[683] "I trust there has been no misunderstanding," quavered
[684] Mrs. Munt. "Her letter certainly read that way."
[685]
[686] "What way?"
[687]
[688] "That you and she--" She paused, then drooped her eyelids.
[689]
[690] "I think I catch your meaning," he said stickily. "What
[691] an extraordinary mistake!"
[692]
[693] "Then you didn't the least--" she stammered, getting
[694] blood-red in the face, and wishing she had never been born.
[695]
[696] "Scarcely, as I am already engaged to another lady."
[697] There was a moment's silence, and then he caught his breath
[698] and exploded with, "Oh, good God! Don't tell me it's some
[699] silliness of Paul's."
[700]
[701] "But you are Paul."
[702]
[703] "I'm not."
[704]
[705] "Then why did you say so at the station?"
[706]
[707] "I said nothing of the sort."
[708]
[709] "I beg your pardon, you did."
[710]
[711] "I beg your pardon, I did not. My name is Charles."
[712]
[713] "Younger" may mean son as opposed to father, or second
[714] brother as opposed to first. There is much to be said for
[715] either view, and later on they said it. But they had other
[716] questions before them now.
[717]
[718] "Do you mean to tell me that Paul--"
[719]
[720] But she did not like his voice. He sounded as if he was
[721] talking to a porter, and, certain that he had deceived her
[722] at the station, she too grew angry.
[723]
[724] "Do you mean to tell me that Paul and your niece--"
[725]
[726] Mrs. Munt--such is human nature--determined that she
[727] would champion the lovers. She was not going to be bullied
[728] by a severe young man. "Yes, they care for one another very
[729] much indeed," she said. "I dare say they will tell you
[730] about it by-and-by. We heard this morning."
[731]
[732] And Charles clenched his fist and cried, "The idiot, the
[733] idiot, the little fool!"
[734]
[735] Mrs. Munt tried to divest herself of her rugs. "If that
[736] is your attitude, Mr. Wilcox, I prefer to walk."
[737]
[738] "I beg you will do no such thing. I'll take you up this
[739] moment to the house. Let me tell you the thing's
[740] impossible, and must be stopped."
[741]
[742] Mrs. Munt did not often lose her temper, and when she
[743] did it was only to protect those whom she loved. On this
[744] occasion she blazed out. "I quite agree, sir. The thing is
[745] impossible, and I will come up and stop it. My niece is a
[746] very exceptional person, and I am not inclined to sit still
[747] while she throws herself away on those who will not
[748] appreciate her."
[749]
[750] Charles worked his jaws.
[751]
[752] "Considering she has only known your brother since
[753] Wednesday, and only met your father and mother at a stray hotel--"
[754]
[755] "Could you possibly lower your voice? The shopman will overhear."
[756]
[757] "Esprit de classe"--if one may coin the phrase--was
[758] strong in Mrs. Munt. She sat quivering while a member of
[759] the lower orders deposited a metal funnel, a saucepan, and a
[760] garden squirt beside the roll of oilcloth.
[761]
[762] "Right behind?"
[763]
[764] "Yes, sir." And the lower orders vanished in a cloud of dust.
[765]
[766] "I warn you: Paul hasn't a penny; it's useless."
[767]
[768] "No need to warn us, Mr. Wilcox, I assure you. The
[769] warning is all the other way. My niece has been very
[770] foolish, and I shall give her a good scolding and take her
[771] back to London with me."
[772]
[773] "He has to make his way out in Nigeria. He couldn't
[774] think of marrying for years and when he does it must be a
[775] woman who can stand the climate, and is in other ways--Why
[776] hasn't he told us? Of course he's ashamed. He knows he's
[777] been a fool. And so he has--a damned fool."
[778]
[779] She grew furious.
[780]
[781] "Whereas Miss Schlegel has lost no time in publishing
[782] the news."
[783]
[784] "If I were a man, Mr. Wilcox, for that last remark I'd
[785] box your ears. You're not fit to clean my niece's boots, to
[786] sit in the same room with her, and you dare--you actually
[787] dare--I decline to argue with such a person."
[788]
[789] "All I know is, she's spread the thing and he hasn't,
[790] and my father's away and I--"
[791]
[792] "And all that I know is--"
[793]
[794] "Might I finish my sentence, please?"
[795]
[796] "No."
[797]
[798] Charles clenched his teeth and sent the motor swerving
[799] all over the lane.
[800]
[801] She screamed.
[802]
[803] So they played the game of Capping Families, a round of
[804] which is always played when love would unite two members of
[805] our race. But they played it with unusual vigour, stating
[806] in so many words that Schlegels were better than Wilcoxes,
[807] Wilcoxes better than Schlegels. They flung decency aside.
[808] The man was young, the woman deeply stirred; in both a vein
[809] of coarseness was latent. Their quarrel was no more
[810] surprising than are most quarrels--inevitable at the time,
[811] incredible afterwards. But it was more than usually
[812] futile. A few minutes, and they were enlightened. The
[813] motor drew up at Howards End, and Helen, looking very pale,
[814] ran out to meet her aunt.
[815]
[816] "Aunt Juley, I have just had a telegram from Margaret;
[817] I--I meant to stop your coming. It isn't--it's over."
[818]
[819] The climax was too much for Mrs. Munt. She burst into tears.
[820]
[821] "Aunt Juley dear, don't. Don't let them know I've been
[822] so silly. It wasn't anything. Do bear up for my sake."
[823]
[824] "Paul," cried Charles Wilcox, pulling his gloves off.
[825]
[826] "Don't let them know. They are never to know."
[827]
[828] "Oh, my darling Helen--"
[829]
[830] "Paul! Paul!"
[831]
[832] A very young man came out of the house.
[833]
[834] "Paul, is there any truth in this?"
[835]
[836] "I didn't--I don't--"
[837]
[838] "Yes or no, man; plain question, plain answer. Did or
[839] didn't Miss Schlegel--"
[840]
[841] "Charles dear," said a voice from the garden. "Charles,
[842] dear Charles, one doesn't ask plain questions. There aren't
[843] such things."
[844]
[845] They were all silent. It was Mrs. Wilcox.
[846]
[847] She approached just as Helen's letter had described her,
[848] trailing noiselessly over the lawn, and there was actually a
[849] wisp of hay in her hands. She seemed to belong not to the
[850] young people and their motor, but to the house, and to the
[851] tree that overshadowed it. One knew that she worshipped the
[852] past, and that the instinctive wisdom the past can alone
[853] bestow had descended upon her--that wisdom to which we give
[854] the clumsy name of aristocracy. High born she might not
[855] be. But assuredly she cared about her ancestors, and let
[856] them help her. When she saw Charles angry, Paul frightened,
[857] and Mrs. Munt in tears, she heard her ancestors say,
[858] "Separate those human beings who will hurt each other most.
[859] The rest can wait." So she did not ask questions. Still
[860] less did she pretend that nothing had happened, as a
[861] competent society hostess would have done. She said, "Miss
[862] Schlegel, would you take your aunt up to your room or to my
[863] room, whichever you think best. Paul, do find Evie, and
[864] tell her lunch for six, but I'm not sure whether we shall
[865] all be downstairs for it." And when they had obeyed her, she
[866] turned to her elder son, who still stood in the throbbing
[867] stinking car, and smiled at him with tenderness, and without
[868] a word, turned away from him towards her flowers.
[869]
[870] "Mother," he called, "are you aware that Paul has been
[871] playing the fool again?"
[872]
[873] "It's all right, dear. They have broken off the engagement."
[874]
[875] "Engagement--!"
[876]
[877] "They do not love any longer, if you prefer it put that
[878] way," said Mrs. Wilcox, stooping down to smell a rose.
[879]
[880]
[881] Chapter 4
[882]
[883] Helen and her aunt returned to Wickham Place in a state of
[884] collapse, and for a little time Margaret had three invalids
[885] on her hands. Mrs. Munt soon recovered. She possessed to a
[886] remarkable degree the power of distorting the past, and
[887] before many days were over she had forgotten the part played
[888] by her own imprudence in the catastrophe. Even at the
[889] crisis she had cried, "Thank goodness, poor Margaret is
[890] saved this!" which during the journey to London evolved
[891] into, "It had to be gone through by someone," which in its
[892] turn ripened into the permanent form of "The one time I
[893] really did help Emily's girls was over the Wilcox
[894] business." But Helen was a more serious patient. New ideas
[895] had burst upon her like a thunder clap, and by them and by
[896] her reverberations she had been stunned.
[897]
[898] The truth was that she had fallen in love, not with an
[899] individual, but with a family.
[900]
[901] Before Paul arrived she had, as it were, been tuned up
[902] into his key. The energy of the Wilcoxes had fascinated
[903] her, had created new images of beauty in her responsive
[904] mind. To be all day with them in the open air, to sleep at
[905] night under their roof, had seemed the supreme joy of life,
[906] and had led to that abandonment of personality that is a
[907] possible prelude to love. She had liked giving in to Mr.
[908] Wilcox, or Evie, or Charles; she had liked being told that
[909] her notions of life were sheltered or academic; that
[910] Equality was nonsense, Votes for Women nonsense, Socialism
[911] nonsense, Art and Literature, except when conducive to
[912] strengthening the character, nonsense. One by one the
[913] Schlegel fetiches had been overthrown, and, though
[914] professing to defend them, she had rejoiced. When Mr.
[915] Wilcox said that one sound man of business did more good to
[916] the world than a dozen of your social reformers, she had
[917] swallowed the curious assertion without a gasp, and had
[918] leant back luxuriously among the cushions of his motor-car.
[919] When Charles said, "Why be so polite to servants? they
[920] don't understand it," she had not given the Schlegel retort
[921] of, "If they don't understand it, I do." No; she had vowed
[922] to be less polite to servants in the future. "I am swathed
[923] in cant," she thought, "and it is good for me to be stripped
[924] of it." And all that she thought or did or breathed was a
[925] quiet preparation for Paul. Paul was inevitable. Charles
[926] was taken up with another girl, Mr. Wilcox was so old, Evie
[927] so young, Mrs. Wilcox so different. Round the absent
[928] brother she began to throw the halo of Romance, to irradiate
[929] him with all the splendour of those happy days, to feel that
[930] in him she should draw nearest to the robust ideal. He and
[931] she were about the same age, Evie said. Most people thought
[932] Paul handsomer than his brother. He was certainly a better
[933] shot, though not so good at golf. And when Paul appeared,
[934] flushed with the triumph of getting through an examination,
[935] and ready to flirt with any pretty girl, Helen met him
[936] halfway, or more than halfway, and turned towards him on the
[937] Sunday evening.
[938]
[939] He had been talking of his approaching exile in Nigeria,
[940] and he should have continued to talk of it, and allowed
[941] their guest to recover. But the heave of her bosom
[942] flattered him. Passion was possible, and he became
[943] passionate. Deep down in him something whispered, "This
[944] girl would let you kiss her; you might not have such a
[945] chance again."
[946]
[947] That was "how it happened," or, rather, how Helen
[948] described it to her sister, using words even more
[949] unsympathetic than my own. But the poetry of that kiss, the
[950] wonder of it, the magic that there was in life for hours
[951] after it--who can describe that? It is so easy for an
[952] Englishman to sneer at these chance collisions of human
[953] beings. To the insular cynic and the insular moralist they
[954] offer an equal opportunity. It is so easy to talk of
[955] "passing emotion," and how to forget how vivid the emotion
[956] was ere it passed. Our impulse to sneer, to forget, is at
[957] root a good one. We recognize that emotion is not enough,
[958] and that men and women are personalities capable of
[959] sustained relations, not mere opportunities for an
[960] electrical discharge. Yet we rate the impulse too highly.
[961] We do not admit that by collisions of this trivial sort the
[962] doors of heaven may be shaken open. To Helen, at all
[963] events, her life was to bring nothing more intense than the
[964] embrace of this boy who played no part in it. He had drawn
[965] her out of the house, where there was danger of surprise and
[966] light; he had led her by a path he knew, until they stood
[967] under the column of the vast wych-elm. A man in the
[968] darkness, he had whispered "I love you" when she was
[969] desiring love. In time his slender personality faded, the
[970] scene that he had evoked endured. In all the variable years
[971] that followed she never saw the like of it again.
[972]
[973] "I understand," said Margaret--"at least, I understand
[974] as much as ever is understood of these things. Tell me now
[975] what happened on the Monday morning."
[976]
[977] "It was over at once."
[978]
[979] "How, Helen?"
[980]
[981] "I was still happy while I dressed, but as I came
[982] downstairs I got nervous, and when I went into the
[983] dining-room I knew it was no good. There was Evie--I can't
[984] explain--managing the tea-urn, and Mr. Wilcox reading the
[985] TIMES."
[986]
[987] "Was Paul there?"
[988]
[989] "Yes; and Charles was talking to him about Stocks and
[990] Shares, and he looked frightened."
[991]
[992] By slight indications the sisters could convey much to
[993] each other. Margaret saw horror latent in the scene, and
[994] Helen's next remark did not surprise her.
[995]
[996] "Somehow, when that kind of man looks frightened it is
[997] too awful. It is all right for us to be frightened, or for
[998] men of another sort--father, for instance; but for men like
[999] that! When I saw all the others so placid, and Paul mad
[1000] with terror in case I said the wrong thing, I felt for a
[1001] moment that the whole Wilcox family was a fraud, just a wall
[1002] of newspapers and motor-cars and golf-clubs, and that if it
[1003] fell I should find nothing behind it but panic and
[1004] emptiness. "
[1005]
[1006] "I don't think that. The Wilcoxes struck me as being
[1007] genuine people, particularly the wife."
[1008]
[1009] "No, I don't really think that. But Paul was so
[1010] broad-shouldered; all kinds of extraordinary things made it
[1011] worse, and I knew that it would never do--never. I said to
[1012] him after breakfast, when the others were practising
[1013] strokes, 'We rather lost our heads,' and he looked better at
[1014] once, though frightfully ashamed. He began a speech about
[1015] having no money to marry on, but it hurt him to make it, and
[1016] I--stopped him. Then he said, 'I must beg your pardon over
[1017] this, Miss Schlegel; I can't think what came over me last
[1018] night.' And I said, 'Nor what over me; never mind.' And then
[1019] we parted--at least, until I remembered that I had written
[1020] straight off to tell you the night before, and that
[1021] frightened him again. I asked him to send a telegram for
[1022] me, for he knew you would be coming or something; and he
[1023] tried to get hold of the motor, but Charles and Mr. Wilcox
[1024] wanted it to go to the station; and Charles offered to send
[1025] the telegram for me, and then I had to say that the telegram
[1026] was of no consequence, for Paul said Charles might read it,
[1027] and though I wrote it out several times, he always said
[1028] people would suspect something. He took it himself at last,
[1029] pretending that he must walk down to get cartridges, and,
[1030] what with one thing and the other, it was not handed in at
[1031] the Post Office until too late. It was the most terrible
[1032] morning. Paul disliked me more and more, and Evie talked
[1033] cricket averages till I nearly screamed. I cannot think how
[1034] I stood her all the other days. At last Charles and his
[1035] father started for the station, and then came your telegram
[1036] warning me that Aunt Juley was coming by that train, and
[1037] Paul--oh, rather horrible--said that I had muddled it. But
[1038] Mrs. Wilcox knew."
[1039]
[1040] "Knew what?"
[1041]
[1042] "Everything; though we neither of us told her a word,
[1043] and had known all along, I think."
[1044]
[1045] "Oh, she must have overheard you."
[1046]
[1047] "I suppose so, but it seemed wonderful. When Charles and
[1048] Aunt Juley drove up, calling each other names, Mrs. Wilcox
[1049] stepped in from the garden and made everything less
[1050] terrible. Ugh! but it has been a disgusting business. To
[1051] think that--" She sighed.
[1052]
[1053] "To think that because you and a young man meet for a
[1054] moment, there must be all these telegrams and anger,"
[1055] supplied Margaret.
[1056]
[1057] Helen nodded.
[1058]
[1059] "I've often thought about it, Helen. It's one of the
[1060] most interesting things in the world. The truth is that
[1061] there is a great outer life that you and I have never
[1062] touched--a life in which telegrams and anger count.
[1063] Personal relations, that we think supreme, are not supreme
[1064] there. There love means marriage settlements, death, death
[1065] duties. So far I'm clear. But here my difficulty. This
[1066] outer life, though obviously horrid, often seems the real
[1067] one--there's grit in it. It does breed character. Do
[1068] personal relations lead to sloppiness in the end?"
[1069]
[1070] "Oh, Meg, that's what I felt, only not so clearly, when
[1071] the Wilcoxes were so competent, and seemed to have their
[1072] hands on all the ropes. "
[1073]
[1074] "Don't you feel it now?"
[1075]
[1076] "I remember Paul at breakfast," said Helen quietly. "I
[1077] shall never forget him. He had nothing to fall back upon.
[1078] I know that personal relations are the real life, for ever
[1079] and ever.
[1080]
[1081] "Amen!"
[1082]
[1083] So the Wilcox episode fell into the background, leaving
[1084] behind it memories of sweetness and horror that mingled, and
[1085] the sisters pursued the life that Helen had commended. They
[1086] talked to each other and to other people, they filled the
[1087] tall thin house at Wickham Place with those whom they liked
[1088] or could befriend. They even attended public meetings. In
[1089] their own fashion they cared deeply about politics, though
[1090] not as politicians would have us care; they desired that
[1091] public life should mirror whatever is good in the life
[1092] within. Temperance, tolerance, and sexual equality were
[1093] intelligible cries to them; whereas they did not follow our
[1094] Forward Policy in Thibet with the keen attention that it
[1095] merits, and would at times dismiss the whole British Empire
[1096] with a puzzled, if reverent, sigh. Not out of them are the
[1097] shows of history erected: the world would be a grey,
[1098] bloodless place were it entirely composed of Miss
[1099] Schlegels. But the world being what it is, perhaps they
[1100] shine out in it like stars.
[1101]
[1102] A word on their origin. They were not "English to the
[1103] backbone," as their aunt had piously asserted. But, on the
[1104] other band, they were not "Germans of the dreadful sort."
[1105] Their father had belonged to a type that was more prominent
[1106] in Germany fifty years ago than now. He was not the
[1107] aggressive German, so dear to the English journalist, nor
[1108] the domestic German, so dear to the English wit. If one
[1109] classed him at all it would be as the countryman of Hegel
[1110] and Kant, as the idealist, inclined to be dreamy, whose
[1111] Imperialism was the Imperialism of the air. Not that his
[1112] life had been inactive. He had fought like blazes against
[1113] Denmark, Austria, France. But he had fought without
[1114] visualizing the results of victory. A hint of the truth
[1115] broke on him after Sedan, when he saw the dyed moustaches of
[1116] Napoleon going grey; another when he entered Paris, and saw
[1117] the smashed windows of the Tuileries. Peace came--it was
[1118] all very immense, one had turned into an Empire--but he knew
[1119] that some quality had vanished for which not all
[1120] Alsace-Lorraine could compensate him. Germany a commercial
[1121] Power, Germany a naval Power, Germany with colonies here and
[1122] a Forward Policy there, and legitimate aspirations in the
[1123] other place, might appeal to others, and be fitly served by
[1124] them; for his own part, he abstained from the fruits of
[1125] victory, and naturalized himself in England. The more
[1126] earnest members of his family never forgave him, and knew
[1127] that his children, though scarcely English of the dreadful
[1128] sort, would never be German to the backbone. He had
[1129] obtained work in one of our provincial Universities, and
[1130] there married Poor Emily (or Die Englanderin as the case may
[1131] be), and as she had money, they proceeded to London, and
[1132] came to know a good many people. But his gaze was always
[1133] fixed beyond the sea. It was his hope that the clouds of
[1134] materialism obscuring the Fatherland would part in time, and
[1135] the mild intellectual light re-emerge. "Do you imply that
[1136] we Germans are stupid, Uncle Ernst?" exclaimed a haughty and
[1137] magnificent nephew. Uncle Ernst replied, "To my mind. You
[1138] use the intellect, but you no longer care about it. That I
[1139] call stupidity." As the haughty nephew did not follow, he
[1140] continued, "You only care about the' things that you can
[1141] use, and therefore arrange them in the following order:
[1142] Money, supremely useful; intellect, rather useful;
[1143] imagination, of no use at all. No"--for the other had
[1144] protested--"your Pan-Germanism is no more imaginative than
[1145] is our Imperialism over here. It is the vice of a vulgar
[1146] mind to be thrilled by bigness, to think that a thousand
[1147] square miles are a thousand times more wonderful than one
[1148] square