ChapterITheBertolini
“TheSignora
havde
hadnobusinesstodoit,”sagde
saidMissBartlett,“nobusinessatall.She
lovede
promisedussouthroomswithen
aviewclosetogether,insteadofhvilke
whichherearenorthrooms,ser
lookingintoacourtyard,anden
alongwayapart.Oh,Lucy!”
“And
en
aCockney,besides!”saidLucy,
der
whohadbeenfurthersaddenedbytheSignora’sunexpectedaccent.“It
kan
mightbeLondon.”Shelookedat
de
thetworowsofEnglishpeopleder
whoweresittingatthetable;attherowofwhitebottlesofwater
og
andredbottlesofwineder
thatranbetweentheEnglishpeople;attheportraitsofthe
afdøde
lateQueenandthelatePoetLaureateder
thathungbehindtheEnglishfolk
people,heavilyframed;atthenoticeof
den
theEnglishchurch(Rev.CuthbertEager,M.A.
Oxon.),thatwasthe
eneste
onlyotherdecorationofthewall.“Charlotte,don’tyou
føler
feel,too,thatwemightbeinLondon?I
kan
canhardlybelievethatallkindsofandre
otherthingsarejustoutside.Isupposeitisone’sbeingsotired.”
“Thismeathassurelybeen
brugt
usedforsoup,”saidMissBartlett,layingned
downherfork.“Iwantsoto
se
seetheArno.Therooms
de
theSignorapromisedusinherletterville
wouldhavelookedovertheArno.TheSignora
havde
hadnobusinesstodoitatall.Oh,itis
en
ashame!”“Anynookdoesforme,”MissBartlettcontinued;
“butitdoesseem
svært
hardthatyoushouldn’thaveen
aview.”Lucyfeltthatshe
havde
hadbeenselfish.“Charlotte,youmustn’tspoil
mig
me:ofcourse,youmust
se
lookovertheArno,too.I
mente
meantthat.Thefirstvacant
værelse
roominthefront—”“You
må
musthaveit,”saidMissBartlett,partofwhosetravellingexpenseswerebetalt
paidbyLucy’smother—apieceofgenerositytosom
whichshemademanyatactfulallusion.“No,
nej
no.Youmusthaveit.”“Iinsiston
det
it.Yourmotherwouldneverforgive
mig
me,Lucy.”“Shewouldneverforgiveme.”
Theladies’voicesgrewanimated,and—ifthesadtruthbeowned—a
lidt
littlepeevish.Theyweretired,
og
andundertheguiseofunselfishnesstheywrangled.Nogle
Someoftheirneighboursinterchangedglances,og
andoneofthem—oneofde
theill-bredpeoplewhomonedoesmøder
meetabroad—leantforwardoverthetableog
andactuallyintrudedintotheirargument.He
sagde
said:.“Ihaveaview,I
har
haveaview.”MissBartlettwasstartled.
Generallyat
en
apensionpeoplelookedthemoverforen
adayortwobeforetalte
speaking,andoftendidnotfandt
findoutthattheywould“do”tilltheyhadgone.She
vidste
knewthattheintruderwasill-bred,selv
evenbeforesheglancedatham
him.Hewasanold
mand
man,ofheavybuild,withafair,shavenansigt
faceandlargeeyes.Therewas
noget
somethingchildishinthoseeyes,selv
thoughitwasnotthechildishnessofsenility.What
præcis
exactlyitwasMissBartlettdidnotstoppe
stoptoconsider,forherglancepassedontohisclothes.Disse
Thesedidnotattracther.Hewas
sikkert
probablytryingtobecomeacquaintedwiththemfør
beforetheygotintotheswim.Sosheassumed
en
adazedexpressionwhenhespoketohende
her,andthensaid:“Aview?
Oh,
en
aview!Howdelightfulaviewis!”
“Thisismyson,”
sagde
saidtheoldman;“hisname’sGeorge.
He
har
hasaviewtoo.”“Ah,”
sagde
saidMissBartlett,repressingLucy,der
whowasabouttospeak.“WhatImean,”hecontinued,“is
at
thatyoucanhaveourrooms,og
andwe’llhaveyours.We’llchange.”
The
bedre
betterclassoftouristwasshockedatdette
this,andsympathizedwiththenew-comers.Miss
MissBartlett,inreply,openedhermouthaslidt
littleaspossible,andsaid“Thankyouverymuchindeed;thatisoutof
det
thequestion.”“Why?”
saidthe
gamle
oldman,withbothfistsonden
thetable.“Becauseitis
helt
quiteoutofthequestion,thankyou.”“You
ser
see,wedon’tliketotake—”beganLucy.
Hercousin
igen
againrepressedher.“Butwhy?”
hepersisted.
“Women
lide
likelookingataview;mendon’t.”
Og
Andhethumpedwithhisfistssom
likeanaughtychild,andturnedtohissøn
son,saying,“George,persuadethem!”“It’ssoobviousthey
burde
shouldhavetherooms,”saidthesønnen
son.“There’snothingelsetosay.”
Hedidnot
kiggede
lookattheladiesashetalte
spoke,buthisvoicewasperplexedog
andsorrowful.Lucy,too,wasperplexed;
men
butshesawthattheywereinforwhatiskendt
knownas“quiteascene,”og
andshehadanoddfeelingthatwheneverdisse
theseill-bredtouristsspokethecontestwidenedog
anddeepenedtillitdealt,notmed
withroomsandviews,butwith—well,med
withsomethingquitedifferent,whoseexistenceshehavde
hadnotrealizedbefore.Now
den
theoldmanattackedMissBartlettnæsten
almostviolently:Whyshouldshenot
ændre
change?Whatpossibleobjectionhad
hun
she?Theywouldclearoutin
halv
halfanhour.MissBartlett,
selv
thoughskilledinthedelicaciesofconversation,waspowerlessinde
thepresenceofbrutality.Itwasimpossibletosnub
nogen
anyonesogross.Her
ansigt
facereddenedwithdispleasure.Shelooked
omkring
aroundasmuchastosige
say,“Areyoualllikethis?”Og
Andtwolittleoldladies,der
whoweresittingfurtherupthetable,med
withshawlshangingoverthebacksofthechairs,kiggede
lookedback,clearlyindicating“Wearenot;wearegenteel.”
“Eatyour
aftensmad
dinner,dear,”shesaidtoLucy,og
andbegantotoyagainmed
withthemeatthatshehavde
hadoncecensured.Lucymumbled
at
thatthoseseemedveryoddmennesker
peopleopposite.“Eatyourdinner,dear.
Denne
Thispensionisafailure.To-morrowwe
vil
willmakeachange.”Hardly
havde
hadsheannouncedthisfelldecisionda
whenshereversedit.Thecurtainsatthe
enden
endoftheroomparted,og
andrevealedaclergyman,stoutmen
butattractive,whohurriedforwardtotage
takehisplaceatthetable,cheerfullyapologizingforhislateness.Lucy,
der
whohadnotyetacquireddecency,atoncerosetoherfeet,exclaiming:“Oh,oh!
Why,it’sMr.Beebe!
Oh,
hvor
howperfectlylovely!Oh,Charlotte,we
må
muststopnow,howeverbadtheroomsare.Oh!”
Miss
MissBartlettsaid,withmorerestraint:.“Howdoyoudo,Mr.Beebe?
Iexpect
at
thatyouhaveforgottenus:Miss
MissBartlettandMissHoneychurch,whowereatTunbridgeWellsda
whenyouhelpedtheVicarofSt.Peter’sthatmeget
verycoldEaster.”Theclergyman,who
havde
hadtheairofoneonaholiday,didnothuskede
remembertheladiesquiteasclearlyastheyhuskede
rememberedhim.Buthecameforwardpleasantly
nok
enoughandacceptedthechairintosom
whichhewasbeckonedbyLucy.“Iamsogladto
se
seeyou,”saidthegirl,der
whowasinastateofspiritualstarvation,og
andwouldhavebeengladtose
seethewaiterifhercousinhadpermittedit.“Justfancy
hvor
howsmalltheworldis.Summer
Street
Street,too,makesitsospeciallyfunny.”“MissHoneychurchlivesin
de
theparishofSummerStreet,”sagde
saidMissBartlett,fillingupde
thegap,“andshehappenedtofortælle
tellmeinthecourseofconversationthatyouhar
havejustacceptedtheliving—”.“Yes,I
hørte
heardfrommothersolastuge
week.Shedidn’tknowthatIknewyouatTunbridgeWells;
men
butIwrotebackatonce,og
andIsaid:‘Mr.
Beebeis—’”.
“Quiteright,”
sagde
saidtheclergyman.“ImoveintotheRectoryatSummer
Street
StreetnextJune.Iam
heldig
luckytobeappointedtosuchet
acharmingneighbourhood.”“Oh,howgladIam!
Thenameofour
hus
houseisWindyCorner.”Mr.Beebebowed.
“Thereis
mor
motherandmegenerally,andmybror
brother,thoughit’snotoftenwefår
gethimtoch——Thechurchisrather
langt
faroff,Imean.”“Lucy,dearest,
lad
letMr.Beebeeathisdinner.”“Iam
spiser
eatingit,thankyou,andenjoyingit.”Hepreferredto
tale
talktoLucy,whoseplayinghehuskede
remembered,ratherthantoMissBartlett,der
whoprobablyrememberedhissermons.He
spurgte
askedthegirlwhethershekendte
knewFlorencewell,andwasinformedatsomelengththatshehavde
hadneverbeentherebefore.Itisdelightfultoadvise
en
anewcomer,andhewasførste
firstinthefield.“Don’tneglectthecountryround,”hisadviceconcluded.
“The
første
firstfineafternoondriveuptoFiesole,og
androundbySettignano,ornoget
somethingofthatsort.”“No!”
cried
en
avoicefromthetopofthetable.“Mr.
Beebe,youarewrong.
Den
Thefirstfineafternoonyourladiesskal
mustgotoPrato.”“That
dame
ladylookssoclever,”whisperedMissBartletttohercousin.“Weareinluck.”
Og
And,indeed,aperfecttorrentofinformationburstondem
them.Peopletoldthemwhatto
se
see,whentoseeit,howtostoppe
stoptheelectrictrams,howtogetridofthebeggars,howmeget
muchtogiveforavellumblotter,howmeget
muchtheplacewouldgrowupondem
them.ThePensionBertolinihaddecided,
næsten
almostenthusiastically,thattheywouldgøre
do.Whicheverwaytheylooked,kindladiessmiled
og
andshoutedatthem.Andabove
alt
allrosethevoiceofden
thecleverlady,crying:“Prato!
They
må
mustgotoPrato.That
sted
placeistoosweetlysqualidforwords.I
elsker
loveit;Irevelinshakingoffthetrammelsofrespectability,asyouknow.”
Den
TheyoungmannamedGeorgeglancedatden
thecleverlady,andthenreturnedmoodilytohisplate.Obviouslyhe
og
andhisfatherdidnotgjorde
do.Lucy,inthemidstofhersuccess,
fandt
foundtimetowishtheygjorde
did.Itgavehernoextrapleasure
at
thatanyoneshouldbeefterladt
leftinthecold;and
da
whensherosetogo,sheturnedtilbage
backandgavethetwooutsidersen
anervouslittlebow.Thefatherdidnot
så
seeit;thesonacknowledgedit,notbyanotherbow,
men
butbyraisinghiseyebrowsog
andsmiling;heseemedtobesmilingacross
noget
something.Shehastenedafterhercousin,whohad
allerede
alreadydisappearedthroughthecurtains—curtainswhichsmoteoneintheface,og
andseemedheavywithmoreend
thancloth.Beyondthemstood
den
theunreliableSignora,bowinggood-eveningtoherguests,og
andsupportedby’Enery,herlille
littleboy,andVictorier,herdatter
daughter.Itmadeacurious
lille
littlescene,thisattemptoftheCockneytoconveythegraceog
andgenialityoftheSouth.Og
Andevenmorecuriouswasden
thedrawing-room,whichattemptedtorivalden
thesolidcomfortofaBloomsburyboarding-house.Wasthis
virkelig
reallyItaly?MissBartlettwas
allerede
alreadyseatedonatightlystuffedarm-chair,som
whichhadthecolourandthecontoursofen
atomato.ShewastalkingtoMr.Beebe,
og
andasshespoke,herlongnarrowhoved
headdrovebackwardsandforwards,slowly,regularly,asthoughsheweredemolishingnogle
someinvisibleobstacle.“Wearemostgratefultoyou,”shewas
sagde
saying.“Thefirsteveningmeansso
meget
much.Whenyouarrivedwewereinfor
en
apeculiarlymauvaisquartd’heure.”Heexpressedhisregret.
“Doyou,byanychance,know
den
thenameofanoldmand
manwhosatoppositeusatdinner?”“Emerson.”
“Ishe
en
afriendofyours?”“Wearefriendly—as
man
oneisinpensions.”“ThenI
vil
willsaynomore.”Hepressedher
meget
veryslightly,andshesaidmere
more.“Iam,asitwere,”sheconcluded,“thechaperonofmy
unge
youngcousin,Lucy,anditville
wouldbeaseriousthinghvis
ifIputherunderanobligationtofolk
peopleofwhomweknowintet
nothing.Hismannerwassomewhatunfortunate.
I
håber
hopeIactedforthebest.”“Youacted
meget
verynaturally,”saidhe.Heseemedthoughtful,
og
andafterafewmomentsadded:“All
det
thesame,Idon’tthinkmeget
muchharmwouldhavecomeofaccepting.”“Noharm,of
selvfølgelig
course.Butwecouldnotbe
under
underanobligation.”“Heisrather
en
apeculiarman.”Againhehesitated,
og
andthensaidgently:“I
tror
thinkhewouldnottakeadvantageofyouracceptance,norexpectyoutovise
showgratitude.Hehasthemerit—ifitisone—of
sige
sayingexactlywhathemeans.He
har
hasroomshedoesnotvalue,og
andhethinksyouwouldvaluedem
them.Henomorethoughtofputtingyouunderanobligation
end
thanhethoughtofbeingpolite.Itissodifficult—atleast,I
finder
finditdifficult—tounderstandpeopleder
whospeakthetruth.”Lucywaspleased,
og
andsaid:“Iwashoping
at
thathewasnice;Idoso
altid
alwayshopethatpeoplewillbenice.”“I
tror
thinkheis;niceandtiresome.
Idifferfromhimon
næsten
almosteverypointofanyimportance,og
andso,Iexpect—Imaysige
sayIhope—youwilldiffer.Men
Buthisisatypeonedisagreesmed
withratherthandeplores.Whenhe
først
firstcameherehenotunnaturallysatte
putpeople’sbacksup.He
har
hasnotactandnomanners—Idon’tmener
meanbythatthathehar
hasbadmanners—andhewillnotholde
keephisopinionstohimself.WenearlycomplainedabouthimtoourdepressingSignora,
men
butIamgladtosige
saywethoughtbetterofit.”“AmItoconclude,”
sagde
saidMissBartlett,“thatheisaSocialist?”Mr.
Beebeaccepted
det
theconvenientword,notwithouten
aslighttwitchingofthelips.“Andpresumablyhe
har
hasbroughtuphissontobeaSocialist,too?”“Ihardly
kender
knowGeorge,forhehasn’tlært
learnttotalkyet.