ChapterITheBertolini
“TheSignorahadnobusinesstodoit,”saidMissBartlett,“nobusinessatall.
Shepromisedussouthroomswithaviewclosetogether,insteadofwhichherearenorthrooms,lookingintoa
gårdhave
courtyard,andalongwayapart.Oh,Lucy!”
“AndaCockney,besides!”
saidLucy,whohadbeenfurthersaddenedbytheSignora’sunexpected
accent
accent.“ItmightbeLondon.”
ShelookedatthetworowsofEnglishpeoplewhoweresittingatthetable;
attherowofwhitebottlesofwaterandredbottlesofwinethatranbetweentheEnglishpeople;
attheportraitsofthelateQueenandthelate
Digter
PoetLaureatethathungbehindtheEnglishpeople,tungt
heavilyframed;atthenoticeoftheEnglishchurch(Rev.
CuthbertEager,M.A.
Oxon.),thatwastheonlyother
dekoration
decorationofthewall.“Charlotte,don’tyoufeel,too,thatwemightbeinLondon?
Icanhardlybelievethatallkindsofotherthingsarejustoutside.
Isupposeitisone’sbeingsotired.”
“Thismeathassurelybeenusedforsoup,”saidMissBartlett,layingdownher
gaffel
fork.“IwantsotoseetheArno.
TheroomstheSignorapromisedusinherletterwouldhavelookedovertheArno.
TheSignorahadnobusinesstodoitatall.
Oh,itisashame!”
“Anynookdoesforme,”MissBartlettcontinued;
“butitdoesseemhardthatyoushouldn’thaveaview.”
Lucyfeltthatshehadbeenselfish.
“Charlotte,youmustn’t
forkæle
spoilme:ofcourse,youmustlookovertheArno,too.
Imeantthat.
Thefirst
ledige
vacantroominthefront—”“Youmusthaveit,”saidMissBartlett,partofwhosetravellingexpenseswerepaidbyLucy’smother—apieceof
gavmildhed
generositytowhichshemademanyatactfulallusion.“No,no.Youmusthaveit.”
“I
insisterer
insistonit.Yourmotherwouldneverforgiveme,Lucy.”
“Shewouldneverforgiveme.”
Theladies’voicesgrewanimated,and—ifthesadtruthbeowned—alittlepeevish.
Theyweretired,andundertheguiseofunselfishnesstheywrangled.
Someoftheirneighboursinterchangedglances,andoneofthem—oneoftheill-bredpeoplewhomonedoesmeetabroad—leantforwardoverthetableandactuallyintrudedintotheir
skænderi
argument.Hesaid:.
“Ihaveaview,Ihaveaview.”
MissBartlettwasstartled.
Generelt
Generallyatapensionpeoplelookedthemoverforadayortwobeforespeaking,andoftendidnotfindoutthattheywould“do”tilltheyhadgone.Sheknewthattheintruderwasill-bred,evenbeforesheglancedathim.
Hewasanoldman,ofheavybuild,withafair,shavenfaceandlargeeyes.
Therewassomethingchildishinthoseeyes,thoughitwasnotthechildishnessofsenility.
WhatexactlyitwasMissBartlettdidnotstoptoconsider,forher
blik
glancepassedontohisclothes.Thesedidnot
tiltrak
attracther.Hewasprobablytryingtobecomeacquaintedwiththembeforetheygotintotheswim.
Sosheassumedadazed
udtryk
expressionwhenhespoketoher,andthensaid:“Aview?
Oh,aview!
How
dejlig
delightfulaviewis!”“Thisismyson,”saidtheoldman;
“hisname’sGeorge.
Hehasaviewtoo.”
“Ah,”saidMissBartlett,repressingLucy,whowasabouttospeak.
“WhatImean,”hecontinued,“isthatyoucanhaveourrooms,andwe’llhaveyours.
We’llchange.”
Thebetterclassoftouristwasshockedatthis,and
sympatiserede
sympathizedwiththenew-comers.MissBartlett,in
svar
reply,openedhermouthaslittleaspossible,andsaid“Thankyouverymuchindeed;thatisoutofthequestion.”
“Why?”
saidtheoldman,withbothfistsonthetable.
“Becauseitisquiteoutofthequestion,thankyou.”
“Yousee,wedon’tliketotake—”
beganLucy.
Hercousinagainrepressedher.
“Butwhy?”
hepersisted.
“Womenlikelookingataview;
mendon’t.”
Andhe
bankede
thumpedwithhisfistslikeanaughtychild,andturnedtohisson,saying,“George,overtal
persuadethem!”“It’ssoobvioustheyshouldhavetherooms,”saidtheson.
“There’snothingelsetosay.”
Hedidnotlookattheladiesashespoke,buthisvoicewasperplexedandsorrowful.
Lucy,too,wasperplexed;
butshesawthattheywereinforwhatisknownas“quiteascene,”andshehadanoddfeelingthatwhenevertheseill-bredtouristsspokethecontestwidenedanddeepenedtillitdealt,notwithroomsandviews,butwith—well,withsomethingquitedifferent,whose
eksistens
existenceshehadnotrealizedbefore.NowtheoldmanattackedMissBartlettalmost
voldsomt
violently:Whyshouldshenotchange?
Whatpossible
indvending
objectionhadshe?Theywouldclearoutinhalfanhour.
MissBartlett,thoughskilledinthedelicaciesofconversation,waspowerlessinthepresenceofbrutality.
Itwasimpossibletosnubanyoneso
grov
gross.Herfacereddenedwithdispleasure.
Shelookedaroundasmuchastosay,“Areyoualllikethis?”
Andtwolittleoldladies,whoweresittingfurtherupthetable,withshawlshangingoverthebacksofthechairs,lookedback,clearly
indikerer
indicating“Wearenot;wearegenteel.”
“Eatyourdinner,dear,”shesaidtoLucy,andbegantotoyagainwiththemeatthatshehadoncecensured.
Lucy
mumlede
mumbledthatthoseseemedveryoddpeopleopposite.“Eatyourdinner,dear.
This
pension
pensionisafailure.To-morrowwewillmakeachange.”
Hardlyhadshe
annonceret
announcedthisfelldecisionwhenshereversedit.Thecurtainsattheendoftheroomparted,and
afslørede
revealedaclergyman,stoutbutattractive,whohurriedforwardtotakehisplaceatthetable,cheerfullyapologizingforhislateness.Lucy,whohadnotyetacquired
anstændighed
decency,atoncerosetoherfeet,exclaiming:“Oh,oh!
Why,it’sMr.Beebe!
Oh,howperfectlylovely!
Oh,Charlotte,wemuststopnow,howeverbadtheroomsare.
Oh!”
MissBartlettsaid,withmorerestraint:.
“Howdoyoudo,Mr.Beebe?
Iexpectthatyouhaveforgottenus:
MissBartlettandMissHoneychurch,whowereatTunbridgeWellswhenyouhelpedtheVicarofSt.Peter’sthatverycoldEaster.”
Theclergyman,whohadtheairofoneonaholiday,didnotremembertheladiesquiteasclearlyastheyrememberedhim.
ButhecameforwardpleasantlyenoughandacceptedthechairintowhichhewasbeckonedbyLucy.
“Iamsogladtoseeyou,”saidthegirl,whowasinastateof
åndelig
spiritualstarvation,andwouldhavebeengladtoseethewaiterifhercousinhadpermittedit.“Justfancyhowsmalltheworldis.
SummerStreet,too,makesitso
specielt
speciallyfunny.”“MissHoneychurchlivesinthe
sognet
parishofSummerStreet,”saidMissBartlett,fillingupthehullet
gap,“andshehappenedtotellmeinthecourseofconversationthatyouhavejustacceptedtheliving—”.“Yes,Iheardfrommothersolastweek.
Shedidn’tknowthatIknewyouatTunbridgeWells;
butIwrotebackatonce,andIsaid:
‘Mr.
Beebeis—’”.
“Quiteright,”saidtheclergyman.
“ImoveintotheRectoryatSummerStreetnextJune.
Iamluckytobeappointedtosuchacharmingneighbourhood.”
“Oh,howgladIam!
ThenameofourhouseisWindyCorner.”
Mr.Beebebowed.
“Thereismotherandme
generelt
generally,andmybrother,thoughit’snotoftenwegethimtoch——Thechurchisratherfaroff,Imean.”
“Lucy,dearest,letMr.Beebeeathisdinner.”
“Iameatingit,thankyou,andenjoyingit.”
HepreferredtotalktoLucy,whoseplayingheremembered,ratherthantoMissBartlett,whoprobablyrememberedhissermons.
HeaskedthegirlwhethersheknewFlorencewell,andwasinformedatsome
længde
lengththatshehadneverbeentherebefore.Itisdelightfulto
rådgive
adviseanewcomer,andhewasfirstinthefield.“Don’t
forsømme
neglectthecountryround,”hisadvicekonkluderede
concluded.“ThefirstfineafternoondriveuptoFiesole,androundbySettignano,orsomethingofthatsort.”
“No!”
criedavoicefromthetopofthetable.
“Mr.
Beebe,youarewrong.
ThefirstfineafternoonyourladiesmustgotoPrato.”
“Thatladylookssoclever,”
hviskede
whisperedMissBartletttohercousin.“Weareinluck.”
And,indeed,aperfecttorrentofinformationburstonthem.
Peopletoldthemwhattosee,whentoseeit,howtostopthe
elektriske
electrictrams,howtogetridofthebeggars,howmuchtogiveforavellumblotter,howmuchtheplacewouldgrowuponthem.The
Pension
PensionBertolinihaddecided,almostenthusiastically,thattheywoulddo.Whicheverwaytheylooked,kindladiessmiledandshoutedatthem.
Andaboveallrosethevoiceofthecleverlady,crying:
“Prato!
TheymustgotoPrato.
Thatplaceistoo
sødt
sweetlysqualidforwords.Iloveit;
Irevelinshakingoffthetrammelsofrespectability,asyouknow.”
TheyoungmannamedGeorgeglancedatthecleverlady,andthenreturnedmoodilytohisplate.
Obviouslyheandhisfatherdidnotdo.
Lucy,inthemidstofhersuccess,foundtimetowishtheydid.
Itgavehernoextrapleasurethatanyoneshouldbeleftinthecold;
andwhensherosetogo,sheturnedbackandgavethetwooutsidersanervouslittlebow.
Thefatherdidnotseeit;
theson
anerkendte
acknowledgedit,notbyanotherbow,butbyraisinghiseyebrowsandsmiling;heseemedtobesmilingacrosssomething.
Shehastenedafterhercousin,whohadalreadydisappearedthroughthecurtains—curtainswhichsmoteoneintheface,andseemedheavywithmorethancloth.
Beyondthemstoodthe
upålidelige
unreliableSignora,bowinggood-eveningtoherguests,andsupportedby’Enery,herlittleboy,andVictorier,herdaughter.Itmadeacuriouslittlescene,thisattemptoftheCockneyto
formidle
conveythegraceandgenialityoftheSouth.Andevenmorecuriouswasthedrawing-room,whichattemptedtorivalthesolid
komfort
comfortofaBloomsburyboarding-house.WasthisreallyItaly?
MissBartlettwasalreadyseatedona
tæt
tightlystuffedarm-chair,whichhadthecolourandthecontoursofatomat
tomato.ShewastalkingtoMr.Beebe,andasshespoke,herlong
smalle
narrowheaddrovebackwardsandforwards,slowly,jævnligt
regularly,asthoughshewerenedrive
demolishingsomeinvisibleobstacle.“Wearemostgratefultoyou,”shewassaying.
“Thefirsteveningmeanssomuch.
Whenyouarrivedwewereinforapeculiarlymauvaisquartd’heure.”
Heexpressedhisregret.
“Doyou,byanychance,knowthenameofanoldmanwhosatoppositeusatdinner?”
“Emerson.”
“Isheafriendofyours?”
“Wearefriendly—asoneisinpensions.”
“ThenIwillsaynomore.”
Hepressedhervery
let
slightly,andshesaidmore.“Iam,asitwere,”she
konkluderede
concluded,“thechaperonofmyyoungcousin,Lucy,anditwouldbeaseriousthingifIputherunderanforpligtelse
obligationtopeopleofwhomweknownothing.Hismannerwassomewhat
uheldig
unfortunate.IhopeIactedforthebest.”
“Youactedverynaturally,”saidhe.
Heseemed
eftertænksom
thoughtful,andafterafewmomentsadded:“Allthesame,Idon’tthinkmuchharmwouldhavecomeofaccepting.”
“Noharm,ofcourse.
Butwecouldnotbeunderanobligation.”
“Heisratherapeculiarman.”
Againhe
tøvede
hesitated,andthensaidgently:“Ithinkhewouldnottakeadvantageofyour
accept
acceptance,norexpectyoutoshowtaknemmelighed
gratitude.Hehasthemerit—ifitisone—ofsayingexactlywhathemeans.
Hehasroomshedoesnotvalue,andhethinksyouwouldvaluethem.
Henomorethoughtofputtingyouunderanobligationthanhethoughtofbeing
høflig
polite.Itissodifficult—atleast,Ifinditdifficult—tounderstandpeoplewhospeakthetruth.”
Lucywaspleased,andsaid:
“Iwashopingthathewasnice;
Idosoalwayshopethatpeoplewillbenice.”
“Ithinkheis;
niceand
trættende
tiresome.Idifferfromhimonalmosteverypointofanyimportance,andso,Iexpect—ImaysayIhope—youwilldiffer.
Buthisisatypeonedisagreeswithratherthandeplores.
Whenhefirstcameherehenotunnaturallyputpeople’sbacksup.
Hehasnotactandnomanners—Idon’tmeanbythatthathehasbadmanners—andhewillnotkeephisopinionstohimself.
Wenearly
klagede
complainedabouthimtoourdeprimerende
depressingSignora,butIamgladtosaywethoughtbetterofit.”“AmItoconclude,”saidMissBartlett,“thatheisaSocialist?”
Mr.
Beebeacceptedtheconvenientword,notwithouta
lille
slighttwitchingofthelips.“AndpresumablyhehasbroughtuphissontobeaSocialist,too?”
“IhardlyknowGeorge,forhehasn’tlearnttotalkyet.