ChapterITheBertolini
“TheSignorahadnobusinesstodoit,”saidMissBartlett,“nobusinessatall.
Shepromisedussouthroomswithaviewclosetogether,insteadofwhichherearenorthrooms,lookingintoa
cour
courtyard,andalongwayapart.Oh,Lucy!”
“AndaCockney,besides!”
saidLucy,whohadbeenfurthersaddenedbytheSignora’s
inattendu
unexpectedaccent.“ItmightbeLondon.”
ShelookedatthetworowsofEnglishpeoplewhoweresittingatthetable;
attherowofwhitebottlesofwaterandredbottlesofwinethatranbetweentheEnglishpeople;
attheportraitsofthelateQueenandthelate
Poète
PoetLaureatethathungbehindtheEnglishpeople,lourdement
heavilyframed;atthenoticeoftheEnglishchurch(Rev.
CuthbertEager,M.A.
Oxon.),thatwastheonlyother
décoration
decorationofthewall.“Charlotte,don’tyoufeel,too,thatwemightbeinLondon?
Icanhardlybelievethatallkindsofotherthingsarejustoutside.
Isupposeitisone’sbeingsotired.”
“Thismeathassurelybeenusedforsoup,”saidMissBartlett,layingdownher
fourchette
fork.“IwantsotoseetheArno.
TheroomstheSignorapromisedusinherletterwouldhavelookedovertheArno.
TheSignorahadnobusinesstodoitatall.
Oh,itisashame!”
“Anynookdoesforme,”MissBartlettcontinued;
“butitdoesseemhardthatyoushouldn’thaveaview.”
Lucyfeltthatshehadbeenselfish.
“Charlotte,youmustn’t
gâter
spoilme:ofcourse,youmustlookovertheArno,too.
Imeantthat.
Thefirstvacantroominthefront—”
“Youmusthaveit,”saidMissBartlett,partofwhosetravellingexpenseswerepaidbyLucy’smother—apieceof
générosité
generositytowhichshemademanyatactfulallusion.“No,no.Youmusthaveit.”
“Iinsistonit.
Yourmotherwouldneverforgiveme,Lucy.”
“Shewouldneverforgiveme.”
Theladies’voicesgrewanimated,and—ifthesadtruthbeowned—alittlepeevish.
Theyweretired,andundertheguiseofunselfishnesstheywrangled.
Someoftheirneighboursinterchangedglances,andoneofthem—oneoftheill-bredpeoplewhomonedoesmeetabroad—leantforwardoverthetableandactuallyintrudedintotheir
dispute
argument.Hesaid:.
“Ihaveaview,Ihaveaview.”
MissBartlettwasstartled.
Généralement
Generallyatapensionpeoplelookedthemoverforadayortwobeforespeaking,andoftendidnotfindoutthattheywould“do”tilltheyhadgone.Sheknewthattheintruderwasill-bred,evenbeforesheglancedathim.
Hewasanoldman,ofheavybuild,withafair,shavenfaceandlargeeyes.
Therewassomethingchildishinthoseeyes,thoughitwasnotthechildishnessofsenility.
WhatexactlyitwasMissBartlettdidnotstoptoconsider,forher
regard
glancepassedontohisclothes.Thesedidnotattracther.
Hewasprobablytryingtobecomeacquaintedwiththembeforetheygotintotheswim.
Sosheassumedadazed
expression
expressionwhenhespoketoher,andthensaid:“Aview?
Oh,aview!
Howdelightfulaviewis!”
“Thisismyson,”saidtheoldman;
“hisname’sGeorge.
Hehasaviewtoo.”
“Ah,”saidMissBartlett,repressingLucy,whowasabouttospeak.
“WhatImean,”hecontinued,“isthatyoucanhaveourrooms,andwe’llhaveyours.
We’llchange.”
Thebetterclassoftouristwasshockedatthis,and
sympathisé
sympathizedwiththenew-comers.MissBartlett,in
réponse
reply,openedhermouthaslittleaspossible,andsaid“Thankyouverymuchindeed;thatisoutofthequestion.”
“Why?”
saidtheoldman,withbothfistsonthetable.
“Becauseitisquiteoutofthequestion,thankyou.”
“Yousee,wedon’tliketotake—”
beganLucy.
Hercousinagainrepressedher.
“Butwhy?”
he
persisté
persisted.“Womenlikelookingataview;
mendon’t.”
Andhethumpedwithhisfistslikea
méchant
naughtychild,andturnedtohisson,saying,“George,persuade
persuadethem!”“It’ssoobvioustheyshouldhavetherooms,”saidtheson.
“There’snothingelsetosay.”
Hedidnotlookattheladiesashespoke,buthisvoicewasperplexedandsorrowful.
Lucy,too,wasperplexed;
butshesawthattheywereinforwhatisknownas“quiteascene,”andshehadanoddfeelingthatwhenevertheseill-bredtouristsspokethecontestwidenedanddeepenedtillitdealt,notwithroomsandviews,butwith—well,withsomethingquitedifferent,whoseexistenceshehadnotrealizedbefore.
NowtheoldmanattackedMissBartlettalmost
violemment
violently:Whyshouldshenotchange?
Whatpossible
objection
objectionhadshe?Theywouldclearoutinhalfanhour.
MissBartlett,though
habile
skilledinthedelicaciesofconversation,waspowerlessinthepresenceofbrutality.Itwasimpossibletosnubanyoneso
dégoûtant
gross.Herfacereddenedwithdispleasure.
Shelookedaroundasmuchastosay,“Areyoualllikethis?”
Andtwolittleoldladies,whoweresittingfurtherupthetable,withshawlshangingoverthebacksofthechairs,lookedback,clearly
indiquant
indicating“Wearenot;wearegenteel.”
“Eatyourdinner,dear,”shesaidtoLucy,andbegantotoyagainwiththemeatthatshehadoncecensured.
Lucymumbledthatthoseseemedveryoddpeopleopposite.
“Eatyourdinner,dear.
This
pension
pensionisafailure.To-morrowwewillmakeachange.”
Hardlyhadshe
annoncé
announcedthisfelldecisionwhenshereversedit.Thecurtainsattheendoftheroomparted,and
révélé
revealedaclergyman,stoutbutattractive,whohurriedforwardtotakehisplaceatthetable,cheerfullyapologizingforhislateness.Lucy,whohadnotyet
acquis
acquireddecency,atoncerosetoherfeet,exclaiming:“Oh,oh!
Why,it’sMr.Beebe!
Oh,howperfectlylovely!
Oh,Charlotte,wemuststopnow,howeverbadtheroomsare.
Oh!”
MissBartlettsaid,withmore
retenue
restraint:.“Howdoyoudo,Mr.Beebe?
Iexpectthatyouhaveforgottenus:
MissBartlettandMissHoneychurch,whowereatTunbridgeWellswhenyouhelpedthe
Vicaire
VicarofSt.Peter’sthatverycoldEaster.”Theclergyman,whohadtheairofoneonaholiday,didnotremembertheladiesquiteasclearlyastheyrememberedhim.
ButhecameforwardpleasantlyenoughandacceptedthechairintowhichhewasbeckonedbyLucy.
“Iamsogladtoseeyou,”saidthegirl,whowasinastateof
spirituelle
spiritualstarvation,andwouldhavebeengladtoseetheserveur
waiterifhercousinhadpermis
permittedit.“Justfancyhowsmalltheworldis.
SummerStreet,too,makesitsospeciallyfunny.”
“MissHoneychurchlivesinthe
paroisse
parishofSummerStreet,”saidMissBartlett,fillingupthegap,“andshehappenedtotellmeinthecourseofconversationthatyouhavejustacceptedtheliving—”.“Yes,Iheardfrommothersolastweek.
Shedidn’tknowthatIknewyouatTunbridgeWells;
butIwrotebackatonce,andIsaid:
‘Mr.
Beebeis—’”.
“Quiteright,”saidtheclergyman.
“ImoveintotheRectoryatSummerStreetnextJune.
Iamluckytobe
nommé
appointedtosuchacharmingneighbourhood.”“Oh,howgladIam!
ThenameofourhouseisWindyCorner.”
Mr.Beebebowed.
“Thereismotherandme
en général
generally,andmybrother,thoughit’snotoftenwegethimtoch——Thechurchisratherfaroff,Imean.”
“Lucy,dearest,letMr.Beebeeathisdinner.”
“Iameatingit,thankyou,andenjoyingit.”
HepreferredtotalktoLucy,whoseplayingheremembered,ratherthantoMissBartlett,whoprobablyrememberedhissermons.
HeaskedthegirlwhethersheknewFlorencewell,andwasinformedatsome
longueur
lengththatshehadneverbeentherebefore.Itisdelightfulto
conseiller
adviseanewcomer,andhewasfirstinthefield.“Don’t
négligez
neglectthecountryround,”hisadviceconclut
concluded.“ThefirstfineafternoondriveuptoFiesole,androundbySettignano,orsomethingofthatsort.”
“No!”
criedavoicefromthetopofthetable.
“Mr.
Beebe,youarewrong.
ThefirstfineafternoonyourladiesmustgotoPrato.”
“Thatladylookssoclever,”
murmura
whisperedMissBartletttohercousin.“Weareinluck.”
And,indeed,aperfecttorrentofinformation
éclaté
burstonthem.Peopletoldthemwhattosee,whentoseeit,howtostoptheelectrictrams,howtogetridofthebeggars,howmuchtogiveforavellumblotter,howmuchtheplacewouldgrowuponthem.
The
Pension
PensionBertolinihaddecided,almostenthusiastically,thattheywoulddo.Whicheverwaytheylooked,kindladiessmiledandshoutedatthem.
Andaboveallrosethevoiceofthecleverlady,crying:
“Prato!
TheymustgotoPrato.
Thatplaceistoosweetlysqualidforwords.
Iloveit;
Irevelinshakingoffthetrammelsofrespectability,asyouknow.”
TheyoungmannamedGeorgeglancedatthecleverlady,andthenreturnedmoodilytohisplate.
Obviouslyheandhisfatherdidnotdo.
Lucy,inthemidstofhersuccess,foundtimetowishtheydid.
Itgavehernoextrapleasurethatanyoneshouldbeleftinthecold;
andwhensherosetogo,sheturnedbackandgavethetwooutsidersanervouslittlebow.
Thefatherdidnotseeit;
theson
reconnu
acknowledgedit,notbyanotherbow,butbyraisinghiseyebrowsandsmiling;heseemedtobesmilingacrosssomething.
Shehastenedafterhercousin,whohadalreadydisappearedthroughthecurtains—curtainswhichsmoteoneintheface,andseemedheavywithmorethan
tissu
cloth.Beyondthemstoodthe
fiable
unreliableSignora,bowinggood-eveningtoherguests,andsupportedby’Enery,herlittleboy,andVictorier,herdaughter.Itmadeacuriouslittlescene,thisattemptoftheCockneyto
transmettre
conveythegraceandgenialityoftheSouth.Andevenmorecuriouswasthedrawing-room,whichattemptedtorivalthesolid
confort
comfortofaBloomsburyboarding-house.WasthisreallyItaly?
MissBartlettwasalreadyseatedonatightlystuffedarm-chair,whichhadthe
couleur
colourandthecontoursofatomate
tomato.ShewastalkingtoMr.Beebe,andasshespoke,herlong
étroite
narrowheaddrovebackwardsandforwards,slowly,régulièrement
regularly,asthoughsheweredémolissait
demolishingsomeinvisibleobstacle.“Wearemostgratefultoyou,”shewassaying.
“Thefirsteveningmeanssomuch.
Whenyouarrivedwewereinforapeculiarlymauvaisquartd’heure.”
Heexpressedhisregret.
“Doyou,byanychance,knowthenameofanoldmanwhosatoppositeusatdinner?”
“Emerson.”
“Isheafriendofyours?”
“Wearefriendly—asoneisinpensions.”
“ThenIwillsaynomore.”
Hepressedhervery
légèrement
slightly,andshesaidmore.“Iam,asitwere,”she
conclut
concluded,“thechaperonofmyyoungcousin,Lucy,anditwouldbeaseriousthingifIputherunderanobligation
obligationtopeopleofwhomweknownothing.Hismannerwassomewhatunfortunate.
IhopeIactedforthebest.”
“Youactedverynaturally,”saidhe.
Heseemedthoughtful,andafterafewmomentsadded:
“Allthesame,Idon’tthinkmuchharmwouldhavecomeofaccepting.”
“Noharm,ofcourse.
Butwecouldnotbeunderanobligation.”
“Heisrathera
étrange
peculiarman.”Againhehesitated,andthensaidgently:
“Ithinkhewouldnottakeadvantageofyour
acceptation
acceptance,norexpectyoutoshowgratitude
gratitude.Hehasthemerit—ifitisone—ofsayingexactlywhathemeans.
Hehasroomshedoesnotvalue,andhethinksyouwouldvaluethem.
Henomorethoughtofputtingyouunderanobligationthanhethoughtofbeing
poli
polite.Itissodifficult—atleast,Ifinditdifficult—tounderstandpeoplewhospeakthetruth.”
Lucywaspleased,andsaid:
“Iwashopingthathewasnice;
Idosoalwayshopethatpeoplewillbenice.”
“Ithinkheis;
niceand
ennuyeux
tiresome.Idifferfromhimonalmosteverypointofanyimportance,andso,Iexpect—ImaysayIhope—youwill
diffère
differ.Buthisisatypeonedisagreeswithratherthandeplores.
Whenhefirstcameherehenotunnaturallyputpeople’sbacksup.
Hehasnotactandnomanners—Idon’tmeanbythatthathehasbadmanners—andhewillnotkeephisopinionstohimself.
Wenearly
plaindre
complainedabouthimtoourdepressingSignora,butIamgladtosaywethoughtbetterofit.”“AmItoconclude,”saidMissBartlett,“thatheisaSocialist?”
Mr.
Beebeacceptedthe
pratique
convenientword,notwithoutalégère
slighttwitchingofthelips.“Andpresumablyhehasbroughtuphissontobea
Socialiste
Socialist,too?”“IhardlyknowGeorge,forhehasn’tlearnttotalkyet.