ChapterITheBertolini
“TheSignorahadnobusinesstodoit,”saidMissBartlett,“nobusinessatall.
Shepromisedussouthroomswithaviewclosetogether,
invece
insteadofwhichherearenorthrooms,lookingintoacourtyard,andalongwayapart.Oh,Lucy!”
“AndaCockney,besides!”
saidLucy,whohadbeen
ulteriormente
furthersaddenedbytheSignora’sunexpectedaccent.“ItmightbeLondon.”
ShelookedatthetworowsofEnglishpeoplewhoweresittingatthe
tavolo
table;attherowofwhitebottlesofwaterandredbottlesof
vino
winethatranbetweentheEnglishpeople;attheportraitsofthelate
Regina
QueenandthelatePoetLaureatethathungbehindtheEnglishpeople,heavilyframed;atthenoticeoftheEnglish
chiesa
church(Rev.CuthbertEager,M.A.
Oxon.),thatwastheonlyotherdecorationofthe
parete
wall.“Charlotte,don’tyoufeel,too,thatwemightbeinLondon?
Icanhardlybelievethatallkindsofotherthingsarejustoutside.
I
suppongo
supposeitisone’sbeingsotired.”“This
carne
meathassurelybeenusedforsoup,”saidMissBartlett,layingdownherfork.“IwantsotoseetheArno.
TheroomstheSignorapromisedusinher
lettera
letterwouldhavelookedovertheArno.TheSignorahadnobusinesstodoitatall.
Oh,itisashame!”
“Anynookdoesforme,”MissBartlett
continuò
continued;“butitdoesseemhardthatyoushouldn’thaveaview.”
Lucyfeltthatshehadbeenselfish.
“Charlotte,youmustn’tspoilme:
ofcourse,youmustlookovertheArno,too.
Imeantthat.
Thefirstvacantroominthefront—”
“Youmusthaveit,”saidMissBartlett,partofwhosetravellingexpenseswerepaidbyLucy’smother—a
pezzo
pieceofgenerositytowhichshemademanyatactfulallusion.“No,no.Youmusthaveit.”
“Iinsistonit.
Yourmotherwouldnever
perdonerebbe
forgiveme,Lucy.”“Shewouldnever
perdonerebbe
forgiveme.”Theladies’voicesgrewanimated,and—ifthe
triste
sadtruthbeowned—alittlepeevish.Theyweretired,andundertheguiseofunselfishnesstheywrangled.
Someoftheirneighboursinterchangedglances,andoneofthem—oneoftheill-bredpeoplewhomonedoesmeetabroad—leantforwardoverthe
tavolo
tableandactuallyintrudedintotheirargument.Hesaid:.
“Ihaveaview,Ihaveaview.”
MissBartlettwasstartled.
Generallyatapensionpeoplelookedthemoverforadayortwobeforespeaking,and
spesso
oftendidnotfindoutthattheywould“do”tilltheyhadgone.Sheknewthattheintruderwasill-bred,evenbeforesheglancedathim.
Hewasanoldman,of
pesante
heavybuild,withafair,shavenfaceandlargeeyes.Therewassomethingchildishinthoseeyes,thoughitwasnotthechildishnessofsenility.
WhatexactlyitwasMissBartlettdidnotstoptoconsider,forherglance
passò
passedontohisclothes.Thesedidnotattracther.
Hewasprobablytryingtobecomeacquaintedwiththembeforetheygotintotheswim.
Sosheassumedadazedexpressionwhenhespoketoher,andthensaid:
“Aview?
Oh,aview!
Howdelightfulaviewis!”
“Thisismyson,”saidtheoldman;
“hisname’sGeorge.
Hehasaviewtoo.”
“Ah,”saidMissBartlett,repressingLucy,whowasabouttospeak.
“WhatImean,”he
continuò
continued,“isthatyoucanhaveourrooms,andwe’llhaveyours.We’llchange.”
Thebetterclassoftouristwasshockedatthis,andsympathizedwiththenew-comers.
MissBartlett,inreply,openedher
bocca
mouthaslittleaspossible,andsaid“Thankyouverymuchindeed;thatisoutofthequestion.”
“Why?”
saidtheoldman,withbothfistsonthe
tavolo
table.“Becauseitisquiteoutofthequestion,thankyou.”
“Yousee,wedon’tliketotake—”
cominciato
beganLucy.Hercousinagainrepressedher.
“Butwhy?”
hepersisted.
“Womenlikelookingataview;
mendon’t.”
Andhethumpedwithhisfistslikeanaughtychild,andturnedtohisson,saying,“George,persuadethem!”
“It’ssoobvioustheyshouldhavetherooms,”saidtheson.
“There’snothingelsetosay.”
Hedidnotlookattheladiesashespoke,buthis
voce
voicewasperplexedandsorrowful.Lucy,too,wasperplexed;
butshesawthattheywereinforwhatisknownas“quiteascene,”andshehadanoddfeelingthatwhenevertheseill-bredtouristsspokethecontestwidenedanddeepenedtillitdealt,notwithroomsandviews,butwith—well,withsomethingquitedifferent,whoseexistenceshehadnot
capito
realizedbefore.Nowtheoldman
attaccò
attackedMissBartlettalmostviolently:Whyshouldshenotchange?
Whatpossibleobjectionhadshe?
Theywouldclearoutinhalfanhour.
MissBartlett,thoughskilledinthedelicaciesofconversation,waspowerlessinthepresenceofbrutality.
Itwas
impossibile
impossibletosnubanyonesogross.Herfacereddenedwithdispleasure.
Shelookedaroundasmuchastosay,“Areyoualllikethis?”
Andtwolittleoldladies,whoweresittingfurtherupthe
tavolo
table,withshawlshangingoverthebacksofthechairs,lookedback,clearlyindicating“Wearenot;wearegenteel.”
“Eatyourdinner,dear,”shesaidtoLucy,and
cominciò
begantotoyagainwiththecarne
meatthatshehadoncecensured.Lucymumbledthatthose
sembravano
seemedveryoddpeopleopposite.“Eatyourdinner,dear.
Thispensionisafailure.
To-morrowwewillmakeachange.”
Hardlyhadsheannouncedthisfell
decisione
decisionwhenshereversedit.Thecurtainsattheendoftheroomparted,andrevealedaclergyman,stoutbutattractive,whohurriedforwardtotakehisplaceatthe
tavolo
table,cheerfullyapologizingforhislateness.Lucy,whohadnotyetacquireddecency,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.
Buthecameforwardpleasantlyenoughand
accettò
acceptedthechairintowhichhewasbeckonedbyLucy.“Iamso
felice
gladtoseeyou,”saidthegirl,whowasinastato
stateofspiritualstarvation,andwouldhavebeenfelice
gladtoseethewaiterifhercugino
cousinhadpermittedit.“Justfancyhowsmalltheworldis.
SummerStreet,too,makesitsospeciallyfunny.”
“MissHoneychurchlivesintheparishofSummerStreet,”saidMissBartlett,fillingupthegap,“andshehappenedtotellmeinthecourseofconversationthatyouhavejust
accettato
acceptedtheliving—”.“Yes,Iheardfrommothersolastweek.
Shedidn’tknowthatIknewyouatTunbridgeWells;
butIwrotebackatonce,andIsaid:
‘Mr.
Beebeis—’”.
“Quiteright,”saidtheclergyman.
“ImoveintotheRectoryatSummerStreetnextJune.
Iamluckytobeappointedtosuchacharmingneighbourhood.”
“Oh,how
felice
gladIam!ThenameofourhouseisWindyCorner.”
Mr.Beebebowed.
“Thereismotherandmegenerally,andmybrother,thoughit’snot
spesso
oftenwegethimtoch——The
chiesa
churchisratherfaroff,Imean.”“Lucy,dearest,letMr.Beebeeathisdinner.”
“Iameatingit,thankyou,and
godendo
enjoyingit.”HepreferredtotalktoLucy,whoseplayingheremembered,
piuttosto
ratherthantoMissBartlett,whoprobablyrememberedhissermons.Heaskedthegirl
se
whethersheknewFlorencewell,andwasinformedatsomelengththatshehadneverbeentherebefore.Itisdelightfultoadviseanewcomer,andhewasfirstinthefield.
“Don’tneglectthecountryround,”hisadviceconcluded.
“Thefirstfine
pomeriggio
afternoondriveuptoFiesole,androundbySettignano,orsomethingofthatsort.”“No!”
crieda
voce
voicefromthetopofthetavolo
table.“Mr.
Beebe,youarewrong.
Thefirstfine
pomeriggio
afternoonyourladiesmustgotoPrato.”“Thatladylookssoclever,”whisperedMissBartletttoher
cugino
cousin.“Weareinluck.”
And,indeed,aperfecttorrentof
informazioni
informationburstonthem.Peopletoldthemwhattosee,whentoseeit,howtostoptheelectrictrams,howtogetridofthebeggars,howmuchtogiveforavellumblotter,howmuchtheplacewould
cresciuto
growuponthem.ThePensionBertolinihad
deciso
decided,almostenthusiastically,thattheywoulddo.Whicheverwaytheylooked,kindladies
sorridevano
smiledandshoutedatthem.And
sopra
aboveallrosethevoiceofthecleverlady,crying:“Prato!
TheymustgotoPrato.
Thatplaceistoosweetlysqualidforwords.
Iloveit;
Irevelinshakingoffthetrammelsofrespectability,asyouknow.”
TheyoungmannamedGeorgeglancedatthecleverlady,andthenreturnedmoodilytohisplate.
Ovviamente
Obviouslyheandhisfatherdidnotdo.Lucy,inthemidstofhersuccess,foundtimetowishtheydid.
Itgavehernoextra
piacere
pleasurethatanyoneshouldbeleftinthecold;andwhensherosetogo,sheturnedbackandgavethetwooutsidersa
nervoso
nervouslittlebow.Thefatherdidnotseeit;
thesonacknowledgedit,notbyanotherbow,butby
alzando
raisinghiseyebrowsandsmiling;he
sembrava
seemedtobesmilingacrosssomething.Shehastenedafterher
cugino
cousin,whohadalreadydisappearedthroughthecurtains—curtainswhichsmoteoneintheface,andsembrava
seemedheavywithmorethancloth.BeyondthemstoodtheunreliableSignora,bowinggood-eveningtoherguests,andsupportedby’Enery,herlittleboy,andVictorier,herdaughter.
Itmadeacuriouslittle
scena
scene,thisattemptoftheCockneytoconveythegraceandgenialityoftheSud
South.Andevenmorecuriouswasthedrawing-room,whichattemptedtorivalthesolidcomfortofaBloomsburyboarding-house.
WasthisreallyItaly?
MissBartlettwasalreadyseatedonatightlystuffedarm-chair,whichhadthecolourandthecontoursofatomato.
ShewastalkingtoMr.Beebe,andasshespoke,herlongnarrowheaddrovebackwardsandforwards,slowly,regularly,asthoughsheweredemolishingsomeinvisibleobstacle.
“Wearemostgratefultoyou,”shewassaying.
“Thefirsteveningmeanssomuch.
Whenyouarrivedwewereinforapeculiarlymauvaisquartd’heure.”
Heexpressedhisregret.
“Doyou,byanychance,knowthenameofanoldmanwhosatoppositeusatdinner?”
“Emerson.”
“Isheafriendofyours?”
“Wearefriendly—asoneisinpensions.”
“ThenIwillsaynomore.”
Hepressedherveryslightly,andshesaidmore.
“Iam,asitwere,”sheconcluded,“thechaperonofmyyoungcousin,Lucy,anditwouldbeaseriousthingifIputherunderanobligationtopeopleofwhomweknownothing.
Hismannerwassomewhatunfortunate.
IhopeI
agito
actedforthebest.”“Youactedverynaturally,”saidhe.
He
sembrava
seemedthoughtful,andafterafewmomentsadded:“Allthesame,Idon’tthinkmuchharmwouldhavecomeofaccepting.”
“Noharm,ofcourse.
Butwecouldnotbeunderanobligation.”
“Heis
piuttosto
ratherapeculiarman.”Againhehesitated,andthensaidgently:
“Ithinkhewouldnottakeadvantageofyouracceptance,
né
norexpectyoutoshowgratitude.Hehasthemerit—ifitisone—ofsayingexactlywhathemeans.
Hehasroomshedoesnotvalue,andhethinksyouwouldvaluethem.
Henomorethoughtofputtingyouunderanobligationthanhethoughtofbeingpolite.
Itissodifficult—atleast,Ifinditdifficult—tounderstandpeoplewhospeakthetruth.”
Lucywaspleased,andsaid:
“Iwashopingthathewasnice;
Idosoalwayshopethatpeoplewillbenice.”
“Ithinkheis;
niceandtiresome.
Idifferfromhimonalmosteverypointofanyimportance,andso,Iexpect—ImaysayIhope—youwilldiffer.
Buthisisa
tipo
typeonedisagreeswithratherthandeplores.Whenhefirstcameherehenotunnaturallyputpeople’sbacksup.
Hehasnotactandnomanners—Idon’tmeanbythatthathehasbadmanners—andhewillnotkeephisopinionstohimself.
WenearlycomplainedabouthimtoourdepressingSignora,butIam
felice
gladtosaywethoughtbetterofit.”“AmItoconclude,”saidMissBartlett,“thatheisaSocialist?”
Mr.
Beebe
accettò
acceptedtheconvenientword,notwithoutaslighttwitchingofthelips.“AndpresumablyhehasbroughtuphissontobeaSocialist,too?”
“IhardlyknowGeorge,forhehasn’t
imparato
learnttotalkyet.