ChapterITheBertolini
“TheSignora
hadde
hadnobusinesstodoit,”sa
saidMissBartlett,“nobusinessatall.She
lovet
promisedussouthroomswithen
aviewclosetogether,insteadofsom
whichherearenorthrooms,ser
lookingintoacourtyard,anden
alongwayapart.Oh,Lucy!”
“And
en
aCockney,besides!”saidLucy,
som
whohadbeenfurthersaddenedbytheSignora’sunexpectedaksent
accent.“ItmightbeLondon.”
She
så
lookedatthetworowsofEnglishmennesker
peoplewhoweresittingatde
thetable;attherowofwhitebottlesof
vann
waterandredbottlesofvin
winethatranbetweentheEnglishpeople;at
den
theportraitsofthelateQueenog
andthelatePoetLaureatethathengt
hungbehindtheEnglishpeople,tungt
heavilyframed;atthenoticeof
den
theEnglishchurch(Rev.CuthbertEager,M.A.
Oxon.),
som
thatwastheonlyotherdekorasjon
decorationofthewall.“Charlotte,don’tyou
føler
feel,too,thatwemightbeinLondon?I
kan
canhardlybelievethatallkindsofandre
otherthingsarejustoutside.I
antar
supposeitisone’sbeingsotired.”“Thismeat
har
hassurelybeenusedforsoup,”sa
saidMissBartlett,layingdownherfork.“I
vil
wantsotoseetheArno.TheroomstheSignora
lovet
promisedusinherletterville
wouldhavelookedovertheArno.TheSignora
hadde
hadnobusinesstodoitatall.Oh,itis
en
ashame!”“Anynookdoesforme,”MissBartlett
fortsatte
continued;“butitdoesseem
vanskelig
hardthatyoushouldn’thaveen
aview.”Lucyfeltthatshe
hadde
hadbeenselfish.“Charlotte,youmustn’tspoilme:
of
selvfølgelig
course,youmustlookovertheArno,også
too.Imeantthat.
The
første
firstvacantroominthefront—”“You
må
musthaveit,”saidMissBartlett,del
partofwhosetravellingexpenseswerebetalt
paidbyLucy’smother—apieceofgenerositytosom
whichshemademanyatactfulallusion.“No,
nei
no.Youmusthaveit.”“I
insisterer
insistonit.Yourmother
ville
wouldneverforgiveme,Lucy.”“She
ville
wouldneverforgiveme.”Theladies’voicesgrewanimated,and—if
den
thesadtruthbeowned—alittlepeevish.Theyweretired,
og
andundertheguiseofunselfishnesstheywrangled.Noen
Someoftheirneighboursinterchangedglances,og
andoneofthem—oneofde
theill-bredpeoplewhomonedoesmøter
meetabroad—leantforwardoverthebordet
tableandactuallyintrudedintotheirargument
argument.Hesaid:.
“Ihave
en
aview,Ihaveaview.”Frøken
MissBartlettwasstartled.Generallyat
en
apensionpeoplelookedthemover
overforadayorto
twobeforespeaking,andoftendidnotfinne
findoutthattheywould“do”tilltheyhadde
hadgone.Sheknewthattheintruderwasill-bred,
selv
evenbeforesheglancedatham
him.Hewasanold
mann
man,ofheavybuild,withafair,shavenansikt
faceandlargeeyes.Therewas
noe
somethingchildishinthoseeyes,om
thoughitwasnotthechildishnessofsenility.What
akkurat
exactlyitwasMissBartlettdidnotstoppe
stoptoconsider,forherblikk
glancepassedontohisclothes.Disse
Thesedidnotattracther.Hewas
sannsynligvis
probablytryingtobecomeacquaintedmed
withthembeforetheygotintotheswim.Soshe
antatt
assumedadazedexpressionwhenhespoketohenne
her,andthensaid:“A
utsikt
view?Oh,aview!
Howdelightful
en
aviewis!”“Thisismyson,”
sa
saidtheoldman;“hisname’sGeorge.
He
har
hasaviewtoo.”“Ah,”
sa
saidMissBartlett,repressingLucy,som
whowasabouttospeak.“WhatImean,”he
fortsatte
continued,“isthatyoucanha
haveourrooms,andwe’llha
haveyours.We’llchange.”
The
bedre
betterclassoftouristwassjokkert
shockedatthis,andsympathizedmed
withthenew-comers.MissBartlett,in
svar
reply,openedhermouthaslite
littleaspossible,andsaid“Thankyouveldig
verymuchindeed;thatisoutofthequestion.”
“Why?”
sa
saidtheoldman,withbegge
bothfistsonthetable.“Becauseitis
helt
quiteoutofthequestion,takk
thankyou.”“Yousee,wedon’t
liker
liketotake—”beganLucy.
Her
fetter
cousinagainrepressedher.“Butwhy?”
he
vedvarte
persisted.“Womenlikelookingat
en
aview;mendon’t.”
Andhethumped
med
withhisfistslikeanaughtybarn
child,andturnedtohissønnen
son,saying,“George,persuadethem!”“It’ssoobviousthey
burde
shouldhavetherooms,”saidthesønnen
son.“There’snothingelsetosay.”
Hedidnot
så
lookattheladiesashesnakket
spoke,buthisvoicewasperplexedog
andsorrowful.Lucy,too,wasperplexed;
men
butshesawthattheywereinforwhatiskjent
knownas“quiteascene,”og
andshehadanoddfeelingthatwheneverdisse
theseill-bredtouristsspokethekonkurransen
contestwidenedanddeepenedtillitdealt,notmed
withroomsandviews,butwith—well,med
withsomethingquitedifferent,whoseeksistens
existenceshehadnotrealizedfør
before.Nowtheoldman
angrepet
attackedMissBartlettalmostviolently:Hvorfor
Whyshouldshenotchange?What
mulig
possibleobjectionhadshe?They
ville
wouldclearoutinhalfen
anhour.MissBartlett,thoughskilledinthedelicaciesofconversation,was
maktesløs
powerlessinthepresenceofbrutality.Itwas
umulig
impossibletosnubanyonesogrov
gross.Herfacereddenedwithdispleasure.
She
så
lookedaroundasmuchastosi
say,“Areyoualllikethis?”Og
Andtwolittleoldladies,som
whoweresittingfurtherupthebordet
table,withshawlshangingoverthebacksofthechairs,så
lookedback,clearlyindicating“Wearenot;wearegenteel.”
“Eatyour
middag
dinner,dear,”shesaidtoLucy,og
andbegantotoyagainmed
withthemeatthatshehadde
hadoncecensured.Lucymumbled
at
thatthoseseemedveryoddmennesker
peopleopposite.“Eatyourdinner,
kjære
dear.Thispensionisa
fiasko
failure.To-morrowwewillmake
en
achange.”Hardlyhadshe
annonsert
announcedthisfelldecisionwhenshereverserte
reversedit.Thecurtainsatthe
enden
endoftheroomparted,og
andrevealedaclergyman,stoutmen
butattractive,whohurriedforwardtota
takehisplaceatthebordet
table,cheerfullyapologizingforhislateness.Lucy,
som
whohadnotyetacquiredanstendighet
decency,atoncerosetoherfeet,exclaiming:“Oh,oh!
Hvorfor
Why,it’sMr.Beebe!Oh,
hvor
howperfectlylovely!Oh,Charlotte,we
må
muststopnow,howeverbadtheroomser
are.Oh!”
MissBartlettsaid,
med
withmorerestraint:.“Howdoyoudo,Mr.Beebe?
I
forventer
expectthatyouhaveforgottenoss
us:MissBartlettandMissHoneychurch,whowereatTunbridgeWells
da
whenyouhelpedtheVicarofSt.Peter’sthatveldig
verycoldEaster.”Theclergyman,who
hadde
hadtheairofoneonaferie
holiday,didnotremembertheladieshelt
quiteasclearlyastheyhusket
rememberedhim.Buthecame
frem
forwardpleasantlyenoughandacceptedthechairintosom
whichhewasbeckonedbyLucy.“Iamso
glad
gladtoseeyou,”saidthejenta
girl,whowasinatilstand
stateofspiritualstarvation,andville
wouldhavebeengladtose
seethewaiterifherfetter
cousinhadpermittedit.“Justfancy
hvor
howsmalltheworldis.Summer
Street
Street,too,makesitsospesielt
speciallyfunny.”“MissHoneychurchlivesin
de
theparishofSummerStreet,”sa
saidMissBartlett,fillingupde
thegap,“andshehappenedtotellmeinde
thecourseofconversationthatyouhar
havejustacceptedtheliving—”.“Yes,I
hørte
heardfrommothersolastuke
week.Shedidn’tknowthatIknewyouatTunbridgeWells;
men
butIwrotebackatonce,og
andIsaid:‘Mr.
Beebeis—’”.
“Quiteright,”
sa
saidtheclergyman.“ImoveintotheRectoryatSummer
Street
StreetnextJune.Iam
heldig
luckytobeappointedtoså
suchacharmingneighbourhood.”“Oh,
hvor
howgladIam!The
navnet
nameofourhouseisWindyCorner.”Mr.Beebe
bøyde
bowed.“Thereismotherandme
generelt
generally,andmybrother,thoughit’snotofte
oftenwegethimtoch——The
kirken
churchisratherfaroff,Imean.”“Lucy,dearest,
la
letMr.Beebeeathisdinner.”“Iam
spiser
eatingit,thankyou,andnyter
enjoyingit.”Hepreferredto
snakke
talktoLucy,whoseplayinghehusket
remembered,ratherthantoMissBartlett,som
whoprobablyrememberedhissermons.He
spurte
askedthegirlwhethershekjente
knewFlorencewell,andwasinformert
informedatsomelengththatshehadde
hadneverbeentherebefore.Itisdelightfulto
råd
adviseanewcomer,andhewasførste
firstinthefield.“Don’t
forsøm
neglectthecountryround,”hisråd
adviceconcluded.“Thefirstfineafternoon
kjører
driveuptoFiesole,andrundt
roundbySettignano,orsomethingofthatsort.”“No!”
cried
en
avoicefromthetopofthebordet
table.“Mr.
Beebe,youare
feil
wrong.Thefirstfineafternoonyourladies
må
mustgotoPrato.”“That
damen
ladylookssoclever,”whisperedFrøken
MissBartletttohercousin.“Weareinluck.”
Og
And,indeed,aperfecttorrentofinformasjon
informationburstonthem.People
fortalte
toldthemwhattosee,når
whentoseeit,howtostoppe
stoptheelectrictrams,howtobli
getridofthebeggars,howmye
muchtogiveforavellumblotter,howmye
muchtheplacewouldgrowupondem
them.ThePensionBertolinihaddecided,
nesten
almostenthusiastically,thattheywouldgjøre
do.Whicheverwaytheylooked,kindladiessmiled
og
andshoutedatthem.And
over
aboveallrosethevoiceofden
thecleverlady,crying:“Prato!
They
må
mustgotoPrato.That
stedet
placeistoosweetlysqualidforwords.I
elsker
loveit;Irevelin
riste
shakingoffthetrammelsofrespectability,asyouknow.”Den
TheyoungmannamedGeorgeglancedatden
thecleverlady,andthenreturnerte
returnedmoodilytohisplate.Åpenbart
Obviouslyheandhisfathergjorde
didnotdo.Lucy,inthemidstofher
suksess
success,foundtimetowishtheygjorde
did.Itgaveherno
ekstra
extrapleasurethatanyoneskulle
shouldbeleftinthekulden
cold;andwhensheroseto
gå
go,sheturnedbackandgavede
thetwooutsidersanervousliten
littlebow.Thefatherdidnot
så
seeit;thesonacknowledged
det
it,notbyanotherbow,men
butbyraisinghiseyebrowsog
andsmiling;heseemedtobe
smile
smilingacrosssomething.Shehastened
etter
afterhercousin,whohadallerede
alreadydisappearedthroughthecurtains—curtainswhichsmoteen
oneintheface,andvirket
seemedheavywithmorethancloth.Beyondthemstood
den
theunreliableSignora,bowinggood-eveningtoherguests,og
andsupportedby’Enery,herlille
littleboy,andVictorier,herdatter
daughter.Itmadeacurious
liten
littlescene,thisattemptoftheCockneytoformidle
conveythegraceandgenialityoftheSør
South.Andevenmorecuriouswas
den
thedrawing-room,whichattemptedtorivalden
thesolidcomfortofaBloomsburyboarding-house.Was
dette
thisreallyItaly?MissBartlettwas
allerede
alreadyseatedonatightlystuffedarm-chair,som
whichhadthecolourandthecontoursofen
atomato.ShewastalkingtoMr.Beebe,
og
andasshespoke,herlongsmale
narrowheaddrovebackwardsandforwards,sakte
slowly,regularly,asthoughshewererive
demolishingsomeinvisibleobstacle.“Wearemostgratefultoyou,”shewas
sa
saying.“Thefirsteveningmeansso
mye
much.Whenyouarrivedwewereinfor
en
apeculiarlymauvaisquartd’heure.”He
uttrykte
expressedhisregret.“Doyou,byany
tilfeldighet
chance,knowthenameofen
anoldmanwhosatoverfor
oppositeusatdinner?”“Emerson.”
“Ishe
en
afriendofyours?”“Wearefriendly—as
man
oneisinpensions.”“ThenI
vil
willsaynomore.”Hepressedher
veldig
veryslightly,andshesaidmer
more.“Iam,asitwere,”she
konkluderte
concluded,“thechaperonofmyunge
youngcousin,Lucy,anditville
wouldbeaseriousthingifIsetter
putherunderanobligationtofolk
peopleofwhomweknowingenting
nothing.Hismannerwassomewhat
uheldig
unfortunate.IhopeIactedfor
den
thebest.”“Youactedverynaturally,”
sa
saidhe.Heseemedthoughtful,
og
andafterafewmomentslagt
added:“Allthesame,Idon’t
tror
thinkmuchharmwouldhavecomeofaccepting.”“No
skade
harm,ofcourse.Butwe
kunne
couldnotbeunderanobligation.”“Heis
ganske
ratherapeculiarman.”Againhe
nølte
hesitated,andthensaidgently:“I
tror
thinkhewouldnottakeadvantageofyouraksept
acceptance,norexpectyoutovise
showgratitude.Hehasthemerit—ifitisone—of
si
sayingexactlywhathemeans.He
har
hasroomshedoesnotvalue,og
andhethinksyouwouldvaluedem
them.Henomorethoughtof
sette
puttingyouunderanobligationenn
thanhethoughtofbeinghøflig
polite.Itissodifficult—atleast,I
finner
finditdifficult—tounderstandpeoplesom
whospeakthetruth.”Lucywaspleased,
og
andsaid:“Iwashoping
at
thathewasnice;I
gjør
dosoalwayshopethatfolk
peoplewillbenice.”“I
tror
thinkheis;niceand
kjedelig
tiresome.Idifferfromhimon
nesten
almosteverypointofanybetydning
importance,andso,Iexpect—Ikan
maysayIhope—youwillforskjellig
differ.Buthisisa
type
typeonedisagreeswithratherenn
thandeplores.Whenhefirst
kom
cameherehenotunnaturallysette
putpeople’sbacksup.He
har
hasnotactandnomanners—Idon’tmener
meanbythatthathehar
hasbadmanners—andhewillnotholde
keephisopinionstohimself.We
nesten
nearlycomplainedabouthimtoourdeprimerende
depressingSignora,butIamglad
gladtosaywethoughtbedre
betterofit.”“AmItoconclude,”
sa
saidMissBartlett,“thatheisen
aSocialist?”Mr.
Beebeacceptedtheconvenient
ordet
word,notwithoutaslighttwitchingofthelips.“And
antagelig
presumablyhehasbroughtuphissønn
sontobeaSocialist,too?”“I
knapt
hardlyknowGeorge,forhehasn’tlært
learnttotalkyet.