ChapterITheBertolini
“TheSignorahadnobusinesstodoit,”saidMissBartlett,“nobusinessatall.
Shepromisedus
sør
southroomswithaviewclosetogether,insteadofwhichherearenord
northrooms,lookingintoacourtyard,andalongwayhverandre
apart.Oh,Lucy!”
“AndaCockney,besides!”
saidLucy,whohadbeen
ytterligere
furthersaddenedbytheSignora’sunexpectedaccent.“ItmightbeLondon.”
ShelookedatthetworowsofEnglishpeoplewhoweresittingatthe
bordet
table;attherowofwhitebottlesofwaterandredbottlesof
vin
winethatranbetweentheEnglishpeople;attheportraitsofthelateQueenandthelatePoetLaureatethathungbehindtheEnglishpeople,heavilyframed;
atthenoticeoftheEnglish
kirken
church(Rev.CuthbertEager,M.A.
Oxon.),thatwastheonlyotherdecorationofthe
veggen
wall.“Charlotte,don’tyoufeel,too,thatwemightbeinLondon?
Icanhardlybelievethatallkindsofotherthingsarejustoutside.
I
antar
supposeitisone’sbeingsotired.”“Thismeathassurelybeenusedforsoup,”saidMissBartlett,
legger
layingdownherfork.“IwantsotoseetheArno.
TheroomstheSignorapromisedusinher
brevet
letterwouldhavelookedovertheArno.TheSignorahadnobusinesstodoitatall.
Oh,itisashame!”
“Anynookdoesforme,”MissBartlett
fortsatte
continued;“butitdoesseemhardthatyoushouldn’thaveaview.”
Lucyfeltthatshehadbeenselfish.
“Charlotte,youmustn’tspoilme:
ofcourse,youmustlookovertheArno,too.
Imeantthat.
Thefirstvacantroominthefront—”
“Youmusthaveit,”saidMissBartlett,partof
hvis
whosetravellingexpenseswerepaidbyLucy’smother—astykke
pieceofgenerositytowhichshemademanyatactfulallusion.“No,no.Youmusthaveit.”
“Iinsistonit.
Yourmotherwouldnever
tilgi
forgiveme,Lucy.”“Shewouldnever
tilgi
forgiveme.”Theladies’voicesgrewanimated,and—ifthesadtruthbeowned—alittlepeevish.
Theyweretired,andundertheguiseofunselfishnesstheywrangled.
Someoftheirneighboursinterchangedglances,andoneofthem—oneoftheill-bredpeoplewhomonedoesmeetabroad—leant
frem
forwardoverthetableandactuallyintrudedintotheirargument.Hesaid:.
“Ihaveaview,Ihaveaview.”
MissBartlettwasstartled.
Generallyatapensionpeoplelookedthemoverforadayortwobeforespeaking,and
ofte
oftendidnotfindoutthattheywould“do”tilltheyhadgone.Sheknewthattheintruderwasill-bred,evenbeforesheglancedathim.
Hewasanoldman,of
tung
heavybuild,withafair,shavenfaceandstore
largeeyes.Therewassomethingchildishinthoseeyes,thoughitwasnotthechildishnessofsenility.
WhatexactlyitwasMissBartlettdidnotstoptoconsider,forherglancepassedontohisclothes.
Thesedidnotattracther.
Hewasprobablytryingtobecomeacquaintedwiththembeforetheygotintotheswim.
Sosheassumedadazedexpressionwhenhespoketoher,andthensaid:
“Aview?
Oh,aview!
Howdelightfulaviewis!”
“Thisismyson,”saidtheoldman;
“hisname’sGeorge.
Hehasaviewtoo.”
“Ah,”saidMissBartlett,repressingLucy,whowasabouttospeak.
“WhatImean,”he
fortsatte
continued,“isthatyoucanhaveourrooms,andwe’llhaveyours.We’llchange.”
Thebetterclassoftouristwasshockedatthis,andsympathizedwiththenew-comers.
MissBartlett,inreply,openedher
munnen
mouthaslittleaspossible,andsaid“Thankyouverymuchindeed;thatisoutofthequestion.”
“Why?”
saidtheoldman,withbothfistsonthe
bordet
table.“Becauseitisquiteoutofthequestion,thankyou.”
“Yousee,wedon’tliketotake—”
begynte
beganLucy.Hercousinagainrepressedher.
“Butwhy?”
hepersisted.
“Womenlikelookingataview;
mendon’t.”
Andhethumpedwithhisfistslikeanaughtychild,andturnedtohisson,saying,“George,persuadethem!”
“It’ssoobvioustheyshouldhavetherooms,”saidtheson.
“There’snothingelsetosay.”
Hedidnotlookattheladiesashespoke,buthisvoicewasperplexedandsorrowful.
Lucy,too,wasperplexed;
butshesawthattheywereinforwhatisknownas“quiteascene,”andshehadanoddfeelingthatwhenevertheseill-bredtouristsspokethecontestwidenedanddeepenedtillitdealt,notwithroomsandviews,butwith—well,withsomethingquitedifferent,
hvis
whoseexistenceshehadnotrealizedbefore.Nowtheoldman
angrepet
attackedMissBartlettalmostviolently:Whyshouldshenotchange?
Whatpossibleobjectionhadshe?
Theywouldclearoutinhalfanhour.
MissBartlett,thoughskilledinthedelicaciesofconversation,waspowerlessinthepresenceofbrutality.
Itwas
umulig
impossibletosnubanyonesogross.Herfacereddenedwithdispleasure.
Shelookedaroundasmuchastosay,“Areyoualllikethis?”
Andtwolittleoldladies,whoweresitting
lenger
furtherupthetable,withshawlshangingoverthebacksofthechairs,lookedback,clearlyindicating“Wearenot;wearegenteel.”
“Eatyourdinner,dear,”shesaidtoLucy,and
begynte
begantotoyagainwiththemeatthatshehadoncecensured.Lucymumbledthatthose
virket
seemedveryoddpeopleopposite.“Eatyourdinner,dear.
Thispensionisafailure.
To-morrowwewillmakeachange.”
Hardlyhadsheannouncedthisfelldecisionwhenshereversedit.
Thecurtainsattheendoftheroomparted,andrevealedaclergyman,stoutbutattractive,whohurried
frem
forwardtotakehisplaceatthebordet
table,cheerfullyapologizingforhislateness.Lucy,whohadnotyetacquireddecency,atoncerosetoherfeet,exclaiming:
“Oh,oh!
Why,it’sMr.Beebe!
Oh,howperfectly
deilig
lovely!Oh,Charlotte,wemuststopnow,howeverbadtheroomsare.
Oh!”
MissBartlettsaid,withmorerestraint:.
“Howdoyoudo,Mr.Beebe?
I
forventer
expectthatyouhaveforgottenus:MissBartlettandMissHoneychurch,whowereatTunbridgeWellswhenyouhelpedtheVicarofSt.Peter’sthatverycoldEaster.”
Theclergyman,whohadtheairofoneonaholiday,didnotremembertheladiesquiteasclearlyastheyrememberedhim.
Buthecame
frem
forwardpleasantlyenoughandacceptedthechairintowhichhewasbeckonedbyLucy.“Iamso
glad
gladtoseeyou,”saidthegirl,whowasinatilstand
stateofspiritualstarvation,andwouldhavebeenglad
gladtoseethewaiterifherfetter
cousinhadpermittedit.“Justfancyhowsmalltheworldis.
SummerStreet,too,makesitsospeciallyfunny.”
“MissHoneychurchlivesintheparishofSummerStreet,”saidMissBartlett,fillingupthegap,“andshehappenedtotellmeinthecourseofconversationthatyouhavejust
akseptert
acceptedtheliving—”.“Yes,Iheardfrommothersolastweek.
Shedidn’tknowthatIknewyouatTunbridgeWells;
butIwrotebackatonce,andIsaid:
‘Mr.
Beebeis—’”.
“Quiteright,”saidtheclergyman.
“ImoveintotheRectoryatSummerStreetnextJune.
Iamluckytobeappointedtosuchacharmingneighbourhood.”
“Oh,how
glad
gladIam!ThenameofourhouseisWindyCorner.”
Mr.Beebebowed.
“Thereismotherandmegenerally,andmybrother,thoughit’snot
ofte
oftenwegethimtoch——The
kirken
churchisratherfaroff,Imean.”“Lucy,dearest,letMr.Beebeeathisdinner.”
“Iameatingit,thankyou,and
nyter
enjoyingit.”HepreferredtotalktoLucy,
hvis
whoseplayingheremembered,ratherthantoMissBartlett,whoprobablyrememberedhissermons.Heaskedthegirl
om
whethersheknewFlorencewell,andwasinformedatsomelengththatshehadneverbeentherebefore.Itisdelightfultoadviseanewcomer,andhewasfirstinthe
feltet
field.“Don’tneglectthecountryround,”hisadviceconcluded.
“ThefirstfineafternoondriveuptoFiesole,and
rundt
roundbySettignano,orsomethingofthatsort.”“No!”
crieda
stemme
voicefromthetopofthebordet
table.“Mr.
Beebe,youarewrong.
ThefirstfineafternoonyourladiesmustgotoPrato.”
“Thatladylookssoclever,”whisperedMissBartletttoher
fetter
cousin.“Weareinluck.”
And,indeed,aperfecttorrentof
informasjon
informationburstonthem.Peopletoldthemwhattosee,whentoseeit,howtostoptheelectrictrams,howtogetridofthebeggars,howmuchtogiveforavellumblotter,howmuchtheplacewould
vokse
growuponthem.ThePensionBertolinihaddecided,almostenthusiastically,thattheywoulddo.
Whicheverwaytheylooked,kindladiessmiledandshoutedatthem.
And
over
aboveallrosethevoiceofthecleverlady,gråt
crying:“Prato!
TheymustgotoPrato.
Thatplaceistoosweetlysqualidforwords.
Iloveit;
Irevelinshakingoffthetrammelsofrespectability,asyouknow.”
TheyoungmannamedGeorgeglancedatthecleverlady,andthenreturnedmoodilytohisplate.
Åpenbart
Obviouslyheandhisfatherdidnotdo.Lucy,inthemidstofhersuccess,foundtimetowishtheydid.
Itgavehernoextra
glede
pleasurethatanyoneshouldbeleftinthecold;andwhensherosetogo,sheturnedbackandgavethetwooutsidersa
nervøs
nervouslittlebow.Thefatherdidnotseeit;
thesonacknowledgedit,notbyanotherbow,butbyraisinghiseyebrowsand
smile
smiling;heseemedtobe
smile
smilingacrosssomething.Shehastenedafterher
fetter
cousin,whohadalreadydisappearedthroughthecurtains—curtainswhichsmoteoneintheface,andvirket
seemedheavywithmorethancloth.BeyondthemstoodtheunreliableSignora,bowinggood-eveningtoherguests,and
støttet
supportedby’Enery,herlittleboy,andVictorier,herdaughter.Itmadeacuriouslittle
scene
scene,thisattemptoftheCockneytoconveythegraceandgenialityoftheSør
South.Andevenmorecuriouswasthedrawing-room,whichattemptedtorivalthesolidcomfortofaBloomsburyboarding-house.
WasthisreallyItaly?
MissBartlettwasalreadyseatedonatightlystuffedarm-chair,whichhadthecolourandthecontoursofatomato.
ShewastalkingtoMr.Beebe,andasshespoke,herlongnarrowheaddrovebackwardsandforwards,slowly,regularly,asthoughsheweredemolishingsomeinvisibleobstacle.
“Wearemostgratefultoyou,”shewassaying.
“Thefirst
kvelden
eveningmeanssomuch.Whenyouarrivedwewereinforapeculiarlymauvaisquartd’heure.”
Heexpressedhisregret.
“Doyou,byanychance,knowthenameofanoldmanwhosatoppositeusatdinner?”
“Emerson.”
“Isheafriendofyours?”
“Wearefriendly—asoneisinpensions.”
“ThenIwillsaynomore.”
Hepressedherveryslightly,andshesaidmore.
“Iam,asitwere,”sheconcluded,“thechaperonofmyyoung
fetter
cousin,Lucy,anditwouldbeaseriousthingifIputherunderanobligationtopeopleofwhomweknownothing.Hismannerwassomewhatunfortunate.
IhopeIactedforthebest.”
“Youactedverynaturally,”saidhe.
He
virket
seemedthoughtful,andafterafewmomentsadded:“Allthesame,Idon’tthinkmuchharmwouldhavecomeofaccepting.”
“Noharm,ofcourse.
Butwecouldnotbeunderanobligation.”
“Heis
ganske
ratherapeculiarman.”Againhehesitated,andthensaidgently:
“Ithinkhewouldnottakeadvantageofyouracceptance,
heller
norexpectyoutoshowgratitude.Hehasthemerit—ifitisone—ofsayingexactlywhathemeans.
Hehasroomshedoesnotvalue,andhethinksyouwouldvaluethem.
Henomorethoughtofputtingyouunderanobligationthanhethoughtofbeingpolite.
Itissodifficult—atleast,Ifinditdifficult—tounderstandpeoplewhospeakthetruth.”
Lucywaspleased,andsaid:
“Iwashopingthathewasnice;
Idosoalwayshopethatpeoplewillbenice.”
“Ithinkheis;
niceandtiresome.
Idifferfromhimonalmosteverypointofanyimportance,andso,Iexpect—ImaysayIhope—youwilldiffer.
Buthisisa
type
typeonedisagreeswithratherthandeplores.Whenhefirstcameherehenotunnaturallyputpeople’sbacksup.
Hehasnotactandnomanners—Idon’tmeanbythatthathehasbadmanners—andhewillnotkeephisopinionstohimself.
WenearlycomplainedabouthimtoourdepressingSignora,butIam
glad
gladtosaywethoughtbetterofit.”“AmItoconclude,”saidMissBartlett,“thatheisaSocialist?”
Mr.
Beebe
aksepterte
acceptedtheconvenientword,notwithoutaslighttwitchingofthelips.“AndpresumablyhehasbroughtuphissontobeaSocialist,too?”
“IhardlyknowGeorge,forhehasn’tlearnttotalkyet.