ChapterITheBertolini
“TheSignorahadnobusinesstodoit,”saidMissBartlett,“nobusinessatall.
Shepromisedussouthroomswithaviewclosetogether,insteadofwhichherearenorthrooms,lookingintoa
pátio
courtyard,andalongwayapart.Oh,Lucy!”
“AndaCockney,besides!”
saidLucy,whohadbeenfurthersaddenedbytheSignora’s
inesperado
unexpectedaccent.“ItmightbeLondon.”
ShelookedatthetworowsofEnglishpeoplewhoweresittingatthetable;
attherowofwhitebottlesofwaterandredbottlesofwinethatranbetweentheEnglishpeople;
attheportraitsofthelateQueenandthelate
Poeta
PoetLaureatethathungbehindtheEnglishpeople,fortemente
heavilyframed;atthenoticeoftheEnglishchurch(Rev.
CuthbertEager,M.A.
Oxon.),thatwastheonlyother
decoração
decorationofthewall.“Charlotte,don’tyoufeel,too,thatwemightbeinLondon?
Icanhardlybelievethatallkindsofotherthingsarejustoutside.
Isupposeitisone’sbeingsotired.”
“Thismeathassurelybeenusedforsoup,”saidMissBartlett,layingdownher
garfo
fork.“IwantsotoseetheArno.
TheroomstheSignorapromisedusinherletterwouldhavelookedovertheArno.
TheSignorahadnobusinesstodoitatall.
Oh,itisashame!”
“Anynookdoesforme,”MissBartlettcontinued;
“butitdoesseemhardthatyoushouldn’thaveaview.”
Lucyfeltthatshehadbeenselfish.
“Charlotte,youmustn’t
mimar
spoilme:ofcourse,youmustlookovertheArno,too.
Imeantthat.
Thefirst
vago
vacantroominthefront—”“Youmusthaveit,”saidMissBartlett,partofwhosetravellingexpenseswerepaidbyLucy’smother—apieceof
generosidade
generositytowhichshemademanyatactfulallusion.“No,no.Youmusthaveit.”
“I
insisto
insistonit.Yourmotherwouldneverforgiveme,Lucy.”
“Shewouldneverforgiveme.”
Theladies’voicesgrewanimated,and—ifthesadtruthbeowned—alittlepeevish.
Theyweretired,andundertheguiseofunselfishnesstheywrangled.
Someoftheirneighboursinterchangedglances,andoneofthem—oneoftheill-bredpeoplewhomonedoesmeetabroad—leantforwardoverthetableandactually
intrometeu
intrudedintotheirargument.Hesaid:.
“Ihaveaview,Ihaveaview.”
MissBartlettwasstartled.
Geralmente
Generallyatapensionpeoplelookedthemoverforadayortwobeforespeaking,andoftendidnotfindoutthattheywould“do”tilltheyhadgone.Sheknewthatthe
intruso
intruderwasill-bred,evenbeforesheglancedathim.Hewasanoldman,ofheavybuild,withafair,shavenfaceandlargeeyes.
Therewassomething
infantil
childishinthoseeyes,thoughitwasnotthechildishnessofsenility.WhatexactlyitwasMissBartlettdidnotstoptoconsider,forher
olhar
glancepassedontohisclothes.Thesedidnot
atraíam
attracther.Hewasprobablytryingtobecomeacquaintedwiththembeforetheygotintotheswim.
Sosheassumedadazed
expressão
expressionwhenhespoketoher,andthensaid:“Aview?
Oh,aview!
Howdelightfulaviewis!”
“Thisismyson,”saidtheoldman;
“hisname’sGeorge.
Hehasaviewtoo.”
“Ah,”saidMissBartlett,repressingLucy,whowasabouttospeak.
“WhatImean,”hecontinued,“isthatyoucanhaveourrooms,andwe’llhaveyours.
We’llchange.”
Thebetterclassoftouristwasshockedatthis,and
simpatizou
sympathizedwiththenew-comers.MissBartlett,in
resposta
reply,openedhermouthaslittleaspossible,andsaid“Thankyouverymuchindeed;thatisoutofthequestion.”
“Why?”
saidtheoldman,withbothfistsonthetable.
“Becauseitisquiteoutofthequestion,thankyou.”
“Yousee,wedon’tliketotake—”
beganLucy.
Hercousinagainrepressedher.
“Butwhy?”
he
persistiu
persisted.“Womenlikelookingataview;
mendon’t.”
Andhethumpedwithhisfistslikeanaughtychild,andturnedtohisson,saying,“George,
persuadi
persuadethem!”“It’ssoobvioustheyshouldhavetherooms,”saidtheson.
“There’snothingelsetosay.”
Hedidnotlookattheladiesashespoke,buthisvoicewasperplexedandsorrowful.
Lucy,too,wasperplexed;
butshesawthattheywereinforwhatisknownas“quiteascene,”andshehadanoddfeelingthatwhenevertheseill-bredtouristsspokethecontestwidenedanddeepenedtillitdealt,notwithroomsandviews,butwith—well,withsomethingquitedifferent,whose
existência
existenceshehadnotrealizedbefore.NowtheoldmanattackedMissBartlettalmost
violentamente
violently:Whyshouldshenotchange?
Whatpossibleobjectionhadshe?
Theywouldclearoutinhalfanhour.
MissBartlett,thoughskilledinthedelicaciesofconversation,was
impotente
powerlessinthepresenceofbrutality.Itwasimpossibletosnubanyoneso
nojento
gross.Herfacereddenedwithdispleasure.
Shelookedaroundasmuchastosay,“Areyoualllikethis?”
Andtwolittleoldladies,whoweresittingfurtherupthetable,withshawlshangingoverthebacksofthechairs,lookedback,clearly
indicando
indicating“Wearenot;wearegenteel.”
“Eatyourdinner,dear,”shesaidtoLucy,andbegantotoyagainwiththemeatthatshehadoncecensured.
Lucymumbledthatthoseseemedveryoddpeopleopposite.
“Eatyourdinner,dear.
This
pensão
pensionisafailure.To-morrowwewillmakeachange.”
Hardlyhadsheannouncedthisfelldecisionwhenshe
reverteu
reversedit.Thecurtainsattheendoftheroomparted,and
revelavam
revealedaclergyman,stoutbutattractive,whohurriedforwardtotakehisplaceatthetable,cheerfullyapologizingforhislateness.Lucy,whohadnotyetacquired
decência
decency,atoncerosetoherfeet,exclaiming:“Oh,oh!
Why,it’sMr.Beebe!
Oh,howperfectlylovely!
Oh,Charlotte,wemuststopnow,howeverbadtheroomsare.
Oh!”
MissBartlettsaid,withmore
moderação
restraint:.“Howdoyoudo,Mr.Beebe?
Iexpectthatyouhaveforgottenus:
MissBartlettandMissHoneychurch,whowereatTunbridgeWellswhenyouhelpedthe
Vigário
VicarofSt.Peter’sthatverycoldEaster.”Theclergyman,whohadtheairofoneonaholiday,didnotremembertheladiesquiteasclearlyastheyrememberedhim.
ButhecameforwardpleasantlyenoughandacceptedthechairintowhichhewasbeckonedbyLucy.
“Iamsogladtoseeyou,”saidthegirl,whowasinastateof
espiritual
spiritualstarvation,andwouldhavebeengladtoseethegarçom
waiterifhercousinhadpermittedit.“Justfancyhowsmalltheworldis.
SummerStreet,too,makesitso
especialmente
speciallyfunny.”“MissHoneychurchlivesinthe
paróquia
parishofSummerStreet,”saidMissBartlett,fillingupthelacuna
gap,“andshehappenedtotellmeinthecourseofconversationthatyouhavejustacceptedtheliving—”.“Yes,Iheardfrommothersolastweek.
Shedidn’tknowthatIknewyouatTunbridgeWells;
butIwrotebackatonce,andIsaid:
‘Mr.
Beebeis—’”.
“Quiteright,”saidtheclergyman.
“ImoveintotheRectoryatSummerStreetnextJune.
Iamluckytobe
nomeado
appointedtosuchacharmingneighbourhood.”“Oh,howgladIam!
ThenameofourhouseisWindyCorner.”
Mr.Beebebowed.
“Thereismotherandmegenerally,andmybrother,thoughit’snotoftenwegethimtoch——
Thechurchisratherfaroff,Imean.”
“Lucy,dearest,letMr.Beebeeathisdinner.”
“Iameatingit,thankyou,andenjoyingit.”
HepreferredtotalktoLucy,whoseplayingheremembered,ratherthantoMissBartlett,whoprobablyrememberedhissermons.
HeaskedthegirlwhethersheknewFlorencewell,andwasinformedatsomelengththatshehadneverbeentherebefore.
Itisdelightfulto
aconselhar
adviseanewcomer,andhewasfirstinthefield.“Don’t
negligencie
neglectthecountryround,”hisadviceconcluiu
concluded.“ThefirstfineafternoondriveuptoFiesole,androundbySettignano,orsomethingofthatsort.”
“No!”
criedavoicefromthetopofthetable.
“Mr.
Beebe,youarewrong.
ThefirstfineafternoonyourladiesmustgotoPrato.”
“Thatladylookssoclever,”
sussurrou
whisperedMissBartletttohercousin.“Weareinluck.”
And,indeed,aperfecttorrentofinformationburstonthem.
Peopletoldthemwhattosee,whentoseeit,howtostoptheelectrictrams,howtogetridofthebeggars,howmuchtogiveforavellumblotter,howmuchtheplacewouldgrowuponthem.
The
Pensão
PensionBertolinihaddecided,almostenthusiastically,thattheywoulddo.Whicheverwaytheylooked,kindladiessmiledandshoutedatthem.
Andaboveallrosethevoiceofthecleverlady,crying:
“Prato!
TheymustgotoPrato.
Thatplaceistoosweetlysqualidforwords.
Iloveit;
Irevelinshakingoffthetrammelsofrespectability,asyouknow.”
TheyoungmannamedGeorgeglancedatthecleverlady,andthenreturnedmoodilytohisplate.
Obviouslyheandhisfatherdidnotdo.
Lucy,inthemidstofhersuccess,foundtimetowishtheydid.
Itgavehernoextrapleasurethatanyoneshouldbeleftinthecold;
andwhensherosetogo,sheturnedbackandgavethetwooutsidersanervouslittlebow.
Thefatherdidnotseeit;
theson
reconheceu
acknowledgedit,notbyanotherbow,butbyraisinghiseyebrowsandsmiling;heseemedtobesmilingacrosssomething.
Shehastenedafterhercousin,whohadalreadydisappearedthroughthecurtains—curtainswhichsmoteoneintheface,andseemedheavywithmorethan
pano
cloth.Beyondthemstoodthe
confiável
unreliableSignora,bowinggood-eveningtoherguests,andsupportedby’Enery,herlittleboy,andVictorier,herdaughter.Itmadeacuriouslittlescene,thisattemptoftheCockneyto
transmitir
conveythegraceandgenialityoftheSouth.Andevenmorecuriouswasthedrawing-room,whichattemptedto
rivalizar
rivalthesolidcomfortofaBloomsburyboarding-house.WasthisreallyItaly?
MissBartlettwasalreadyseatedonatightlystuffedarm-chair,whichhadthe
cor
colourandthecontoursofatomate
tomato.ShewastalkingtoMr.Beebe,andasshespoke,herlong
estreita
narrowheaddrovebackwardsandforwards,slowly,regularmente
regularly,asthoughsheweredemolindo
demolishingsomeinvisibleobstacle.“Wearemostgratefultoyou,”shewassaying.
“Thefirsteveningmeanssomuch.
Whenyouarrivedwewereinforapeculiarlymauvaisquartd’heure.”
Heexpressedhisregret.
“Doyou,byanychance,knowthenameofanoldmanwhosatoppositeusatdinner?”
“Emerson.”
“Isheafriendofyours?”
“Wearefriendly—asoneisinpensions.”
“ThenIwillsaynomore.”
Hepressedhervery
ligeiramente
slightly,andshesaidmore.“Iam,asitwere,”she
concluiu
concluded,“thechaperonofmyyoungcousin,Lucy,anditwouldbeaseriousthingifIputherunderanobrigação
obligationtopeopleofwhomweknownothing.His
maneira
mannerwassomewhatunfortunate.IhopeIactedforthebest.”
“Youactedverynaturally,”saidhe.
Heseemed
pensativo
thoughtful,andafterafewmomentsadded:“Allthesame,Idon’tthinkmuchharmwouldhavecomeofaccepting.”
“Noharm,ofcourse.
Butwecouldnotbeunderanobligation.”
“Heisrathera
peculiar
peculiarman.”Againhehesitated,andthensaid
suavemente
gently:“Ithinkhewouldnottakeadvantageofyour
aceitação
acceptance,norexpectyoutoshowgratidão
gratitude.Hehasthemerit—ifitisone—ofsayingexactlywhathemeans.
Hehasroomshedoesnotvalue,andhethinksyouwouldvaluethem.
Henomorethoughtofputtingyouunderan
obrigação
obligationthanhethoughtofbeingeducado
polite.Itissodifficult—atleast,Ifinditdifficult—tounderstandpeoplewhospeakthetruth.”
Lucywaspleased,andsaid:
“Iwashopingthathewasnice;
Idosoalwayshopethatpeoplewillbenice.”
“Ithinkheis;
niceand
cansativo
tiresome.Idifferfromhimonalmosteverypointofany
importância
importance,andso,Iexpect—ImaysayIhope—youwilldivergirá
differ.Buthisisatypeone
discordamos
disagreeswithratherthandeplores.Whenhefirstcameherehenotunnaturallyputpeople’sbacksup.
Hehasnotactandnomanners—Idon’tmeanbythatthathehasbadmanners—andhewillnotkeephisopinionstohimself.
Wenearly
queixámos
complainedabouthimtoourdepressingSignora,butIamgladtosaywethoughtbetterofit.”“AmItoconclude,”saidMissBartlett,“thatheisaSocialist?”
Mr.
Beebeacceptedthe
conveniente
convenientword,notwithoutaligeira
slighttwitchingofthelips.“And
presumivelmente
presumablyhehasbroughtuphissontobeaSocialista
Socialist,too?”“IhardlyknowGeorge,forhehasn’tlearnttotalkyet.