ChapterITheBertolini
“TheSignorahadnobusinesstodoit,”saidMissBartlett,“nobusinessatall.
Shepromisedus
južne
southroomswithaviewclosetogether,namesto tega
insteadofwhichherearenorthrooms,lookingintoacourtyard,andalongwayapart.Oh,Lucy!”
“AndaCockney,besides!”
saidLucy,whohadbeenfurthersaddenedbytheSignora’sunexpectedaccent.
“ItmightbeLondon.”
ShelookedatthetworowsofEnglishpeoplewhoweresittingatthe
mizo
table;attherowofwhitebottlesofwaterandredbottlesof
vina
winethatranbetweentheEnglishpeople;attheportraitsofthelateQueenandthelatePoetLaureatethathungbehindtheEnglishpeople,heavilyframed;
atthenoticeoftheEnglish
cerkve
church(Rev.CuthbertEager,M.A.
Oxon.),thatwastheonlyotherdecorationofthe
stene
wall.“Charlotte,don’tyoufeel,too,thatwemightbeinLondon?
Icanhardlybelievethatallkindsofotherthingsarejustoutside.
I
predvidevam
supposeitisone’sbeingsotired.”“This
meso
meathassurelybeenusedforsoup,”saidMissBartlett,layingdownherfork.“IwantsotoseetheArno.
TheroomstheSignorapromisedusinherletterwouldhavelookedovertheArno.
TheSignorahadnobusinesstodoitatall.
Oh,itisashame!”
“Anynookdoesforme,”MissBartlettcontinued;
“butitdoes
zdi
seemhardthatyoushouldn’thaveaview.”Lucyfeltthatshehadbeenselfish.
“Charlotte,youmustn’tspoilme:
ofcourse,youmustlookovertheArno,too.
Imeantthat.
Thefirstvacantroominthefront—”
“Youmusthaveit,”saidMissBartlett,partofwhosetravellingexpenseswerepaidbyLucy’smother—apieceofgenerositytowhichshemademanyatactfulallusion.
“No,no.Youmusthaveit.”
“Iinsistonit.
Yourmotherwouldneverforgiveme,Lucy.”
“Shewouldneverforgiveme.”
Theladies’voicesgrewanimated,and—ifthesadtruthbeowned—alittlepeevish.
Theywere
utrujeni
tired,andundertheguiseofunselfishnesstheywrangled.Someoftheirneighboursinterchangedglances,andoneofthem—oneoftheill-bredpeoplewhomonedoesmeetabroad—leantforwardoverthe
mizo
tableandactuallyintrudedintotheirargument.Hesaid:.
“Ihaveaview,Ihaveaview.”
MissBartlettwasstartled.
Generallyatapensionpeoplelookedthemoverforadayortwobeforespeaking,and
pogosto
oftendidnotfindoutthattheywould“do”tilltheyhadgone.Sheknewthattheintruderwasill-bred,evenbeforesheglancedathim.
Hewasanoldman,of
težke
heavybuild,withafair,shavenfaceandlargeeyes.Therewassomethingchildishinthoseeyes,thoughitwasnotthechildishnessofsenility.
WhatexactlyitwasMissBartlettdidnotstoptoconsider,forherglancepassedontohis
obleke
clothes.Thesedidnotattracther.
Hewasprobablytryingtobecomeacquaintedwiththembeforetheygotintotheswim.
Sosheassumedadazedexpressionwhenhespoketoher,andthensaid:
“Aview?
Oh,aview!
Howdelightfulaviewis!”
“Thisismyson,”saidtheoldman;
“hisname’sGeorge.
Hehasaviewtoo.”
“Ah,”saidMissBartlett,repressingLucy,whowasabouttospeak.
“WhatImean,”hecontinued,“isthatyoucanhaveourrooms,andwe’llhaveyours.
We’llchange.”
Thebetterclassoftouristwasshockedatthis,andsympathizedwiththenew-comers.
MissBartlett,inreply,openedher
usta
mouthaslittleaspossible,andsaid“Thankyouverymuchindeed;thatisoutofthequestion.”
“Why?”
saidtheoldman,withbothfistsonthetable.
“Becauseitisquiteoutofthequestion,thankyou.”
“Yousee,wedon’tliketotake—”
beganLucy.
Her
bratranec
cousinagainrepressedher.“Butwhy?”
hepersisted.
“Womenlikelookingataview;
mendon’t.”
Andhethumpedwithhisfistslikeanaughtychild,andturnedtohisson,saying,“George,persuadethem!”
“It’ssoobvioustheyshouldhavetherooms,”saidtheson.
“There’snothingelsetosay.”
Hedidnotlookattheladiesashespoke,buthis
glas
voicewasperplexedandsorrowful.Lucy,too,wasperplexed;
butshesawthattheywereinforwhatisknownas“quiteascene,”andshehadanoddfeelingthatwhenevertheseill-bredtouristsspokethecontestwidenedanddeepenedtillitdealt,notwithroomsandviews,butwith—well,withsomethingquitedifferent,
čigar
whoseexistenceshehadnotrealizedbefore.NowtheoldmanattackedMissBartlettalmostviolently:
Whyshouldshenotchange?
Whatpossibleobjectionhadshe?
Theywouldclearoutinhalfanhour.
MissBartlett,thoughskilledinthedelicaciesofconversation,waspowerlessinthepresenceofbrutality.
Itwas
nemogoče
impossibletosnubanyonesogross.Herfacereddenedwithdispleasure.
Shelookedaroundasmuchastosay,“Areyoualllikethis?”
Andtwolittleoldladies,whoweresittingfurtherupthe
mizo
table,withshawlshangingoverthebacksofthechairs,lookedback,clearlyindicating“Wearenot;wearegenteel.”
“Eatyourdinner,dear,”shesaidtoLucy,andbegantotoyagainwiththe
mesom
meatthatshehadoncecensured.Lucymumbledthatthoseseemedveryoddpeopleopposite.
“Eatyourdinner,dear.
Thispensionisafailure.
To-morrowwewillmakeachange.”
Hardlyhadsheannouncedthisfell
odločitev
decisionwhenshereversedit.Thecurtainsattheendoftheroomparted,andrevealedaclergyman,stoutbutattractive,whohurriedforwardtotakehisplaceatthe
mizo
table,cheerfullyapologizingforhislateness.Lucy,whohadnotyetacquireddecency,atoncerosetoher
noge
feet,exclaiming:“Oh,oh!
Why,it’sMr.Beebe!
Oh,howperfectly
čudovito
lovely!Oh,Charlotte,wemuststopnow,howeverbadtheroomsare.
Oh!”
MissBartlettsaid,withmorerestraint:.
“Howdoyoudo,Mr.Beebe?
Iexpectthatyouhaveforgottenus:
MissBartlettandMissHoneychurch,whowereatTunbridgeWellswhenyouhelpedtheVicarofSt.Peter’sthatverycoldEaster.”
Theclergyman,whohadtheairofoneonaholiday,didnotremembertheladiesquiteasclearlyastheyrememberedhim.
ButhecameforwardpleasantlyenoughandacceptedthechairintowhichhewasbeckonedbyLucy.
“Iamsogladtoseeyou,”saidthegirl,whowasinastateofspiritualstarvation,andwouldhavebeengladtoseethewaiterifher
bratranec
cousinhadpermittedit.“Justfancyhowsmalltheworldis.
SummerStreet,too,makesitsospeciallyfunny.”
“MissHoneychurchlivesintheparishofSummerStreet,”saidMissBartlett,fillingupthegap,“andshehappenedtotellmeinthecourseofconversationthatyouhavejustacceptedtheliving—”.
“Yes,Iheardfrommothersolastweek.
Shedidn’tknowthatIknewyouatTunbridgeWells;
butIwrotebackatonce,andIsaid:
‘Mr.
Beebeis—’”.
“Quiteright,”saidtheclergyman.
“ImoveintotheRectoryatSummerStreetnextJune.
Iamluckytobeappointedtosuchacharmingneighbourhood.”
“Oh,howgladIam!
ThenameofourhouseisWindyCorner.”
Mr.Beebebowed.
“Thereismotherandmegenerally,andmybrother,thoughit’snot
pogosto
oftenwegethimtoch——The
cerkev
churchisratherfaroff,Imean.”“Lucy,dearest,letMr.Beebeeathisdinner.”
“Iameatingit,thankyou,andenjoyingit.”
HepreferredtotalktoLucy,whoseplayingheremembered,
raje
ratherthantoMissBartlett,whoprobablyrememberedhissermons.Heaskedthegirl
ali
whethersheknewFlorencewell,andwasinformedatsomelengththatshehadneverbeentherebefore.Itisdelightfultoadviseanewcomer,andhewasfirstinthefield.
“Don’tneglectthecountryround,”hisadviceconcluded.
“Thefirstfine
popoldne
afternoondriveuptoFiesole,androundbySettignano,orsomethingofthatsort.”“No!”
crieda
glas
voicefromthetopofthetable.“Mr.
Beebe,youarewrong.
Thefirstfine
popoldne
afternoonyourladiesmustgotoPrato.”“Thatladylookssoclever,”whisperedMissBartletttohercousin.
“Weareinluck.”
And,indeed,aperfecttorrentofinformationburstonthem.
Peopletoldthemwhattosee,whentoseeit,howtostoptheelectrictrams,howtogetridofthebeggars,howmuchtogiveforavellumblotter,howmuchtheplacewouldgrowuponthem.
ThePensionBertolinihaddecided,almostenthusiastically,thattheywoulddo.
Whicheverwaytheylooked,kindladiessmiledandshoutedatthem.
And
nad
aboveallrosethevoiceofthecleverlady,crying:“Prato!
TheymustgotoPrato.
Thatplaceistoosweetlysqualidforwords.
Iloveit;
Irevelinshakingoffthetrammelsofrespectability,asyouknow.”
TheyoungmannamedGeorgeglancedatthecleverlady,andthenreturnedmoodilytohisplate.
Očitno
Obviouslyheandhisfatherdidnotdo.Lucy,inthemidstofhersuccess,foundtimetowishtheydid.
Itgavehernoextrapleasurethatanyoneshouldbeleftinthecold;
andwhensherosetogo,sheturnedbackandgavethetwooutsidersanervouslittlebow.
Thefatherdidnotseeit;
thesonacknowledgedit,notbyanotherbow,butbyraisinghiseyebrowsandsmiling;
heseemedtobesmilingacrosssomething.
Shehastenedafterhercousin,whohadalreadydisappearedthroughthecurtains—curtainswhichsmoteoneintheface,andseemedheavywithmorethancloth.
BeyondthemstoodtheunreliableSignora,bowinggood-eveningtoherguests,andsupportedby’Enery,herlittleboy,andVictorier,herdaughter.
Itmadeacuriouslittle
prizor
scene,thisattemptoftheCockneytoconveythegraceandgenialityoftheSouth.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.
IhopeIactedforthebest.”
“Youactedverynaturally,”saidhe.
Heseemedthoughtful,andafterafewmomentsadded:
“Allthesame,Idon’tthinkmuchharmwouldhavecomeofaccepting.”
“Noharm,ofcourse.
Butwecouldnotbeunderanobligation.”
“Heisratherapeculiarman.”
Againhehesitated,andthensaidgently:
“Ithinkhewouldnottakeadvantageofyouracceptance,norexpectyoutoshowgratitude.
Hehasthemerit—ifitisone—ofsayingexactlywhathemeans.
Hehasroomshedoesnotvalue,andhethinksyouwouldvaluethem.
Henomorethoughtofputtingyouunderanobligationthanhethoughtofbeingpolite.
Itissodifficult—atleast,Ifinditdifficult—tounderstandpeoplewhospeakthetruth.”
Lucywaspleased,andsaid:
“Iwashopingthathewasnice;
Idosoalwayshopethatpeoplewillbenice.”
“Ithinkheis;
niceandtiresome.
Idifferfromhimonalmosteverypointofanyimportance,andso,Iexpect—ImaysayIhope—youwilldiffer.
Buthisisa
vrsta
typeonedisagreeswithratherthandeplores.Whenhefirstcameherehenotunnaturallyputpeople’sbacksup.
Hehasnotactandnomanners—Idon’tmeanbythatthathehasbadmanners—andhewillnotkeephisopinionstohimself.
WenearlycomplainedabouthimtoourdepressingSignora,butIamgladtosaywethoughtbetterofit.”
“AmItoconclude,”saidMissBartlett,“thatheisaSocialist?”
Mr.
Beebeacceptedtheconvenientword,notwithoutaslighttwitchingofthelips.
“AndpresumablyhehasbroughtuphissontobeaSocialist,too?”
“IhardlyknowGeorge,forhehasn’tlearnttotalkyet.