ChapterITheBertolini
“TheSignorahadnobusinesstodoit,”saidMissBartlett,“nobusinessatall.
Shepromisedus
sur
southroomswithaviewclosetogether,en vez
insteadofwhichherearenorthrooms,lookingintoacourtyard,andalongwayapart.Oh,Lucy!”
“AndaCockney,besides!”
saidLucy,whohadbeen
más
furthersaddenedbytheSignora’sunexpectedaccent.“ItmightbeLondon.”
ShelookedatthetworowsofEnglishpeoplewhoweresittingatthe
mesa
table;attherowofwhitebottlesofwaterandredbottlesof
vino
winethatranbetweentheEnglishpeople;attheportraitsofthelate
Reina
QueenandthelatePoetLaureatethathungbehindtheEnglishpeople,heavilyframed;atthe
aviso
noticeoftheEnglishchurch(Rev.CuthbertEager,M.A.
Oxon.),thatwastheonlyotherdecorationofthe
pared
wall.“Charlotte,don’tyoufeel,too,thatwemightbeinLondon?
Icanhardlybelievethatallkindsofotherthingsarejustoutside.
I
supongo
supposeitisone’sbeingsotired.”“This
carne
meathassurelybeenusedforsoup,”saidMissBartlett,layingdownherfork.“IwantsotoseetheArno.
TheroomstheSignorapromisedusinher
carta
letterwouldhavelookedovertheArno.TheSignorahadnobusinesstodoitatall.
Oh,itisashame!”
“Anynookdoesforme,”MissBartlett
continuó
continued;“butitdoesseemhardthatyoushouldn’thaveaview.”
Lucyfeltthatshehadbeenselfish.
“Charlotte,youmustn’tspoilme:
ofcourse,youmustlookovertheArno,too.
Imeantthat.
Thefirstvacantroominthefront—”
“Youmusthaveit,”saidMissBartlett,partof
cuyos
whosetravellingexpenseswerepaidbyLucy’smother—apieceofgenerositytowhichshemademanyatactfulallusion.“No,no.Youmusthaveit.”
“Iinsistonit.
Yourmotherwouldnever
perdonaría
forgiveme,Lucy.”“Shewouldnever
perdonaría
forgiveme.”Theladies’voicesgrewanimated,and—ifthe
triste
sadtruthbeowned—alittlepeevish.Theyweretired,andundertheguiseofunselfishnesstheywrangled.
Someoftheirneighboursinterchangedglances,andoneofthem—oneoftheill-bredpeoplewhomonedoesmeetabroad—leant
adelante
forwardoverthetableandactuallyintrudedintotheirargument.Hesaid:.
“Ihaveaview,Ihaveaview.”
MissBartlettwasstartled.
Generallyatapensionpeoplelookedthemoverforadayortwobeforespeaking,andoftendidnotfindoutthattheywould“do”tilltheyhadgone.
Sheknewthattheintruderwasill-bred,evenbeforesheglancedathim.
Hewasanoldman,ofheavybuild,withafair,shavenfaceandlargeeyes.
Therewassomethingchildishinthoseeyes,thoughitwasnotthechildishnessofsenility.
WhatexactlyitwasMissBartlettdidnotstoptoconsider,forherglance
pasó
passedontohisclothes.Thesedidnotattracther.
Hewasprobablytryingtobecomeacquaintedwiththembeforetheygotintotheswim.
Sosheassumedadazedexpressionwhenhespoketoher,andthensaid:
“Aview?
Oh,aview!
Howdelightfulaviewis!”
“Thisismyson,”saidtheoldman;
“hisname’sGeorge.
Hehasaviewtoo.”
“Ah,”saidMissBartlett,repressingLucy,whowasabouttospeak.
“WhatImean,”he
continuó
continued,“isthatyoucanhaveourrooms,andwe’llhaveyours.We’llchange.”
Thebetterclassoftouristwasshockedatthis,andsympathizedwiththenew-comers.
MissBartlett,inreply,openedher
boca
mouthaslittleaspossible,andsaid“Thankyouverymuchindeed;thatisoutofthequestion.”
“Why?”
saidtheoldman,withbothfistsonthe
mesa
table.“Becauseitisquiteoutofthequestion,thankyou.”
“Yousee,wedon’tliketotake—”
comenzó
beganLucy.Hercousinagainrepressedher.
“Butwhy?”
hepersisted.
“Womenlikelookingataview;
mendon’t.”
Andhethumpedwithhisfistslikeanaughtychild,andturnedtohisson,saying,“George,persuadethem!”
“It’ssoobvioustheyshouldhavetherooms,”saidtheson.
“There’snothingelsetosay.”
Hedidnotlookattheladiesashespoke,buthis
voz
voicewasperplexedandsorrowful.Lucy,too,wasperplexed;
butshesawthattheywereinforwhatisknownas“quiteascene,”andshehadanoddfeelingthatwhenevertheseill-bredtouristsspokethecontestwidenedanddeepenedtillitdealt,notwithroomsandviews,butwith—well,withsomethingquitedifferent,
cuya
whoseexistenceshehadnotrealizedbefore.Nowtheoldman
atacó
attackedMissBartlettalmostviolently:Whyshouldshenotchange?
Whatpossibleobjectionhadshe?
Theywouldclearoutinhalfanhour.
MissBartlett,thoughskilledinthedelicaciesofconversation,waspowerlessinthepresenceofbrutality.
Itwas
imposible
impossibletosnubanyonesogross.Herfacereddenedwithdispleasure.
Shelookedaroundasmuchastosay,“Areyoualllikethis?”
Andtwolittleoldladies,whoweresitting
más
furtherupthetable,withshawlshangingoverthebacksofthechairs,lookedback,clearlyindicating“Wearenot;wearegenteel.”
“Eatyourdinner,dear,”shesaidtoLucy,and
comenzó
begantotoyagainwiththecarne
meatthatshehadoncecensured.Lucymumbledthatthose
parecían
seemedveryoddpeopleopposite.“Eatyourdinner,dear.
Thispensionisafailure.
To-morrowwewillmakeachange.”
Hardlyhadsheannouncedthisfell
decisión
decisionwhenshereversedit.Thecurtainsattheendoftheroomparted,andrevealedaclergyman,stoutbutattractive,whohurriedforwardtotakehisplaceatthe
mesa
table,cheerfullyapologizingforhislateness.Lucy,whohadnotyetacquireddecency,atoncerosetoherfeet,exclaiming:
“Oh,oh!
Why,it’sMr.Beebe!
Oh,howperfectly
encantador
lovely!Oh,Charlotte,wemuststopnow,howeverbadtheroomsare.
Oh!”
MissBartlettsaid,withmorerestraint:.
“Howdoyoudo,Mr.Beebe?
I
espero
expectthatyouhaveforgottenus:MissBartlettandMissHoneychurch,whowereatTunbridgeWellswhenyouhelpedtheVicarofSt.Peter’sthatverycoldEaster.”
Theclergyman,whohadtheairofoneonaholiday,didnotremembertheladiesquiteasclearlyastheyrememberedhim.
Buthecameforwardpleasantlyenoughand
aceptó
acceptedthechairintowhichhewasbeckonedbyLucy.“Iamsogladtoseeyou,”saidthegirl,whowasina
estado
stateofspiritualstarvation,andwouldhavebeengladtoseethewaiterifherprima
cousinhadpermittedit.“Justfancyhowsmalltheworldis.
SummerStreet,too,makesitsospeciallyfunny.”
“MissHoneychurchlivesintheparishofSummerStreet,”saidMissBartlett,fillingupthegap,“andshehappenedtotellmeinthecourseofconversationthatyouhavejust
aceptar
acceptedtheliving—”.“Yes,Iheardfrommothersolastweek.
Shedidn’tknowthatIknewyouatTunbridgeWells;
butIwrotebackatonce,andIsaid:
‘Mr.
Beebeis—’”.
“Quiteright,”saidtheclergyman.
“ImoveintotheRectoryatSummerStreetnextJune.
Iamluckytobeappointedtosuchacharmingneighbourhood.”
“Oh,how
feliz
gladIam!ThenameofourhouseisWindyCorner.”
Mr.Beebebowed.
“Thereismotherandmegenerally,andmybrother,thoughit’snotoftenwegethimtoch——
The
iglesia
churchisratherfaroff,Imean.”“Lucy,dearest,letMr.Beebeeathisdinner.”
“Iameatingit,thankyou,and
disfrutando
enjoyingit.”HepreferredtotalktoLucy,
cuya
whoseplayingheremembered,ratherthantoMissBartlett,whoprobablyrememberedhissermons.Heaskedthegirl
si
whethersheknewFlorencewell,andwasinformedatsomelengththatshehadneverbeentherebefore.Itisdelightfultoadviseanewcomer,andhewasfirstinthe
campo
field.“Don’tneglectthecountryround,”hisadviceconcluded.
“Thefirstfine
tarde
afternoondriveuptoFiesole,androundbySettignano,orsomethingofthatsort.”“No!”
crieda
voz
voicefromthetopofthemesa
table.“Mr.
Beebe,youarewrong.
Thefirstfine
tarde
afternoonyourladiesmustgotoPrato.”“Thatladylookssoclever,”whisperedMissBartletttoher
prima
cousin.“Weareinluck.”
And,indeed,aperfecttorrentof
información
informationburstonthem.Peopletoldthemwhattosee,whentoseeit,howtostoptheelectrictrams,howtogetridofthebeggars,howmuchtogiveforavellumblotter,howmuchtheplacewould
crecería
growuponthem.ThePensionBertolinihad
decidido
decided,almostenthusiastically,thattheywoulddo.Whicheverwaytheylooked,kindladies
sonreían
smiledandshoutedatthem.And
encima
aboveallrosethevoiceofthecleverlady,llorando
crying:“Prato!
TheymustgotoPrato.
Thatplaceistoosweetlysqualidforwords.
Iloveit;
Irevelinshakingoffthetrammelsofrespectability,asyouknow.”
TheyoungmannamedGeorgeglancedatthecleverlady,andthenreturnedmoodilytohisplate.
Obviamente
Obviouslyheandhisfatherdidnotdo.Lucy,inthemidstofhersuccess,foundtimetowishtheydid.
Itgavehernoextra
placer
pleasurethatanyoneshouldbeleftinthecold;andwhensherosetogo,sheturnedbackandgavethetwooutsidersanervouslittlebow.
Thefatherdidnotseeit;
thesonacknowledgedit,notbyanotherbow,butby
levantando
raisinghiseyebrowsandsmiling;he
parecía
seemedtobesmilingacrosssomething.Shehastenedafterher
primo
cousin,whohadalreadydisappearedthroughthecurtains—curtainswhichsmoteoneintheface,andparecía
seemedheavywithmorethancloth.BeyondthemstoodtheunreliableSignora,bowinggood-eveningtoherguests,andsupportedby’Enery,herlittleboy,andVictorier,herdaughter.
Itmadeacuriouslittle
escena
scene,thisattemptoftheCockneytoconveythegraceandgenialityoftheSur
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,“thechaperonofmyyoung
prima
cousin,Lucy,anditwouldbeaseriousthingifIputherunderanobligationtopeopleofwhomweknownothing.Hismannerwassomewhatunfortunate.
IhopeI
actuado
actedforthebest.”“Youactedverynaturally,”saidhe.
He
parecía
seemedthoughtful,andafterafewmomentsadded:“Allthesame,Idon’tthinkmuchharmwouldhavecomeofaccepting.”
“Noharm,ofcourse.
Butwecouldnotbeunderanobligation.”
“Heis
bastante
ratherapeculiarman.”Againhehesitated,andthensaidgently:
“Ithinkhewouldnottakeadvantageofyouracceptance,
ni
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,butIamgladtosaywethoughtbetterofit.”
“AmItoconclude,”saidMissBartlett,“thatheisaSocialist?”
Mr.
Beebe
aceptó
acceptedtheconvenientword,notwithoutaslighttwitchingofthelips.“AndpresumablyhehasbroughtuphissontobeaSocialist,too?”
“IhardlyknowGeorge,forhehasn’tlearnttotalkyet.