đ Where Angels Fear to Tread (day 1)
|
joi, 16 mai, 01:53 (acum 3 zile)
|
|
||
|
Where Angels Fear to Tread
I
They were all at Charing Cross to see Lilia offâ âPhilip, Harriet, Irma, Mrs. Herriton herself. Even Mrs. Theobald, squired by Mr. Kingcroft, had braved the journey from Yorkshire to bid her only daughter goodbye. Miss Abbott was likewise attended by numerous relatives, and the sight of so many people talking at once and saying such different things caused Lilia to break into ungovernable peals of laughter.
âQuite an ovation,â she cried, sprawling out of her first-class carriage. âTheyâll take us for royalty. Oh, Mr. Kingcroft, get us foot warmers.â
The good-natured young man hurried away, and Philip, taking his place, flooded her with a final stream of advice and injunctionsâ âwhere to stop, how to learn Italian, when to use mosquito nets, what pictures to look at. âRemember,â he concluded, âthat it is only by going off the track that you get to know the country. See the little townsâ âGubbio, Pienza, Cortona, San Gemignano, Monteriano. And donât, let me beg you, go with that awful tourist idea that Italyâs only a museum of antiquities and art. Love and understand the Italians, for the people are more marvellous than the land.â
âHow I wish you were coming, Philip,â she said, flattered at the unwonted notice her brother-in-law was giving her.
âI wish I were.â He could have managed it without great difficulty, for his career at the Bar was not so intense as to prevent occasional holidays. But his family disliked his continual visits to the Continent, and he himself often found pleasure in the idea that he was too busy to leave town.
âGoodbye, dear everyone. What a whirl!â She caught sight of her little daughter Irma, and felt that a touch of maternal solemnity was required. âGoodbye, darling. Mind youâre always good, and do what Granny tells you.â
She referred not to her own mother, but to her mother-in-law, Mrs. Herriton, who hated the title of Granny.
Irma lifted a serious face to be kissed, and said cautiously, âIâll do my best.â
âShe is sure to be good,â said Mrs. Herriton, who was standing pensively a little out of the hubbub. But Lilia was already calling to Miss Abbott, a tall, grave, rather nice-looking young lady who was conducting her adieus in a more decorous manner on the platform.
âCaroline, my Caroline! Jump in, or your chaperon will go off without you.â
And Philip, whom the idea of Italy always intoxicated, had started again, telling her of the supreme moments of her coming journeyâ âthe Campanile of Airolo, which would burst on her when she emerged from the St. Gothard tunnel, presaging the future; the view of the Ticino and Lago Maggiore as the train climbed the slopes of Monte Cenere; the view of Lugano, the view of Comoâ âItaly gathering thick around her nowâ âthe arrival at her first resting place, when, after long driving through dark and dirty streets, she should at last behold, amid the roar of trams and the glare of arc lamps, the buttresses of the cathedral of Milan.
âHandkerchiefs and collars,â screamed Harriet, âin my inlaid box! Iâve lent you my inlaid box.â
âGood old Harry!â She kissed everyone again, and there was a momentâs silence. They all smiled steadily, excepting Philip, who was choking in the fog, and old Mrs. Theobald, who had begun to cry. Miss Abbott got into the carriage. The guard himself shut the door, and told Lilia that she would be all right. Then the train moved, and they all moved with it a couple of steps, and waved their handkerchiefs, and uttered cheerful little cries. At that moment Mr. Kingcroft reappeared, carrying a foot warmer by both ends, as if it was a tea tray. He was sorry that he was too late, and called out in a quivering voice, âGoodbye, Mrs. Charles. May you enjoy yourself, and may God bless you.â
Lilia smiled and nodded, and then the absurd position of the foot warmer overcame her, and she began to laugh again.
âOh, I am so sorry,â she cried back, âbut you do look so funny. Oh, you all look so funny waving! Oh, pray!â And laughing helplessly, she was carried out into the fog.
âHigh spirits to begin so long a journey,â said Mrs. Theobald, dabbing her eyes.
Mr. Kingcroft solemnly moved his head in token of agreement. âI wish,â said he, âthat Mrs. Charles had gotten the foot warmer. These London porters wonât take heed to a country chap.â
âBut you did your best,â said Mrs. Herriton. âAnd I think it simply noble of you to have brought Mrs. Theobald all the way here on such a day as this.â Then, rather hastily, she shook hands, and left him to take Mrs. Theobald all the way back.
Sawston, her own home, was within easy reach of London, and they were not late for tea. Tea was in the dining room, with an egg for Irma, to keep up the childâs spirits. The house seemed strangely quiet after a fortnightâs bustle, and their conversation was spasmodic and subdued. They wondered whether the travellers had got to Folkestone, whether it would be at all rough, and if so what would happen to poor Miss Abbott.
âAnd, Granny, when will the old ship get to Italy?â asked Irma.
âââGrandmother,â dear; not âGranny,âââ said Mrs. Herriton, giving her a kiss. âAnd we say âa boatâ or âa steamer,â not âa ship.â Ships have sails. And mother wonât go all the way by sea. You look at the map of Europe, and youâll see why. Harriet, take her. Go with Aunt Harriet, and sheâll show you the map.â
âRighto!â said the little girl, and dragged the reluctant Harriet into the library. Mrs. Herriton and her son were left alone. There was immediately confidence between them.
âHere beginneth the New Life,â said Philip.
âPoor child, how vulgar!â murmured Mrs. Herriton. âItâs surprising that she isnât worse. But she has got a look of poor Charles about her.â
âAndâ âalas, alas!â âa look of old Mrs. Theobald. What appalling apparition was that! I did think the lady was bedridden as well as imbecile. Why ever did she come?â
âMr. Kingcroft made her. I am certain of it. He wanted to see Lilia again, and this was the only way.â
âI hope he is satisfied. I did not think my sister-in-law distinguished herself in her farewells.â
Mrs. Herriton shuddered. âI mind nothing, so long as she has goneâ âand gone with Miss Abbott. It is mortifying to think that a widow of thirty-three requires a girl ten years younger to look after her.â
âI pity Miss Abbott. Fortunately one admirer is chained to England. Mr. Kingcroft cannot leave the crops or the climate or something. I donât think, either, he improved his chances today. He, as well as Lilia, has the knack of being absurd in public.â
Mrs. Herriton replied, âWhen a man is neither well bred, nor well connected, nor handsome, nor clever, nor rich, even Lilia may discard him in time.â
âNo. I believe she would take anyone. Right up to the last, when her boxes were packed, she was âplayingâ the chinless curate. Both the curates are chinless, but hers had the dampest hands. I came on them in the Park. They were speaking of the Pentateuch.â
âMy dear boy! If possible, she has got worse and worse. It was your idea of Italian travel that saved us!â
Philip brightened at the little compliment. âThe odd part is that she was quite eagerâ âalways asking me for information; and of course I was very glad to give it. I admit she is a Philistine, appallingly ignorant, and her taste in art is false. Still, to have any taste at all is something. And I do believe that Italy really purifies and ennobles all who visit her. She is the school as well as the playground of the world. It is really to Liliaâs credit that she wants to go there.â
âShe would go anywhere,â said his mother, who had heard enough of the praises of Italy. âI and Caroline Abbott had the greatest difficulty in dissuading her from the Riviera.â
âNo, Mother; no. She was really keen on Italy. This travel is quite a crisis for her.â He found the situation full of whimsical romance: there was something half-attractive, half-repellent in the thought of this vulgar woman journeying to places he loved and revered. Why should she not be transfigured? The same had happened to the Goths.
Mrs. Herriton did not believe in romance nor in transfiguration, nor in parallels from history, nor in anything else that may disturb domestic life. She adroitly changed the subject before Philip got excited. Soon Harriet returned, having given her lesson in geography. Irma went to bed early, and was tucked up by her grandmother. Then the two ladies worked and played cards. Philip read a book. And so they all settled down to their quiet, profitable existence, and continued it without interruption through the winter.
It was now nearly ten years since Charles had fallen in love with Lilia Theobald because she was pretty, and during that time Mrs. Herriton had hardly known a momentâs rest. For six months she schemed to prevent the match, and when it had taken place she turned to another taskâ âthe supervision of her daughter-in-law. Lilia must be pushed through life without bringing discredit on the family into which she had married. She was aided by Charles, by her daughter Harriet, and, as soon as he was old enough, by the clever one of the family, Philip. The birth of Irma made things still more difficult. But fortunately old Mrs. Theobald, who had attempted interference, began to break up. It was an effort to her to leave Whitby, and Mrs. Herriton discouraged the effort as far as possible. That curious duel which is fought over every baby was fought and decided early. Irma belonged to her fatherâs family, not to her motherâs.
Charles died, and the struggle recommenced. Lilia tried to assert herself, and said that she should go to take care of Mrs. Theobald. It required all Mrs. Herritonâs kindness to prevent her. A house was finally taken for her at Sawston, and there for three years she lived with Irma, continually subject to the refining influences of her late husbandâs family.
During one of her rare Yorkshire visits trouble began again. Lilia confided to a friend that she liked a Mr. Kingcroft extremely, but that she was not exactly engaged to him. The news came round to Mrs. Herriton, who at once wrote, begging for information, and pointing out that Lilia must either be engaged or not, since no intermediate state existed. It was a good letter, and flurried Lilia extremely. She left Mr. Kingcroft without even the pressure of a rescue party. She cried a great deal on her return to Sawston, and said she was very sorry. Mrs. Herriton took the opportunity of speaking more seriously about the duties of widowhood and motherhood than she had ever done before. But somehow things never went easily after. Lilia would not settle down in her place among Sawston matrons. She was a bad housekeeper, always in the throes of some domestic crisis, which Mrs. Herriton, who kept her servants for years, had to step across and adjust. She let Irma stop away from school for insufficient reasons, and she allowed her to wear rings. She learnt to bicycle, for the purpose of waking the place up, and coasted down the High Street one Sunday evening, falling off at the turn by the church. If she had not been a relative, it would have been entertaining. But even Philip, who in theory loved outraging English conventions, rose to the occasion, and gave her a talking which she remembered to her dying day. It was just then, too, that they discovered that she still allowed Mr. Kingcroft to write to her âas a gentleman friend,â and to send presents to Irma.
Philip thought of Italy, and the situation was saved. Caroline, charming, sober, Caroline Abbott, who lived two turnings away, was seeking a companion for a yearâs travel. Lilia gave up her house, sold half her furniture, left the other half and Irma with Mrs. Herriton, and had now departed, amid universal approval, for a change of scene.
She wrote to them frequently during the winterâ âmore frequently than she wrote to her mother. Her letters were always prosperous. Florence she found perfectly sweet, Naples a dream, but very whiffy. In Rome one had simply to sit still and feel. Philip, however, declared that she was improving. He was particularly gratified when in the early spring she began to visit the smaller towns that he had recommended. âIn a place like this,â she wrote, âone really does feel in the heart of things, and off the beaten track. Looking out of a Gothic window every morning, it seems impossible that the middle ages have passed away.â The letter was from Monteriano, and concluded with a not unsuccessful description of the wonderful little town.
âIt is something that she is contented,â said Mrs. Herriton. âBut no one could live three months with Caroline Abbott and not be the better for it.â
Just then Irma came in from school, and she read her motherâs letter to her, carefully correcting any grammatical errors, for she was a loyal supporter of parental authorityâ âIrma listened politely, but soon changed the subject to hockey, in which her whole being was absorbed. They were to vote for colours that afternoonâ âyellow and white or yellow and green. What did her grandmother think?
Of course Mrs. Herriton had an opinion, which she sedately expounded, in spite of Harriet, who said that colours were unnecessary for children, and of Philip, who said that they were ugly. She was getting proud of Irma, who had certainly greatly improved, and could no longer be called that most appalling of thingsâ âa vulgar child. She was anxious to form her before her mother returned. So she had no objection to the leisurely movements of the travellers, and even suggested that they should overstay their year if it suited them.
Liliaâs next letter was also from Monteriano, and Philip grew quite enthusiastic.
âTheyâve stopped there over a week!â he cried. âWhy! I shouldnât have done as much myself. They must be really keen, for the hotelâs none too comfortable.â
âI cannot understand people,â said Harriet. âWhat can they be doing all day? And there is no church there, I suppose.â
âThere is Santa Deodata, one of the most beautiful churches in Italy.â
âOf course I mean an English church,â said Harriet stiffly. âLilia promised me that she would always be in a large town on Sundays.â
âIf she goes to a service at Santa Deodataâs, she will find more beauty and sincerity than there is in all the Back Kitchens of Europe.â
The Back Kitchen was his nickname for St. Jamesâs, a small depressing edifice much patronized by his sister. She always resented any slight on it, and Mrs. Herriton had to intervene.
âNow, dears, donât. Listen to Liliaâs letter. âWe love this place, and I do not know how I shall ever thank Philip for telling me it. It is not only so quaint, but one sees the Italians unspoiled in all their simplicity and charm here. The frescoes are wonderful. Caroline, who grows sweeter every day, is very busy sketching.âââ
âEveryone to his taste!â said Harriet, who always delivered a platitude as if it was an epigram. She was curiously virulent about Italy, which she had never visited, her only experience of the Continent being an occasional six weeks in the Protestant parts of Switzerland.
âOh, Harriet is a bad lot!â said Philip as soon as she left the room. His mother laughed, and told him not to be naughty; and the appearance of Irma, just off to school, prevented further discussion. Not only in Tracts is a child a peacemaker.
âOne moment, Irma,â said her uncle. âIâm going to the station. Iâll give you the pleasure of my company.â
They started together. Irma was gratified; but conversation flagged, for Philip had not the art of talking to the young. Mrs. Herriton sat a little longer at the breakfast table, rereading Liliaâs letter. Then she helped the cook to clear, ordered dinner, and started the housemaid turning out the drawing room, Tuesday being its day. The weather was lovely, and she thought she would do a little gardening, as it was quite early. She called Harriet, who had recovered from the insult to St. Jamesâs, and together they went to the kitchen garden and began to sow some early vegetables.
âWe will save the peas to the last; they are the greatest fun,â said Mrs. Herriton, who had the gift of making work a treat. She and her elderly daughter always got on very well, though they had not a great deal in common. Harrietâs education had been almost too successful. As Philip once said, she had âbolted all the cardinal virtues and couldnât digest them.â Though pious and patriotic, and a great moral asset for the house, she lacked that pliancy and tact which her mother so much valued, and had expected her to pick up for herself. Harriet, if she had been allowed, would have driven Lilia to an open rupture, and, what was worse, she would have done the same to Philip two years before, when he returned full of passion for Italy, and ridiculing Sawston and its ways.
âItâs a shame, Mother!â she had cried. âPhilip laughs at everythingâ âthe Book Club, the Debating Society, the Progressive Whist, the bazaars. People wonât like it. We have our reputation. A house divided against itself cannot stand.â
Mrs. Herriton replied in the memorable words, âLet Philip say what he likes, and he will let us do what we like.â And Harriet had acquiesced.
They sowed the duller vegetables first, and a pleasant feeling of righteous fatigue stole over them as they addressed themselves to the peas. Harriet stretched a string to guide the row straight, and Mrs. Herriton scratched a furrow with a pointed stick. At the end of it she looked at her watch.
âItâs twelve! The second postâs in. Run and see if there are any letters.â
Harriet did not want to go. âLetâs finish the peas. There wonât be any letters.â
âNo, dear; please go. Iâll sow the peas, but you shall cover them upâ âand mind the birds donât see âem!â
Mrs. Herriton was very careful to let those peas trickle evenly from her hand, and at the end of the row she was conscious that she had never sown better. They were expensive too.
âActually old Mrs. Theobald!â said Harriet, returning.
âRead me the letter. My hands are dirty. How intolerable the crested paper is.â
Harriet opened the envelope.
âI donât understand,â she said; âit doesnât make sense.â
âHer letters never did.â
âBut it must be sillier than usual,â said Harriet, and her voice began to quaver. âLook here, read it, Mother; I canât make head or tail.â
Mrs. Herriton took the letter indulgently. âWhat is the difficulty?â she said after a long pause. âWhat is it that puzzles you in this letter?â
âThe meaningâ ââ faltered Harriet. The sparrows hopped nearer and began to eye the peas.
âThe meaning is quite clearâ âLilia is engaged to be married. Donât cry, dear; please me by not cryingâ âdonât talk at all. Itâs more than I could bear. She is going to marry someone she has met in a hotel. Take the letter and read for yourself.â Suddenly she broke down over what might seem a small point. âHow dare she not tell me direct! How dare she write first to Yorkshire! Pray, am I to hear through Mrs. Theobaldâ âa patronizing, insolent letter like this? Have I no claim at all? Bear witness, dearââ âshe choked with passionâ ââbear witness that for this Iâll never forgive her!â
âOh, what is to be done?â moaned Harriet. âWhat is to be done?â
âThis first!â She tore the letter into little pieces and scattered it over the mould. âNext, a telegram for Lilia! No! a telegram for Miss Caroline Abbott. She, too, has something to explain.â
âOh, what is to be done?â repeated Harriet, as she followed her mother to the house. She was helpless before such effrontery. What awful thingâ âwhat awful person had come to Lilia? âSomeone in the hotel.â The letter only said that. What kind of person? A gentleman? An Englishman? The letter did not say.
âWire reason of stay at Monteriano. Strange rumours,â read Mrs. Herriton, and addressed the telegram to Abbott, Stella dâItalia, Monteriano, Italy. âIf there is an office there,â she added, âwe might get an answer this evening. Since Philip is back at seven, and the eight-fifteen catches the midnight boat at Doverâ âHarriet, when you go with this, get a hundred pounds in five-pound notes at the bank.â
âGo, dear, at once; do not talk. I see Irma coming back; go quickly.â ââ ⌠Well, Irma dear, and whose team are you in this afternoonâ âMiss Edithâs or Miss Mayâs?â
But as soon as she had behaved as usual to her granddaughter, she went to the library and took out the large atlas, for she wanted to know about Monteriano. The name was in the smallest print, in the midst of a woolly-brown tangle of hills which were called the âSub-Apennines.â It was not so very far from Siena, which she had learnt at school. Past it there wandered a thin black line, notched at intervals like a saw, and she knew that this was a railway. But the map left a good deal to imagination, and she had not got any. She looked up the place in Childe Harold, but Byron had not been there. Nor did Mark Twain visit it in the Tramp Abroad. The resources of literature were exhausted: she must wait till Philip came home. And the thought of Philip made her try Philipâs room, and there she found Central Italy, by Baedeker, and opened it for the first time in her life and read in it as follows:â â
Monteriano (pop. 4,800). Hotels: Stella dâItalia, moderate only; Globo, dirty. *Caffè Garibaldi. Post and Telegraph office in Corso Vittorio Emmanuele, next to theatre. Photographs at Seghenaâs (cheaper in Florence). Diligence (1 lira) meets principal trains.
Chief attractions (2â ââ 3 hours): Santa Deodata, Palazzo Pubblico, Santâ Agostino, Santa Caterina, Santâ Ambrogio, Palazzo Capocchi. Guide (2 lire) unnecessary. A walk round the Walls should on no account be omitted. The view from the Rocca (small gratuity) is finest at sunset.
History: Monteriano, the Mons Rianus of Antiquity, whose Ghibelline tendencies are noted by Dante (Purg. xx.), definitely emancipated itself from Poggibonsi in 1261. Hence the distich, Poggibonizzi, fatti in lĂ , che Monteriano si fa cittĂ ! till recently enscribed over the Siena gate. It remained independent till 1530, when it was sacked by the Papal troops and became part of the Grand Duchy of Tuscany. It is now of small importance, and seat of the district prison. The inhabitants are still noted for their agreeable manners.
The traveller will proceed direct from the Siena gate to the Collegiate Church of Santa Deodata, and inspect (5th chapel on right) the charming *Frescoes.â ââ âŚ
Mrs. Herriton did not proceed. She was not one to detect the hidden charms of Baedeker. Some of the information seemed to her unnecessary, all of it was dull. Whereas Philip could never read âThe view from the Rocca (small gratuity) is finest at sunsetâ without a catching at the heart. Restoring the book to its place, she went downstairs, and looked up and down the asphalt paths for her daughter. She saw her at last, two turnings away, vainly trying to shake off Mr. Abbott, Miss Caroline Abbottâs father. Harriet was always unfortunate. At last she returned, hot, agitated, crackling with banknotes, and Irma bounced to greet her, and trod heavily on her corn.
âYour feet grow larger every day,â said the agonized Harriet, and gave her niece a violent push. Then Irma cried, and Mrs. Herriton was annoyed with Harriet for betraying irritation. Lunch was nasty; and during pudding news arrived that the cook, by sheer dexterity, had broken a very vital knob off the kitchen range. âIt is too bad,â said Mrs. Herriton. Irma said it was three bad, and was told not to be rude. After lunch Harriet would get out Baedeker, and read in injured tones about Monteriano, the Mons Rianus of Antiquity, till her mother stopped her.
âItâs ridiculous to read, dear. Sheâs not trying to marry anyone in the place. Some tourist, obviously, whoâs stopping in the hotel. The place has nothing to do with it at all.â
âBut what a place to go to! What nice person, too, do you meet in a hotel?â
âNice or nasty, as I have told you several times before, is not the point. Lilia has insulted our family, and she shall suffer for it. And when you speak against hotels, I think you forget that I met your father at Chamounix. You can contribute nothing, dear, at present, and I think you had better hold your tongue. I am going to the kitchen, to speak about the range.â
She spoke just too much, and the cook said that if she could not give satisfactionâ âshe had better leave. A small thing at hand is greater than a great thing remote, and Lilia, misconducting herself upon a mountain in Central Italy, was immediately hidden. Mrs. Herriton flew to a registry office, failed; flew to another, failed again; came home, was told by the housemaid that things seemed so unsettled that she had better leave as well; had tea, wrote six letters, was interrupted by cook and housemaid, both weeping, asking her pardon, and imploring to be taken back. In the flush of victory the doorbell rang, and there was the telegram: âLilia engaged to Italian nobility. Writing. Abbott.â
âNo answer,â said Mrs. Herriton. âGet down Mr. Philipâs Gladstone from the attic.â
She would not allow herself to be frightened by the unknown. Indeed she knew a little now. The man was not an Italian noble, otherwise the telegram would have said so. It must have been written by Lilia. None but she would have been guilty of the fatuous vulgarity of âItalian nobility.â She recalled phrases of this morningâs letter: âWe love this placeâ âCaroline is sweeter than ever, and busy sketchingâ âItalians full of simplicity and charm.â And the remark of Baedeker, âThe inhabitants are still noted for their agreeable manners,â had a baleful meaning now. If Mrs. Herriton had no imagination, she had intuition, a more useful quality, and the picture she made to herself of Liliaâs fiancĂŠ did not prove altogether wrong.
So Philip was received with the news that he must start in half an hour for Monteriano. He was in a painful position. For three years he had sung the praises of the Italians, but he had never contemplated having one as a relative. He tried to soften the thing down to his mother, but in his heart of hearts he agreed with her when she said, âThe man may be a duke or he may be an organ-grinder. That is not the point. If Lilia marries him she insults the memory of Charles, she insults Irma, she insults us. Therefore I forbid her, and if she disobeys we have done with her forever.â
âI will do all I can,â said Philip in a low voice. It was the first time he had had anything to do. He kissed his mother and sister and puzzled Irma. The hall was warm and attractive as he looked back into it from the cold March night, and he departed for Italy reluctantly, as for something commonplace and dull.
Before Mrs. Herriton went to bed she wrote to Mrs. Theobald, using plain language about Liliaâs conduct, and hinting that it was a question on which everyone must definitely choose sides. She added, as if it was an afterthought, that Mrs. Theobaldâs letter had arrived that morning.
Just as she was going upstairs she remembered that she never covered up those peas. It upset her more than anything, and again and again she struck the banisters with vexation. Late as it was, she got a lantern from the toolshed and went down the garden to rake the earth over them. The sparrows had taken every one. But countless fragments of the letter remained, disfiguring the tidy ground.
RÄspunde
|
RedirecČioneazÄ
|