Chapter 6

traordinarymeaningintothewords. “BecauseHarriet—?” Shewouldnotgofurther,buthebelievedthatshehadpaidhomagetothecomplexityoflife.Forher,atallevents,theexpeditionwasneithereasynorjolly.Beauty,evil,charm,vulgarity,mystery—shealsoacknowledgedthistangle,inspiteofherself.Andhervoicethrilledhimwhenshebrokesilencewith“Mr.Herriton—comehere—lookatthis!” SheremovedapileofplatesfromtheGothicwindow,andtheyleantoutofit.Closeopposite,wedgedbetweenmeanhouses,thereroseuponeofthegreattowers.Itisyourtower:youstretchabarricadebetweenitandthehotel,andthetrafficisblockedinamoment.Fartherup,wherethestreetemptiesoutbythechurch,yourconnections,theMerliandtheCapocchi,dolikewise.TheycommandthePiazza,youtheSienagate.Noonecanmoveineitherbutheshallbeinstantlyslain,eitherbybowsorbycrossbows,orbyGreekfire.Beware,however,ofthebackbedroomwindows.FortheyaremenacedbythetoweroftheAldobrandeschi,andbeforenowarrowshavestuckquiveringoverthewashstand.Guardthesewindowswell,lesttherebearepetitionoftheeventsofFebruary1338,whenthehotelwassurprisedfromtherear,andyourdearestfriend—youcouldjustmakeoutthatitwashe—wasthrownatyouoverthestairs. “Itreachesuptoheaven,”saidPhilip,“anddowntotheotherplace.”Thesummitofthetowerwasradiantinthesun,whileitsbasewasinshadowandpastedoverwithadvertisements.“Isittobeasymbolofthetown?” Shegavenohintthatsheunderstoodhim.Buttheyremainedtogetheratthewindowbecauseitwasalittlecoolerandsopleasant.PhilipfoundacertaingraceandlightnessinhiscompanionwhichhehadnevernoticedinEngland.Shewasappallinglynarrow,butherconsciousnessofwiderthingsgavetohernarrownessapatheticcharm.Hedidnotsuspectthathewasmoregracefultoo.Forourvanityissuchthatweholdourowncharactersimmutable,andweareslowtoacknowledgethattheyhavechanged,evenforthebetter. Citizenscameoutforalittlestrollbeforedinner.Someofthemstoodandgazedattheadvertisementsonthetower. “Surelythatisn’tanopera-bill?”saidMissAbbott. Philipputonhispince-nez.“‘LuciadiLammermoor.BytheMasterDonizetti.Uniquerepresentation.Thisevening.’ “Butisthereanopera?Rightuphere?” “Why,yes.Thesepeopleknowhowtolive.Theywouldsoonerhaveathingbadthannothaveitatall.Thatiswhytheyhavegottohavesomuchthatisgood.Howeverbadtheperformanceistonight,itwillbealive.Italiansdon’tlovemusicsilently,likethebeastlyGermans.Theaudiencetakesitsshare—sometimesmore.” “Can’twego?” Heturnedonher,butnotunkindly.“Butwe’reheretorescueachild!” Hecursedhimselffortheremark.Allthepleasureandthelightwentoutofherface,andshebecameagainMissAbbottofSawston—good,oh,mostundoubtedlygood,butmostappallinglydull.Dullandremorseful:itisadeadlycombination,andhestroveagainstitinvaintillhewasinterruptedbytheopeningofthedining-roomdoor. Theystartedasguiltilyasiftheyhadbeenflirting.Theirinterviewhadtakensuchanunexpectedcourse.Anger,cynicism,stubbornmorality—allhadendedinafeelingofgood-willtowardseachotherandtowardsthecitywhichhadreceivedthem.AndnowHarrietwashere—acrid,indissoluble,largethesameinItalyasinEngland—changingherdispositionnever,andheratmosphereunderprotest. YetevenHarrietwashuman,andthebetterforalittletea.ShedidnotscoldPhilipforfindingGinoout,asshemightreasonablyhavedone.SheshoweredcivilitiesonMissAbbott,exclaimingagainandagainthatCaroline’svisitwasoneofthemostfortunatecoincidencesintheworld.Carolinedidnotcontradicther. “Youseehimtomorrowatten,Philip.Well,don’tforgettheblankcheque.Sayanhourforthebusiness.No,Italiansaresoslowsaytwo.Twelveo’clock.Lunch.Well—thenit’snogoodgoingtilltheeveningtrain.IcanmanagethebabyasfarasFlorence—” “Mydearsister,youcan’trunonlikethat.Youdon’tbuyapairofglovesintwohours,muchlessababy.” “Threehours,then,orfourormakehimlearnEnglishways.AtFlorencewegetanurse—” “But,Harriet,”saidMissAbbott,“whatifatfirsthewastorefuse?” “Idon’tknowthemeaningoftheword,”saidHarrietimpressively.“I’vetoldthelandladythatPhilipandIonlywantourroomsonenight,andweshallkeeptoit.” “Idaresayitwillbeallright.But,asItoldyou,IthoughtthemanImetontheRoccaastrange,difficultman.” “He’sinsolenttoladies,weknow.Butmybrothercanbetrustedtobringhimtohissenses.Thatwoman,Philip,whomyousawwillcarrythebabytothehotel.Ofcourseyoumusttipherforit.Andtry,ifyoucan,togetpoorLilia’ssilverbangles.Theywerenicequietthings,andwilldoforIrma.AndthereisaninlaidboxIlenther—lent,notgave—tokeepherhandkerchiefsin.It’sofnorealvaluebutthisisouronlychance.Don’taskforitbutifyouseeitlyingabout,justsay—” “No,HarrietI’lltryforthebaby,butfornothingelse.Ipromisetodothattomorrow,andtodoitinthewayyouwish.Buttonight,aswe’realltired,wewantachangeoftopic.Wewantrelaxation.Wewanttogotothetheatre.” “Theatreshere?Andatsuchamoment?” “Weshouldhardlyenjoyit,withthegreatinterviewimpending,”saidMissAbbott,withananxiousglanceatPhilip. Hedidnotbetrayher,butsaid,“Don’tyouthinkit’sbetterthansittinginalltheeveningandgettingnervous?” Hissistershookherhead.“Motherwouldn’tlikeit.Itwouldbemostunsuitable—almostirreverent.Besidesallthat,foreigntheatresarenotorious.Don’tyourememberthoselettersinthe‘ChurchFamilyNewspaper’?” “Butthisisanopera—‘LuciadiLammermoor’—SirWalterScott—classical,youknow.” Harriet’sfacegrewresigned.“Certainlyonehassofewopportunitiesofhearingmusic.Itissuretobeverybad.Butitmightbebetterthansittingidlealltheevening.Wehavenobook,andIlostmycrochetatFlorence.” “Good.MissAbbott,youarecomingtoo?” “Itisverykindofyou,Mr.Herriton.InsomewaysIshouldenjoyitbut—excusethesuggestion—Idon’tthinkweoughttogotocheapseats.” “Goodgraciousme!”criedHarriet,“Ishouldneverhavethoughtofthat.Aslikelyasnot,weshouldhavetriedtosavemoneyandsatamongthemostawfulpeople.OnekeepsonforgettingthisisItaly.” “UnfortunatelyIhavenoeveningdressandiftheseats—” “Oh,that’llbeallright,”saidPhilip,smilingathistimorous,scrupulouswomen-kind.“We’llgoasweare,andbuythebestwecanget.Monterianoisnotformal.” Sothisstrenuousdayofresolutions,plans,alarms,battles,victories,defeats,truces,endedattheopera.MissAbbottandHarrietwerebothalittleshame-faced.TheythoughtoftheirfriendsatSawston,whoweresupposingthemtobenowtiltingagainstthepowersofevil.WhatwouldMrs.Herriton,orIrma,orthecuratesattheBackKitchensayiftheycouldseetherescuepartyataplaceofamusementontheveryfirstdayofitsmission?Philip,too,marvelledathiswishtogo.HebegantoseethathewasenjoyinghistimeinMonteriano,inspiteofthetiresomenessofhiscompanionsandtheoccasionalcontrarinessofhimself. Hehadbeentothistheatremanyyearsbefore,ontheoccasionofaperformanceof“LaZiadiCarlo.”Sincethenithadbeenthoroughlydoneup,inthetintsofthebeet-rootandthetomato,andwasinmanyotherwaysacredittothelittletown.Theorchestrahadbeenenlarged,someoftheboxeshadterra-cottadraperies,andovereachboxwasnowsuspendedanenormoustablet,neatlyframed,bearinguponitthenumberofthatbox.Therewasalsoadrop-scene,representingapinkandpurplelandscape,whereinsportedmanyaladylightlyclad,andtwomoreladieslayalongthetopoftheprosceniumtosteadyalargeandpallidclock.Sorichandsoappallingwastheeffect,thatPhilipcouldscarcelysuppressacry.ThereissomethingmajesticinthebadtasteofItalyitisnotthebadtasteofacountrywhichknowsnobetterithasnotthenervousvulgarityofEngland,ortheblindedvulgarityofGermany.Itobservesbeauty,andchoosestopassitby.Butitattainstobeauty’sconfidence.ThistinytheatreofMonterianospraddledandswaggeredwiththebestofthem,andtheseladieswiththeirclockwouldhavenoddedtotheyoungmenontheceilingoftheSistine. Philiphadtriedforabox,butallthebestweretaken:itwasratheragrandperformance,andhehadtobecontentwithstalls.Harrietwasfretfulandinsular.MissAbbottwaspleasant,andinsistedonpraisingeverything:heronlyregretwasthatshehadnoprettyclotheswithher. “Wedoallright,”saidPhilip,amusedatherunwontedvanity. “Yes,Iknowbutprettythingspackaseasilyasuglyones.WehadnoneedtocometoItalylikeguys.” Thistimehedidnotreply,“Butwe’reheretorescueababy.”Forhesawacharmingpicture,ascharmingapictureashehadseenforyears—thehotredtheatreoutsidethetheatre,towersanddarkgatesandmediaevalwallsbeyondthewallsolive-treesinthestarlightandwhitewindingroadsandfirefliesanduntroubleddustandhereinthemiddleofitall,MissAbbott,wishingshehadnotcomelookinglikeaguy.Shehadmadetherightremark.Mostundoubtedlyshehadmadetherightremark.Thisstiffsuburbanwomanwasunbendingbeforetheshrine. “Don’tyoulikeita