A Room with a View

  Chapter XII: Twelfth Chapter

  It was a Saturday afternoon, gay and brilliant after abundant rains, andthe spirit of youth dwelt in it, though the season was now autumn. Allthat was gracious triumphed. As the motorcars passed through SummerStreet they raised only a little dust, and their stench was soondispersed by the wind and replaced by the scent of the wet birches orof the pines. Mr. Beebe, at leisure for life's amenities, leant over hisRectory gate. Freddy leant by him, smoking a pendant pipe.

  "Suppose we go and hinder those new people opposite for a little."

  "M'm."

  "They might amuse you."

  Freddy, whom his fellow-creatures never amused, suggested that the newpeople might be feeling a bit busy, and so on, since they had only justmoved in.

  "I suggested we should hinder them," said Mr. Beebe. "They are worthit." Unlatching the gate, he sauntered over the triangular green toCissie Villa. "Hullo!" he cried, shouting in at the open door, throughwhich much squalor was visible.

  A grave voice replied, "Hullo!"

  "I've brought someone to see you."

  "I'll be down in a minute."

  The passage was blocked by a wardrobe, which the removal men had failedto carry up the stairs. Mr. Beebe edged round it with difficulty. Thesitting-room itself was blocked with books.

  "Are these people great readers?" Freddy whispered. "Are they thatsort?"

  "I fancy they know how to read--a rare accomplishment. What have theygot? Byron. Exactly. A Shropshire Lad. Never heard of it. The Way ofAll Flesh. Never heard of it. Gibbon. Hullo! dear George reads German.Um--um--Schopenhauer, Nietzsche, and so we go on. Well, I suppose yourgeneration knows its own business, Honeychurch."

  "Mr. Beebe, look at that," said Freddy in awestruck tones.

  On the cornice of the wardrobe, the hand of an amateur had painted thisinscription: "Mistrust all enterprises that require new clothes."

  "I know. Isn't it jolly? I like that. I'm certain that's the old man'sdoing."

  "How very odd of him!"

  "Surely you agree?"

  But Freddy was his mother's son and felt that one ought not to go onspoiling the furniture.

  "Pictures!" the clergyman continued, scrambling about the room."Giotto--they got that at Florence, I'll be bound."

  "The same as Lucy's got."

  "Oh, by-the-by, did Miss Honeychurch enjoy London?"

  "She came back yesterday."

  "I suppose she had a good time?"

  "Yes, very," said Freddy, taking up a book. "She and Cecil are thickerthan ever."

  "That's good hearing."

  "I wish I wasn't such a fool, Mr. Beebe."

  Mr. Beebe ignored the remark.

  "Lucy used to be nearly as stupid as I am, but it'll be very differentnow, mother thinks. She will read all kinds of books."

  "So will you."

  "Only medical books. Not books that you can talk about afterwards. Cecilis teaching Lucy Italian, and he says her playing is wonderful. Thereare all kinds of things in it that we have never noticed. Cecil says--"

  "What on earth are those people doing upstairs? Emerson--we think we'llcome another time."

  George ran down-stairs and pushed them into the room without speaking.

  "Let me introduce Mr. Honeychurch, a neighbour."

  Then Freddy hurled one of the thunderbolts of youth. Perhaps he was shy,perhaps he was friendly, or perhaps he thought that George's face wantedwashing. At all events he greeted him with, "How d'ye do? Come and havea bathe."

  "Oh, all right," said George, impassive.

  Mr. Beebe was highly entertained.

  "'How d'ye do? how d'ye do? Come and have a bathe,'" he chuckled."That's the best conversational opening I've ever heard. But I'm afraidit will only act between men. Can you picture a lady who has beenintroduced to another lady by a third lady opening civilities with 'Howdo you do? Come and have a bathe'? And yet you will tell me that thesexes are equal."

  "I tell you that they shall be," said Mr. Emerson, who had been slowlydescending the stairs. "Good afternoon, Mr. Beebe. I tell you they shallbe comrades, and George thinks the same."

  "We are to raise ladies to our level?" the clergyman inquired.

  "The Garden of Eden," pursued Mr. Emerson, still descending, "which youplace in the past, is really yet to come. We shall enter it when we nolonger despise our bodies."

  Mr. Beebe disclaimed placing the Garden of Eden anywhere.

  "In this--not in other things--we men are ahead. We despise the bodyless than women do. But not until we are comrades shall we enter thegarden."

  "I say, what about this bathe?" murmured Freddy, appalled at the mass ofphilosophy that was approaching him.

  "I believed in a return to Nature once. But how can we return toNature when we have never been with her? To-day, I believe that we mustdiscover Nature. After many conquests we shall attain simplicity. It isour heritage."

  "Let me introduce Mr. Honeychurch, whose sister you will remember atFlorence."

  "How do you do? Very glad to see you, and that you are taking George fora bathe. Very glad to hear that your sister is going to marry. Marriageis a duty. I am sure that she will be happy, for we know Mr. Vyse, too.He has been most kind. He met us by chance in the National Gallery, andarranged everything about this delightful house. Though I hope I havenot vexed Sir Harry Otway. I have met so few Liberal landowners, andI was anxious to compare his attitude towards the game laws with theConservative attitude. Ah, this wind! You do well to bathe. Yours is aglorious country, Honeychurch!"

  "Not a bit!" mumbled Freddy. "I must--that is to say, I have to--havethe pleasure of calling on you later on, my mother says, I hope."

  "CALL, my lad? Who taught us that drawing-room twaddle? Call on yourgrandmother! Listen to the wind among the pines! Yours is a gloriouscountry."

  Mr. Beebe came to the rescue.

  "Mr. Emerson, he will call, I shall call; you or your son will returnour calls before ten days have elapsed. I trust that you have realizedabout the ten days' interval. It does not count that I helped you withthe stair-eyes yesterday. It does not count that they are going to bathethis afternoon."

  "Yes, go and bathe, George. Why do you dawdle talking? Bring them backto tea. Bring back some milk, cakes, honey. The change will do you good.George has been working very hard at his office. I can't believe he'swell."

  George bowed his head, dusty and sombre, exhaling the peculiar smell ofone who has handled furniture.

  "Do you really want this bathe?" Freddy asked him. "It is only a pond,don't you know. I dare say you are used to something better."

  "Yes--I have said 'Yes' already."

  Mr. Beebe felt bound to assist his young friend, and led the way outof the house and into the pine-woods. How glorious it was! For a littletime the voice of old Mr. Emerson pursued them dispensing good wishesand philosophy. It ceased, and they only heard the fair wind blowing thebracken and the trees. Mr. Beebe, who could be silent, but who could notbear silence, was compelled to chatter, since the expedition looked likea failure, and neither of his companions would utter a word. He spoke ofFlorence. George attended gravely, assenting or dissenting with slightbut determined gestures that were as inexplicable as the motions of thetree-tops above their heads.

  "And what a coincidence that you should meet Mr. Vyse! Did you realizethat you would find all the Pension Bertolini down here?"

  "I did not. Miss Lavish told me."

  "When I was a young man, I always meant to write a 'History ofCoincidence.'"

  No enthusiasm.

  "Though, as a matter of fact, coincidences are much rarer than wesuppose. For example, it isn't purely coincidentally that you are herenow, when one comes to reflect."

  To his relief, George began to talk.

  "It is. I have reflected. It is Fate. Everything is Fate. We are flungtogether by Fate, drawn apart by Fate--flung together, drawn apart. Thetwelve winds blow us--we settle nothing--"

  "You have not reflected at all,"
rapped the clergyman. "Let me give youa useful tip, Emerson: attribute nothing to Fate. Don't say, 'I didn'tdo this,' for you did it, ten to one. Now I'll cross-question you. Wheredid you first meet Miss Honeychurch and myself?"

  "Italy."

  "And where did you meet Mr. Vyse, who is going to marry MissHoneychurch?"

  "National Gallery."

  "Looking at Italian art. There you are, and yet you talk of coincidenceand Fate. You naturally seek out things Italian, and so do we and ourfriends. This narrows the field immeasurably we meet again in it."

  "It is Fate that I am here," persisted George. "But you can call itItaly if it makes you less unhappy."

  Mr. Beebe slid away from such heavy treatment of the subject. But he wasinfinitely tolerant of the young, and had no desire to snub George.

  "And so for this and for other reasons my 'History of Coincidence' isstill to write."

  Silence.

  Wishing to round off the episode, he added; "We are all so glad that youhave come."

  Silence.

  "Here we are!" called Freddy.

  "Oh, good!" exclaimed Mr. Beebe, mopping his brow.

  "In there's the pond. I wish it was bigger," he added apologetically.

  They climbed down a slippery bank of pine-needles. There lay the pond,set in its little alp of green--only a pond, but large enough to containthe human body, and pure enough to reflect the sky. On account of therains, the waters had flooded the surrounding grass, which showed like abeautiful emerald path, tempting these feet towards the central pool.

  "It's distinctly successful, as ponds go," said Mr. Beebe. "No apologiesare necessary for the pond."

  George sat down where the ground was dry, and drearily unlaced hisboots.

  "Aren't those masses of willow-herb splendid? I love willow-herb inseed. What's the name of this aromatic plant?"

  No one knew, or seemed to care.

  "These abrupt changes of vegetation--this little spongeous tract ofwater plants, and on either side of it all the growths are tough orbrittle--heather, bracken, hurts, pines. Very charming, very charming."

  "Mr. Beebe, aren't you bathing?" called Freddy, as he stripped himself.

  Mr. Beebe thought he was not.

  "Water's wonderful!" cried Freddy, prancing in.

  "Water's water," murmured George. Wetting his hair first--a sure sign ofapathy--he followed Freddy into the divine, as indifferent as if he werea statue and the pond a pail of soapsuds. It was necessary to use hismuscles. It was necessary to keep clean. Mr. Beebe watched them, andwatched the seeds of the willow-herb dance chorically above their heads.

  "Apooshoo, apooshoo, apooshoo," went Freddy, swimming for two strokes ineither direction, and then becoming involved in reeds or mud.

  "Is it worth it?" asked the other, Michelangelesque on the floodedmargin.

  The bank broke away, and he fell into the pool before he had weighed thequestion properly.

  "Hee-poof--I've swallowed a pollywog, Mr. Beebe, water's wonderful,water's simply ripping."

  "Water's not so bad," said George, reappearing from his plunge, andsputtering at the sun.

  "Water's wonderful. Mr. Beebe, do."

  "Apooshoo, kouf."

  Mr. Beebe, who was hot, and who always acquiesced where possible, lookedaround him. He could detect no parishioners except the pine-trees,rising up steeply on all sides, and gesturing to each other againstthe blue. How glorious it was! The world of motor-cars and rural Deansreceded inimitably. Water, sky, evergreens, a wind--these things noteven the seasons can touch, and surely they lie beyond the intrusion ofman?

  "I may as well wash too"; and soon his garments made a third little pileon the sward, and he too asserted the wonder of the water.

  It was ordinary water, nor was there very much of it, and, as Freddysaid, it reminded one of swimming in a salad. The three gentlemenrotated in the pool breast high, after the fashion of the nymphs inGotterdammerung. But either because the rains had given a freshness orbecause the sun was shedding a most glorious heat, or because two of thegentlemen were young in years and the third young in spirit--for somereason or other a change came over them, and they forgot Italy andBotany and Fate. They began to play. Mr. Beebe and Freddy splashed eachother. A little deferentially, they splashed George. He was quiet: theyfeared they had offended him. Then all the forces of youth burst out. Hesmiled, flung himself at them, splashed them, ducked them, kicked them,muddied them, and drove them out of the pool.

  "Race you round it, then," cried Freddy, and they raced in the sunshine,and George took a short cut and dirtied his shins, and had to bathe asecond time. Then Mr. Beebe consented to run--a memorable sight.

  They ran to get dry, they bathed to get cool, they played at beingIndians in the willow-herbs and in the bracken, they bathed to getclean. And all the time three little bundles lay discreetly on thesward, proclaiming:

  "No. We are what matters. Without us shall no enterprise begin. To usshall all flesh turn in the end."

  "A try! A try!" yelled Freddy, snatching up George's bundle and placingit beside an imaginary goal-post.

  "Socker rules," George retorted, scattering Freddy's bundle with a kick.

  "Goal!"

  "Goal!"

  "Pass!"

  "Take care my watch!" cried Mr. Beebe.

  Clothes flew in all directions.

  "Take care my hat! No, that's enough, Freddy. Dress now. No, I say!"

  But the two young men were delirious. Away they twinkled into the trees,Freddy with a clerical waistcoat under his arm, George with a wide-awakehat on his dripping hair.

  "That'll do!" shouted Mr. Beebe, remembering that after all he was inhis own parish. Then his voice changed as if every pine-tree was a RuralDean. "Hi! Steady on! I see people coming you fellows!"

  Yells, and widening circles over the dappled earth.

  "Hi! hi! LADIES!"

  Neither George nor Freddy was truly refined. Still, they did not hearMr. Beebe's last warning or they would have avoided Mrs. Honeychurch,Cecil, and Lucy, who were walking down to call on old Mrs. Butterworth.Freddy dropped the waistcoat at their feet, and dashed into somebracken. George whooped in their faces, turned and scudded away down thepath to the pond, still clad in Mr. Beebe's hat.

  "Gracious alive!" cried Mrs. Honeychurch. "Whoever were thoseunfortunate people? Oh, dears, look away! And poor Mr. Beebe, too!Whatever has happened?"

  "Come this way immediately," commanded Cecil, who always felt that hemust lead women, though he knew not whither, and protect them, though heknew not against what. He led them now towards the bracken where Freddysat concealed.

  "Oh, poor Mr. Beebe! Was that his waistcoat we left in the path? Cecil,Mr. Beebe's waistcoat--"

  "No business of ours," said Cecil, glancing at Lucy, who was all parasoland evidently 'minded.'

  "I fancy Mr. Beebe jumped back into the pond."

  "This way, please, Mrs. Honeychurch, this way."

  They followed him up the bank attempting the tense yet nonchalantexpression that is suitable for ladies on such occasions.

  "Well, I can't help it," said a voice close ahead, and Freddy reared afreckled face and a pair of snowy shoulders out of the fronds. "I can'tbe trodden on, can I?"

  "Good gracious me, dear; so it's you! What miserable management! Why nothave a comfortable bath at home, with hot and cold laid on?"

  "Look here, mother, a fellow must wash, and a fellow's got to dry, andif another fellow--"

  "Dear, no doubt you're right as usual, but you are in no position toargue. Come, Lucy." They turned. "Oh, look--don't look! Oh, poor Mr.Beebe! How unfortunate again--"

  For Mr. Beebe was just crawling out of the pond, on whose surfacegarments of an intimate nature did float; while George, the world-wearyGeorge, shouted to Freddy that he had hooked a fish.

  "And me, I've swallowed one," answered he of the bracken. "I'veswallowed a pollywog. It wriggleth in my tummy. I shall die--Emerson youbeast, you've got on my bags."

  "Hush
, dears," said Mrs. Honeychurch, who found it impossible to remainshocked. "And do be sure you dry yourselves thoroughly first. All thesecolds come of not drying thoroughly."

  "Mother, do come away," said Lucy. "Oh for goodness' sake, do come."

  "Hullo!" cried George, so that again the ladies stopped.

  He regarded himself as dressed. Barefoot, bare-chested, radiant andpersonable against the shadowy woods, he called:

  "Hullo, Miss Honeychurch! Hullo!"

  "Bow, Lucy; better bow. Whoever is it? I shall bow."

  Miss Honeychurch bowed.

  That evening and all that night the water ran away. On the morrow thepool had shrunk to its old size and lost its glory. It had been acall to the blood and to the relaxed will, a passing benediction whoseinfluence did not pass, a holiness, a spell, a momentary chalice foryouth.