The Enchanted April - Chapter 16

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:01):
The Enchanted April by Elizabeth von Arnhem, chapter sixteen. And
so the second week began, and all was harmony, the
arrival of mister Wilkins instead of as three of the
party had feared, and the fourth had only been protected

(00:24):
from fearing by her burning faith in the effect on
him of San Salvatore disturbing such harmony as there was
increased it, he fitted in. He was determined to please,
and he did please. He was most amiable to his wife,

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not only in public, which she was used to, but
in private, when he certainly wouldn't have been if he
hadn't wanted to. He did want to. He was so
much obliged to her, so much pleased with her for
making him acquainted with Lady care Caroline, that he felt
really fond of her, also proud, for there must be

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he reflected a good deal more in her than she
had supposed for Lady Caroline to have become so intimate
with her and so affectionate, And the more he treated
her as though she were really very nice, the more
Lottie expanded and became really very nice, and the more

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he affected, in his turn, became really very nice himself,
so that they went round and round, not in a
vicious but in a highly virtuous circle. Positively, for him,
Malersh petted her. There was at no time much pet
in Malersh, because he was by nature a cool man.

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Yet such was the influence on him of as Lottie
supposed San Salvatore, that in this second week he sometimes
pinched both her ears one after the other, instead of
only one, and Lottie, marveling at such rapidly developing affectionateness,

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wondered what he would do should he continue at this
rate in the third week, when her supply of ears
would have come to an end. He was particularly nice
about the washstand, and genuinely desirous of not taking up
too much of the space in the small bedroom. Quick

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to respond, Lotty was even more desirous not to be
in his way, and the room became the scene of
many an affectionate combard de generossitay, each of which left
them more pleased with each other than ever. He did
not again have a bath in the bathroom, though it
was mended and ready for him, but got up and

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went down every morning to the sea, and, in spite
of the cool nights, making the water cold, early had
his dip as a man should, and came up to breakfast,
rubbing his hands and feeling, as he told Missus Fisher,
prepared for anything. Lottie's belief in the irresistible influence of

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the heavenly atmosphere of San Salvatore being thus obviously justified,
and mister Wilkins, whom Rose knew as alarming and Scrap
had pictured as icily unkind, being so evidently a changed man.
With Rose and Scrap began to think there might, after all,

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be something in what Lotty insisted on, and that San
Salvatory did work purgingly on the character they were the
more inclined to think so, in that they too felt
a working going on inside themselves. They felt more cleared,
both of them that second week. Scrap in her many

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of which were now quite nice thoughts, real amiable ones
about her parents and relations, with a glimmer in them
of recognition of the extraordinary benefits she had received at
the hands of what fate providence anyhow, of something, and
of how having received them, she had misused them by

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failing to be happy and Rose in her bosom, which,
though it still yearned, yearned to some purpose, For she
was reaching the conclusion that merely inactively to yearn was
of no use at all, and that she must either
by some means stop her yearning or give it at

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least a chance, remote but still a chance of being
quieted by writing to Frederick and asking him to come out.
If mister Wilkins could be changed, thought Rose, Why not Frederick,
How wonderful it would be, How too wonderful if the
place worked on him too, and were able to make

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them even a little understand each other, even a little befriends.
Rose so far had loosening and disintegration gone on in
her character, was now beginning to think her obstinate, straight
lacedness about his books and her austere absorption and good
works had been foolish and perhaps even wrong. He was

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her husband, and she had frightened him away. She had
frightened love away, precious love, and that couldn't be good.
Was not Lotty right when she said the other day
that nothing at all except love mattered. Nothing certainly seemed

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much use unless it was built up on love. But
once frightened, way, could it ever come back? Yes? It
might in that beauty. It might in the atmosphere of happiness.
Lottie and San Salvatore seemed between them to have spread

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round like some divine infection. She had, however, to get
him there first, and he certainly couldn't be got there
if she didn't write and tell him where she was.
She would write, she must write, for if she did,
there was at least a chance of his coming, and

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if she didn't, there was manifestly none. And then once here,
in this loveliness, with everything so soft and kind and
sweet all round, it would be easier to tell him
to try and explain, to ask for something different, for

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at least an attempt at something to different in their
lives in the future, instead of the blankness of separation,
the cold, oh, the cold of nothing at all, but
the great windiness of faith, the great bleakness of works.
Why one person in the world, one single person belonging

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to one of one's very own, to talk to, to
take care of, to love, to be interested in, was
worth more than all the speeches on platforms and the
compliments of chairmen in the world. It was also worth more.
Rose couldn't help it. The thought would come, then, all

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the prayers, these thoughts were not head thoughts like Scraps,
who was altogether free from yearnings, but bosom thoughts. They
lodged in the bosom. It was in the bosom that
rose ached and felt so dreadfully lonely. And when her

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courage failed her, as it did on most days, and
it seemed impossible to write to Frederick, she would look
at mister Wilkins and revive. There he was a changed man.
There he was going into that small, uncomfortable room every night,

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that room whose proximities had been Lottie's only misgiving, and
coming out of it in the morning, and Lottie coming
out of it too, both of them as unclouded and
as nice to each other as when they went in.
And hadn't he so critical at home? Lotti had told
her of the least thing going wrong. Emerged from the

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bath catastrophe, as untouched in spirit as Chadra Mesha and
abed Nego were untouched in body when they emerged from
the fire. Miracles were happening in this place. If they
could happen to mister Wilkins, why not to Frederick. She

(09:08):
got up quickly. Yes, she would write, She would go
and write to him at once, But Suppose she paused,
Suppose he didn't answer. Suppose he didn't even answer, and
she sat down again to think a little longer. In

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these hesitations did Rose spend most of the second week.
Then there was missus Fisher. Her restlessness increased that second week.
It increased to such an extent that she might just
as well not have had her private sitting room at all,
for she could no longer sit, not for ten minutes

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together could Missus Fisher sit. And added to the restlessness,
as the days of the second week seated on their way,
she had a curious sensation which worried her of rising sap.
She knew the feeling because she sometimes had it in childhood,

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in specially swift springs, when the lilacs and the syringes
seemed to rush out into bloom in a single night.
But it was strange to have it again after over
fifty years. She would have liked to remark on the
sensation to someone, but she was ashamed. It was such

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an absurd sensation at her age. Yet oftener and oftener,
and every day more and more did Missus Fisher have
a ridiculous feeling, as if she were presently going to burgen. Sternly,
she tried to frown the unseemly sensation down Burgin. Indeed,

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she had heard of dried staffs, uses of mere dead
wood suddenly putting forth fresh leaves, but only in legend.
She was not in legend. She knew perfectly what was
due to herself. Dignity demanded that she should have nothing
to do with fresh leaves at her age, And yet

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there it was the feeling that presently that at any
moment now she might crop out all green. Missus Fisher
was upset. There were many things she disliked more than
anything else, and one was when the elderly imagined they
felt young and behaved accordingly. Of course they only imagined it,

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they were only deceiving themselves. But how deplorable were the results.
She herself had grown old as people should grow old,
steadily and firmly, no interruptions, no belated after glows and
spasmodic returns. If after all these years, she were now

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going to be deluded into some sort of unsuitable breaking out,
how humiliating. Indeed, she was thankful that second week that
Kate Lumley was not there. It would be most unpleasant
should anything different occur in her behavior. To have Kate
looking on. Kate had known her all her life, she

(12:32):
felt she could let herself go here. Missus Fisher frowned
at the book she was vainly trying to concentrate on.
For where did that expression come from? Much less painfully
before strangers than before an old friend old friends, reflected
missus Fisher, who hoped she was reading. Compare one constantly

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with what one used to be. They're always doing it.
If one develops, they are surprised at development. They hark back.
They expect motionlessness after say, fifty, to the end of
one's days. That thought, missus Fisher, her eyes going steadily

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line by line down the page and not a word
of it getting into her consciousness, is foolish of friends.
It is condemning one to a premature death. One should continue,
of course, with dignity to develop, however old one may be.

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She had nothing against developing, against further ripeness, because as
long as one was alive, one was not dead, obviously,
decided missus Fisher and development, change, ripening were life. What
she would dislike would be unripening, going back to something green.

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She would dislike it intensely, and this is what she
felt she was on the brink of doing. Naturally, it
made her very uneasy, and only in constant movement could
she find distraction. Increasingly restless, and no longer able to

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confine herself to her battlements, she wandered more and more frequently,
and also aimlessly in and out of the top garden,
to the growing surprise of scrap, especially when she found
that all missus Fisher did was to stare for a
few minutes at the view, pick a few dead leaves

(14:43):
off the rose bushes, and go away again. In mister
Wilkins's conversation she found temporary relief, but though he joined
her whenever he could, he was not always there, for
he spread his attention judiciously among the three ladies, and
when he was somewhere else, she had to face and

(15:06):
manage her thoughts as best she could by herself. Perhaps
it was the excess of light and color at San
Salvatore which made every other place seem dark and black,
and Prince of Wales's terrace did seem a very dark
black spot. To have to go back to a dark,

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narrow street and her house dark and narrow as the street,
with nothing really living or young in it. The goldfish
could hardly be called living, or at most not more
than half living, and were certainly not young. And except
for them, there were only the maids, and they were

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dusty old things, dusty old things. Missus Fisher paused in
her thoughts, arrested by the strange expression. Where had it
come from? How was it possible for it to come
at all? It might have been one of missus Wilkins,

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in its levity, its almost slang. Perhaps it was one
of hers, and she had heard her say it and
unconsciously caught it from her. If so, this was both
serious and disgusting that the foolish creature should penetrate into
Missus Fisher's very mind and establish her personality there, The

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personality which was still, in spite of the harmony apparently
existing between her and her intelligent husband, so alien to
Missus Fisher's own, so far removed from what she understood
and liked, and infect her with her undesirable phrases, was
most disturbing. Never in her life before, for had such

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a sentence come into missus Fisher's head. Never in her
life before had she thought of her maids. Or of
anybody else, as dusty old things. Her maids were not
dusty old things. They were most respectable, neat women who
were allowed the use of the bathroom every Saturday night. Elderly, certainly,

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but then so was she, So was her house, so
was her furniture, so were her gold fish. They were
all elderly, as they should be together. But there was
a great difference between being elderly and being a dusty
old thing. How true it was what Ruskin said that

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evil communications corrupt good manners. But did Ruskin say it
on second thoughts? She was not sure. But it was
just the sort of thing he would have said if
he had said it, And in any case it was true.
Merely hearing missus Wilkins's evil communications at meals, she did

(18:14):
not listen. She avoided listening. Yet it was evident she
had heard those communications, which, in that they so often
were at once vulgar, indelicate and profane, and always, she
was sorry to say, laughed at by Lady Caroline, must
be classed as evil. Was spoiling her own mental manners.

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Soon she might not only think, but say how terrible
that would be if that were the form her breaking
out was going to take the form of unseemly speech.
Missus Fisher was afraid she would hardly with any degree
of composure, be able to bear it. At this stage,

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Missus Fisher wished more than ever that she were able
to talk over her strange feelings with some one who
would understand. There was, however, no one who would understand
except Missus Wilkins herself. She would she would know at once.
Missus Fisher was sure what she felt like, but this

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was impossible. It would be as abject as begging the
very microbe that was infecting one for protection against its disease.
She continued accordingly to bear her sensations in silence, and
was driven by them into that frequent aimless appearing in

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the top garden which presently roused even Scrap's attention. Scrap
had noticed it and vaguely wondered at it for some
time before mister Wilkins inquired of her one morning as
he arranged her cushions for her. He had established the
daily assisting of Lady Caroline into her chair as his

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special privilege whether there was anything the matter with Missus Fisher.
At that moment, Missus Fisher was standing by the eastern parapet,
shading her eyes and carefully scrutinizing the distant white houses
of Mitzago. They could see her through the branches of

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the daphnees. I don't know, said Scrap. She is a lady,
I take it, said mister Wilkins, who would be unlikely
to have anything on her mind. I should imagine so,
said Scrap, smiling. If she has, and her restlessness appears

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to suggest it, I should be more than glad to
assist her with advice. I am sure you would be
most kind. Of course, she has her own legal adviser,
but he is not on the spot. I am and
a lawyer on the spot, said mister Wilkins, who endeavored

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to make his conversation when he talked to Lady Caroline light.
Aware that one must be light with young ladies, is
worth two in. We won't be ordinary and complete the proverb,
but say, London, you should ask her, ask her if

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she needs assistance? Would you advise it? Would it not
be a little a little delicate to touch on such
a question, the question whether or no a lady has
something on her mind. Perhaps she will tell you if

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you go and talk to her. I think it must
be lonely to be missus Fisher. You are all thoughtfulness
and consideration, declared mister Wilkins, wishing for the first time
in his life that he were a foreigner, so that
he might respectfully kiss her hand on withdrawing to go

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obediently and relieve Missus Fisher's loneliness. It was wonderful what
a variety of exits from her corner scrap contrived for
mister Wilkins. Each morning she found a different one which
sent him off pleased. After he had arranged her cushions
for her. She allowed him to arrange the cushions because

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she instantly had discovered the very first five minutes of
the very first evening that her fears lest he should
cling to her and stare and dreadful admiration were baseless.
Mister Wilkins did not admire like that. It was not
only she instinctively felt not in him, but if it

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had been, he would not have dared to. In her case,
he was all respectfulness. She could direct his movements in
regard to herself with the raising of an eyelash. His
one concern was to obey She had been prepared to
like him if he would only be so obliging as

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not to admire her, And she did like him. She
did not forget his moving defenselessness the first morning in
his towel, and he amused her, and he was kind
to Lottie. It is true she liked him most when
he wasn't there, but then she usually liked everybody most

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when they weren't there. Certainly, he did seem to be
one of those men, rare in her experience, who never
looked at a woman from the predatory angle. The comfort
of this, the simplification it brought into the relations of
the party, was immense. From this point of view. Mister

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Wilkins was simply ideal. He was unique and precious whenever
she thought of him, and was perhaps inclined to dwell
on the aspects of him that were a little boring.
She remembered this and murmured, but what a treasure. Indeed,

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it was mister Wilkins's one aim during his stay at
San Salvatore to be a treasure at all costs. The
three ladies who were not his wife must like him
and trust him, then presently, when trouble arose in their lives,
and in what lives did not trouble sooner or later

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arise they would recollect how reliable he was and how
sympathetic and turned to him for advice. Ladies with something
on their minds were exactly what he wanted. Lady Caroline,
he judged, had nothing on hers at the moment, but

(25:18):
so much beauty, For he could not but see what
was evident, must have had its difficulties in the past,
and would have more of them before it had done
in the past. He had not been at hand in
the future, he hoped to be. And meanwhile, the behavior

(25:39):
of Missus Fisher, the next in importance of the ladies,
from the professional point of view, showed definite promise. It
was almost certain that missus Fisher had something on her mind.
He had been observing her attentively, and it was almost
certain with the third. With Missus Arbuthnot, he had up

(26:03):
to this made least headway, for she was so very
retiring and quiet. But might not this very retiringness, this
tendency to avoid the others and spend her time alone,
indicate that she too was troubled. If so, he was

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her man, he would cultivate her. He would follow her
and sit with her and encourage her to tell him
about herself. Arbuthnot, he understood from Lottie, was a British
Museum official, nothing specially important at present, but mister Wilkins

(26:45):
regarded it as his business to know all sorts and kinds. Besides,
there was promotion. Arbuthnot promoted might become very much worth while.
As for law, she was charming. She really had all
the qualities he had credited her with during his courtship,

(27:09):
and they had been it appeared merely in abeyance, since
his early impressions of her were now being endorsed by
the affection and even admiration Lady Caroline showed for her.
Lady Caroline Dester was the last person he was sure
to be mistaken on such a subject. Her knowledge of

(27:33):
the world, her constant association with only the best, must
make her quite unerring. Lottie was evidently then, that which
before a marriage he had believed her to be. She
was valuable. She certainly had been most valuable in introducing
him to Lady Caroline and missus Fisher. A man in

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his profession could be immensely helped by a clever and
attractive wife. Why had she not been attractive sooner? Why
this sudden flowering? Mister Wilkins began too to believe that
there was something peculiar, as Lottie had almost at once

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informed him, in the atmosphere of San Salvatore, it promoted expansion,
it brought out dormant qualities, and feeling more and more
pleased and even charmed by his wife, and very content
with the progress he was making with the two others,

(28:40):
and hopeful of progress to be made with the retiring third.
Mister Wilkins could not remember ever having had such an
agreeable holiday. The only thing that might perhaps be bettered
was the way they would call him mister Wilkins. Nobody
said mister Millersh Wilkins. Yet he had introduced himself to

(29:02):
Lady Caroline. He flinched a little on remembering the circumstances.
As Mellersh Wilkins. Still, this was a small matter, not
enough to worry about. He would be foolish if in
such a place and such society he worried about anything.

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He was not even worrying about what the holiday was costing,
and had made up his mind to pay not only
his own expenses, but his wife's as well. And surprise
her at the end by presenting her with her nest egg,
as intact as when she started. And just the knowledge
that he was preparing a happy surprise for her made

(29:44):
him feel warmer than ever towards her. In fact, mister Wilkins,
who had begun by being consciously and according to plan
on his best behavior, remained on it unconsciously and with
no effort at all. And meanwhile, the beautiful golden days

(30:05):
were dropping gently from the second week, one by one,
equal in beauty with those of the first, and the
scent of beanfields in flower on the hill side behind
the village came across to San Salvatore. Whenever the air
moved in the garden that second week, the poet's eyed

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Narcissus disappeared out the long grass at the edge of
the zigzag path, and wild gladiolus, slender and rose colored,
came in their stead. White pinks bloomed in the borders,
filling the whole place with their smoky sweet smell, and
a bush nobody had noticed burst into glory and fragrance,

(30:50):
and it was a purple lilac bush. Such a jumble
of spring and summer was not to be believed in
except by those who dwelt in those gardens. Everything seemed
to be out together, all the things crowded into one month,
which in England are spread penuriously over six Even primroses

(31:13):
were found one day by Missus Wilkins in a cold
corner up in the hills, and when she brought them
down to the geraniums and heliotrope of San Salvatore, they
looked quite shy. End of Chapter sixteen