Where Angels Fear to Tread

by E. M. Forster

  Chapter 2

  When the bewildered tourist alights at the station of Monteriano, hefinds himself in the middle of the country. There are a few houses roundthe railway, and many more dotted over the plain and the slopes of thehills, but of a town, mediaeval or otherwise, not the slightest sign. Hemust take what is suitably termed a "legno"--a piece of wood--anddrive up eight miles of excellent road into the middle ages. For it isimpossible, as well as sacrilegious, to be as quick as Baedeker.

  It was three in the afternoon when Philip left the realms ofcommonsense. He was so weary with travelling that he had fallen asleepin the train. His fellow-passengers had the usual Italian gift ofdivination, and when Monteriano came they knew he wanted to go there,and dropped him out. His feet sank into the hot asphalt of the platform,and in a dream he watched the train depart, while the porter who oughtto have been carrying his bag, ran up the line playing touch-you-lastwith the guard. Alas! he was in no humour for Italy. Bargaining for alegno bored him unutterably. The man asked six lire; and though Philipknew that for eight miles it should scarcely be more than four, yet hewas about to give what he was asked, and so make the man discontentedand unhappy for the rest of the day. He was saved from this socialblunder by loud shouts, and looking up the road saw one cracking hiswhip and waving his reins and driving two horses furiously, and behindhim there appeared the swaying figure of a woman, holding star-fishfashion on to anything she could touch. It was Miss Abbott, who had justreceived his letter from Milan announcing the time of his arrival, andhad hurried down to meet him.

  He had known Miss Abbott for years, and had never had much opinion abouther one way or the other. She was good, quiet, dull, and amiable,and young only because she was twenty-three: there was nothing in herappearance or manner to suggest the fire of youth. All her life hadbeen spent at Sawston with a dull and amiable father, and her pleasant,pallid face, bent on some respectable charity, was a familiar objectof the Sawston streets. Why she had ever wished to leave them wassurprising; but as she truly said, "I am John Bull to the backbone, yetI do want to see Italy, just once. Everybody says it is marvellous, andthat one gets no idea of it from books at all." The curate suggestedthat a year was a long time; and Miss Abbott, with decorous playfulness,answered him, "Oh, but you must let me have my fling! I promise to haveit once, and once only. It will give me things to think about and talkabout for the rest of my life." The curate had consented; so had Mr.Abbott. And here she was in a legno, solitary, dusty, frightened, withas much to answer and to answer for as the most dashing adventuresscould desire.

  They shook hands without speaking. She made room for Philip and hisluggage amidst the loud indignation of the unsuccessful driver, whom itrequired the combined eloquence of the station-master and the stationbeggar to confute. The silence was prolonged until they started. Forthree days he had been considering what he should do, and still morewhat he should say. He had invented a dozen imaginary conversations, inall of which his logic and eloquence procured him certain victory. Buthow to begin? He was in the enemy's country, and everything--the hotsun, the cold air behind the heat, the endless rows of olive-trees,regular yet mysterious--seemed hostile to the placid atmosphere ofSawston in which his thoughts took birth. At the outset he made onegreat concession. If the match was really suitable, and Lilia were benton it, he would give in, and trust to his influence with his mother toset things right. He would not have made the concession in England;but here in Italy, Lilia, however wilful and silly, was at all eventsgrowing to be a human being.

  "Are we to talk it over now?" he asked.

  "Certainly, please," said Miss Abbott, in great agitation. "If you willbe so very kind."

  "Then how long has she been engaged?"

  Her face was that of a perfect fool--a fool in terror.

  "A short time--quite a short time," she stammered, as if the shortnessof the time would reassure him.

  "I should like to know how long, if you can remember."

  She entered into elaborate calculations on her fingers. "Exactly elevendays," she said at last.

  "How long have you been here?"

  More calculations, while he tapped irritably with his foot. "Close onthree weeks."

  "Did you know him before you came?"

  "No."

  "Oh! Who is he?"

  "A native of the place."

  The second silence took place. They had left the plain now andwere climbing up the outposts of the hills, the olive-trees stillaccompanying. The driver, a jolly fat man, had got out to ease thehorses, and was walking by the side of the carriage.

  "I understood they met at the hotel."

  "It was a mistake of Mrs. Theobald's."

  "I also understand that he is a member of the Italian nobility."

  She did not reply.

  "May I be told his name?"

  Miss Abbott whispered, "Carella." But the driver heard her, and a grinsplit over his face. The engagement must be known already.

  "Carella? Conte or Marchese, or what?"

  "Signor," said Miss Abbott, and looked helplessly aside.

  "Perhaps I bore you with these questions. If so, I will stop."

  "Oh, no, please; not at all. I am here--my own idea--to give allinformation which you very naturally--and to see if somehow--please askanything you like."

  "Then how old is he?"

  "Oh, quite young. Twenty-one, I believe."

  There burst from Philip the exclamation, "Good Lord!"

  "One would never believe it," said Miss Abbott, flushing. "He looks mucholder."

  "And is he good-looking?" he asked, with gathering sarcasm.

  She became decisive. "Very good-looking. All his features are good, andhe is well built--though I dare say English standards would find him tooshort."

  Philip, whose one physical advantage was his height, felt annoyed at herimplied indifference to it.

  "May I conclude that you like him?"

  She replied decisively again, "As far as I have seen him, I do."

  At that moment the carriage entered a little wood, which lay brown andsombre across the cultivated hill. The trees of the wood were small andleafless, but noticeable for this--that their stems stood in violets asrocks stand in the summer sea. There are such violets in England,but not so many. Nor are there so many in Art, for no painter has thecourage. The cart-ruts were channels, the hollow lagoons; even thedry white margin of the road was splashed, like a causeway soon to besubmerged under the advancing tide of spring. Philip paid no attentionat the time: he was thinking what to say next. But his eyes hadregistered the beauty, and next March he did not forget that the road toMonteriano must traverse innumerable flowers.

  "As far as I have seen him, I do like him," repeated Miss Abbott, aftera pause.

  He thought she sounded a little defiant, and crushed her at once.

  "What is he, please? You haven't told me that. What's his position?"

  She opened her mouth to speak, and no sound came from it. Philip waitedpatiently. She tried to be audacious, and failed pitiably.

  "No position at all. He is kicking his heels, as my father would say.You see, he has only just finished his military service."

  "As a private?"

  "I suppose so. There is general conscription. He was in the Bersaglieri,I think. Isn't that the crack regiment?"

  "The men in it must be short and broad. They must also be able to walksix miles an hour."

  She looked at him wildly, not understanding all that he said, butfeeling that he was very clever. Then she continued her defence ofSignor Carella.

  "And now, like most young men, he is looking out for something to do."

  "Meanwhile?"

  "Meanwhile, like most young men, he lives with his people--father,mother, two sisters, and a tiny tot of a brother."

  There was a grating sprightliness about her that drove him nearly mad.He determined to silence her at last.

  "One more question, and only one more. What is his father?"

  "His fathe
r," said Miss Abbott. "Well, I don't suppose you'll think ita good match. But that's not the point. I mean the point is not--I meanthat social differences--love, after all--not but what--I--"

  Philip ground his teeth together and said nothing.

  "Gentlemen sometimes judge hardly. But I feel that you, and atall events your mother--so really good in every sense, so reallyunworldly--after all, love-marriages are made in heaven."

  "Yes, Miss Abbott, I know. But I am anxious to hear heaven's choice. Youarouse my curiosity. Is my sister-in-law to marry an angel?"

  "Mr. Herriton, don't--please, Mr. Herriton--a dentist. His father's adentist."

  Philip gave a cry of personal disgust and pain. He shuddered all over,and edged away from his companion. A dentist! A dentist at Monteriano. Adentist in fairyland! False teeth and laughing gas and the tiltingchair at a place which knew the Etruscan League, and the Pax Romana,and Alaric himself, and the Countess Matilda, and the Middle Ages, allfighting and holiness, and the Renaissance, all fighting and beauty! Hethought of Lilia no longer. He was anxious for himself: he feared thatRomance might die.

  Romance only dies with life. No pair of pincers will ever pull it out ofus. But there is a spurious sentiment which cannot resist the unexpectedand the incongruous and the grotesque. A touch will loosen it, and thesooner it goes from us the better. It was going from Philip now, andtherefore he gave the cry of pain.

  "I cannot think what is in the air," he began. "If Lilia was determinedto disgrace us, she might have found a less repulsive way. A boy ofmedium height with a pretty face, the son of a dentist at Monteriano.Have I put it correctly? May I surmise that he has not got one penny?May I also surmise that his social position is nil? Furthermore--"

  "Stop! I'll tell you no more."

  "Really, Miss Abbott, it is a little late for reticence. You haveequipped me admirably!"

  "I'll tell you not another word!" she cried, with a spasm of terror.Then she got out her handkerchief, and seemed as if she would shedtears. After a silence, which he intended to symbolize to her thedropping of a curtain on the scene, he began to talk of other subjects.

  They were among olives again, and the wood with its beauty and wildnesshad passed away. But as they climbed higher the country opened out, andthere appeared, high on a hill to the right, Monteriano. The hazy greenof the olives rose up to its walls, and it seemed to float in isolationbetween trees and sky, like some fantastic ship city of a dream. Itscolour was brown, and it revealed not a single house--nothing but thenarrow circle of the walls, and behind them seventeen towers--all thatwas left of the fifty-two that had filled the city in her prime. Somewere only stumps, some were inclining stiffly to their fall, some werestill erect, piercing like masts into the blue. It was impossible topraise it as beautiful, but it was also impossible to damn it as quaint.

  Meanwhile Philip talked continually, thinking this to be great evidenceof resource and tact. It showed Miss Abbott that he had probed her tothe bottom, but was able to conquer his disgust, and by sheer force ofintellect continue to be as agreeable and amusing as ever. He did notknow that he talked a good deal of nonsense, and that the sheer forceof his intellect was weakened by the sight of Monteriano, and by thethought of dentistry within those walls.

  The town above them swung to the left, to the right, to the left again,as the road wound upward through the trees, and the towers began to glowin the descending sun. As they drew near, Philip saw the heads of peoplegathering black upon the walls, and he knew well what was happening--howthe news was spreading that a stranger was in sight, and the beggarswere aroused from their content and bid to adjust their deformities; howthe alabaster man was running for his wares, and the Authorized Guiderunning for his peaked cap and his two cards of recommendation--one fromMiss M'Gee, Maida Vale, the other, less valuable, from an Equerry to theQueen of Peru; how some one else was running to tell the landlady of theStella d'Italia to put on her pearl necklace and brown boots and emptythe slops from the spare bedroom; and how the landlady was running totell Lilia and her boy that their fate was at hand.

  Perhaps it was a pity Philip had talked so profusely. He had drivenMiss Abbott half demented, but he had given himself no time to concerta plan. The end came so suddenly. They emerged from the trees on to theterrace before the walk, with the vision of half Tuscany radiant in thesun behind them, and then they turned in through the Siena gate, andtheir journey was over. The Dogana men admitted them with an air ofgracious welcome, and they clattered up the narrow dark street, greetedby that mixture of curiosity and kindness which makes each Italianarrival so wonderful.

  He was stunned and knew not what to do. At the hotel he received noordinary reception. The landlady wrung him by the hand; one personsnatched his umbrella, another his bag; people pushed each other out ofhis way. The entrance seemed blocked with a crowd. Dogs were barking,bladder whistles being blown, women waving their handkerchiefs, excitedchildren screaming on the stairs, and at the top of the stairs was Liliaherself, very radiant, with her best blouse on.

  "Welcome!" she cried. "Welcome to Monteriano!" He greeted her, for hedid not know what else to do, and a sympathetic murmur rose from thecrowd below.

  "You told me to come here," she continued, "and I don't forget it. Letme introduce Signor Carella!"

  Philip discerned in the corner behind her a young man who mighteventually prove handsome and well-made, but certainly did not seem sothen. He was half enveloped in the drapery of a cold dirty curtain, andnervously stuck out a hand, which Philip took and found thick and damp.There were more murmurs of approval from the stairs.

  "Well, din-din's nearly ready," said Lilia. "Your room's down thepassage, Philip. You needn't go changing."

  He stumbled away to wash his hands, utterly crushed by her effrontery.

  "Dear Caroline!" whispered Lilia as soon as he had gone. "What an angelyou've been to tell him! He takes it so well. But you must have had aMAUVAIS QUART D'HEURE."

  Miss Abbott's long terror suddenly turned into acidity. "I've toldnothing," she snapped. "It's all for you--and if it only takes a quarterof an hour you'll be lucky!"

  Dinner was a nightmare. They had the smelly dining-room to themselves.Lilia, very smart and vociferous, was at the head of the table; MissAbbott, also in her best, sat by Philip, looking, to his irritatednerves, more like the tragedy confidante every moment. That scion of theItalian nobility, Signor Carella, sat opposite. Behind him loomed a bowlof goldfish, who swam round and round, gaping at the guests.

  The face of Signor Carella was twitching too much for Philip to studyit. But he could see the hands, which were not particularly clean, anddid not get cleaner by fidgeting amongst the shining slabs of hair.His starched cuffs were not clean either, and as for his suit, it hadobviously been bought for the occasion as something really English--agigantic check, which did not even fit. His handkerchief he hadforgotten, but never missed it. Altogether, he was quite unpresentable,and very lucky to have a father who was a dentist in Monteriano. Andwhy, even Lilia--But as soon as the meal began it furnished Philip withan explanation.

  For the youth was hungry, and his lady filled his plate with spaghetti,and when those delicious slippery worms were flying down his throat, hisface relaxed and became for a moment unconscious and calm. And Philiphad seen that face before in Italy a hundred times--seen it and lovedit, for it was not merely beautiful, but had the charm which is therightful heritage of all who are born on that soil. But he did not wantto see it opposite him at dinner. It was not the face of a gentleman.

  Conversation, to give it that name, was carried on in a mixture ofEnglish and Italian. Lilia had picked up hardly any of the latterlanguage, and Signor Carella had not yet learnt any of the former.Occasionally Miss Abbott had to act as interpreter between the lovers,and the situation became uncouth and revolting in the extreme. YetPhilip was too cowardly to break forth and denounce the engagement. Hethought he should be more effective with Lilia if he had her alone,and pretended to himself that he must hear her defenc
e before givingjudgment.

  Signor Carella, heartened by the spaghetti and the throat-rasping wine,attempted to talk, and, looking politely towards Philip, said, "Englandis a great country. The Italians love England and the English."

  Philip, in no mood for international amenities, merely bowed.

  "Italy too," the other continued a little resentfully, "is a greatcountry. She has produced many famous men--for example Garibaldi andDante. The latter wrote the 'Inferno,' the 'Purgatorio,' the 'Paradiso.'The 'Inferno' is the most beautiful." And with the complacent tone ofone who has received a solid education, he quoted the opening lines--

  Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita Mi ritrovai per una selva oscura Che la diritta via era smarrita--

  a quotation which was more apt than he supposed.

  Lilia glanced at Philip to see whether he noticed that she wasmarrying no ignoramus. Anxious to exhibit all the good qualities of herbetrothed, she abruptly introduced the subject of pallone, in which,it appeared, he was a proficient player. He suddenly became shy anddeveloped a conceited grin--the grin of the village yokel whose cricketscore is mentioned before a stranger. Philip himself had loved to watchpallone, that entrancing combination of lawn-tennis and fives. But hedid not expect to love it quite so much again.

  "Oh, look!" exclaimed Lilia, "the poor wee fish!"

  A starved cat had been worrying them all for pieces of the purplequivering beef they were trying to swallow. Signor Carella, with thebrutality so common in Italians, had caught her by the paw and flung heraway from him. Now she had climbed up to the bowl and was trying tohook out the fish. He got up, drove her off, and finding a large glassstopper by the bowl, entirely plugged up the aperture with it.

  "But may not the fish die?" said Miss Abbott. "They have no air."

  "Fish live on water, not on air," he replied in a knowing voice, and satdown. Apparently he was at his ease again, for he took to spitting onthe floor. Philip glanced at Lilia but did not detect her wincing. Shetalked bravely till the end of the disgusting meal, and then got upsaying, "Well, Philip, I am sure you are ready for by-bye. We shall meetat twelve o'clock lunch tomorrow, if we don't meet before. They give uscaffe later in our rooms."

  It was a little too impudent. Philip replied, "I should like to see younow, please, in my room, as I have come all the way on business." Heheard Miss Abbott gasp. Signor Carella, who was lighting a rank cigar,had not understood.

  It was as he expected. When he was alone with Lilia he lost allnervousness. The remembrance of his long intellectual supremacystrengthened him, and he began volubly--

  "My dear Lilia, don't let's have a scene. Before I arrived I thought Imight have to question you. It is unnecessary. I know everything. MissAbbott has told me a certain amount, and the rest I see for myself."

  "See for yourself?" she exclaimed, and he remembered afterwards that shehad flushed crimson.

  "That he is probably a ruffian and certainly a cad."

  "There are no cads in Italy," she said quickly.

  He was taken aback. It was one of his own remarks. And she further upsethim by adding, "He is the son of a dentist. Why not?"

  "Thank you for the information. I know everything, as I told you before.I am also aware of the social position of an Italian who pulls teeth ina minute provincial town."

  He was not aware of it, but he ventured to conclude that it was pretty,low. Nor did Lilia contradict him. But she was sharp enough to say,"Indeed, Philip, you surprise me. I understood you went in for equalityand so on."

  "And I understood that Signor Carella was a member of the Italiannobility."

  "Well, we put it like that in the telegram so as not to shock dear Mrs.Herriton. But it is true. He is a younger branch. Of course familiesramify--just as in yours there is your cousin Joseph." She adroitlypicked out the only undesirable member of the Herriton clan. "Gino'sfather is courtesy itself, and rising rapidly in his profession. Thisvery month he leaves Monteriano, and sets up at Poggibonsi. And formy own poor part, I think what people are is what matters, but I don'tsuppose you'll agree. And I should like you to know that Gino's uncle isa priest--the same as a clergyman at home."

  Philip was aware of the social position of an Italian priest, and saidso much about it that Lilia interrupted him with, "Well, his cousin's alawyer at Rome."

  "What kind of 'lawyer'?"

  "Why, a lawyer just like you are--except that he has lots to do and cannever get away."

  The remark hurt more than he cared to show. He changed his method, andin a gentle, conciliating tone delivered the following speech:--

  "The whole thing is like a bad dream--so bad that it cannot go on. Ifthere was one redeeming feature about the man I might be uneasy. As itis I can trust to time. For the moment, Lilia, he has taken you in,but you will find him out soon. It is not possible that you, a lady,accustomed to ladies and gentlemen, will tolerate a man whose positionis--well, not equal to the son of the servants' dentist in CoronationPlace. I am not blaming you now. But I blame the glamour of Italy--Ihave felt it myself, you know--and I greatly blame Miss Abbott."

  "Caroline! Why blame her? What's all this to do with Caroline?"

  "Because we expected her to--" He saw that the answer would involve himin difficulties, and, waving his hand, continued, "So I am confident,and you in your heart agree, that this engagement will not last. Thinkof your life at home--think of Irma! And I'll also say think of us; foryou know, Lilia, that we count you more than a relation. I should feelI was losing my own sister if you did this, and my mother would lose adaughter."

  She seemed touched at last, for she turned away her face and said, "Ican't break it off now!"

  "Poor Lilia," said he, genuinely moved. "I know it may be painful. ButI have come to rescue you, and, book-worm though I may be, I am notfrightened to stand up to a bully. He's merely an insolent boy. Hethinks he can keep you to your word by threats. He will be differentwhen he sees he has a man to deal with."

  What follows should be prefaced with some simile--the simile of apowder-mine, a thunderbolt, an earthquake--for it blew Philip up in theair and flattened him on the ground and swallowed him up in the depths.Lilia turned on her gallant defender and said--

  "For once in my life I'll thank you to leave me alone. I'll thank yourmother too. For twelve years you've trained me and tortured me, and I'llstand it no more. Do you think I'm a fool? Do you think I never felt?Ah! when I came to your house a poor young bride, how you all looked meover--never a kind word--and discussed me, and thought I might just do;and your mother corrected me, and your sister snubbed me, and you saidfunny things about me to show how clever you were! And when Charles diedI was still to run in strings for the honour of your beastly family,and I was to be cooped up at Sawston and learn to keep house, and all mychances spoilt of marrying again. No, thank you! No, thank you! 'Bully?''Insolent boy?' Who's that, pray, but you? But, thank goodness, I canstand up against the world now, for I've found Gino, and this time Imarry for love!"

  The coarseness and truth of her attack alike overwhelmed him. But hersupreme insolence found him words, and he too burst forth.

  "Yes! and I forbid you to do it! You despise me, perhaps, and thinkI'm feeble. But you're mistaken. You are ungrateful and impertinent andcontemptible, but I will save you in order to save Irma and our name.There is going to be such a row in this town that you and he'll be sorryyou came to it. I shall shrink from nothing, for my blood is up. It isunwise of you to laugh. I forbid you to marry Carella, and I shall tellhim so now."

  "Do," she cried. "Tell him so now. Have it out with him. Gino! Gino!Come in! Avanti! Fra Filippo forbids the banns!"

  Gino appeared so quickly that he must have been listening outside thedoor.

  "Fra Filippo's blood's up. He shrinks from nothing. Oh, take care hedoesn't hurt you!" She swayed about in vulgar imitation of Philip'swalk, and then, with a proud glance at the square shoulders of herbetrothed, flounced out of the room.

  Did she intend them to fight? Philip had
no intention of doing so; andno more, it seemed, had Gino, who stood nervously in the middle of theroom with twitching lips and eyes.

  "Please sit down, Signor Carella," said Philip in Italian. "Mrs.Herriton is rather agitated, but there is no reason we should not becalm. Might I offer you a cigarette? Please sit down."

  He refused the cigarette and the chair, and remained standing in thefull glare of the lamp. Philip, not averse to such assistance, got hisown face into shadow.

  For a long time he was silent. It might impress Gino, and it also gavehim time to collect himself. He would not this time fall into the errorof blustering, which he had caught so unaccountably from Lilia. He wouldmake his power felt by restraint.

  Why, when he looked up to begin, was Gino convulsed with silentlaughter? It vanished immediately; but he became nervous, and was evenmore pompous than he intended.

  "Signor Carella, I will be frank with you. I have come to prevent youmarrying Mrs. Herriton, because I see you will both be unhappy together.She is English, you are Italian; she is accustomed to one thing, you toanother. And--pardon me if I say it--she is rich and you are poor."

  "I am not marrying her because she is rich," was the sulky reply.

  "I never suggested that for a moment," said Philip courteously. "You arehonourable, I am sure; but are you wise? And let me remind you that wewant her with us at home. Her little daughter will be motherless,our home will be broken up. If you grant my request you will earn ourthanks--and you will not be without a reward for your disappointment."

  "Reward--what reward?" He bent over the back of a chair and lookedearnestly at Philip. They were coming to terms pretty quickly. PoorLilia!

  Philip said slowly, "What about a thousand lire?"

  His soul went forth into one exclamation, and then he was silent, withgaping lips. Philip would have given double: he had expected a bargain.

  "You can have them tonight."

  He found words, and said, "It is too late."

  "But why?"

  "Because--" His voice broke. Philip watched his face,--a face withoutrefinement perhaps, but not without expression,--watched it quiver andre-form and dissolve from emotion into emotion. There was avarice at onemoment, and insolence, and politeness, and stupidity, and cunning--andlet us hope that sometimes there was love. But gradually one emotiondominated, the most unexpected of all; for his chest began to heave andhis eyes to wink and his mouth to twitch, and suddenly he stood erectand roared forth his whole being in one tremendous laugh.

  Philip sprang up, and Gino, who had flung wide his arms to let theglorious creature go, took him by the shoulders and shook him, and said,"Because we are married--married--married as soon as I knew you were,coming. There was no time to tell you. Oh. oh! You have come all the wayfor nothing. Oh! And oh, your generosity!" Suddenly he became grave, andsaid, "Please pardon me; I am rude. I am no better than a peasant, andI--" Here he saw Philip's face, and it was too much for him. He gaspedand exploded and crammed his hands into his mouth and spat them out inanother explosion, and gave Philip an aimless push, which toppled him onto the bed. He uttered a horrified Oh! and then gave up, and bolted awaydown the passage, shrieking like a child, to tell the joke to his wife.

  For a time Philip lay on the bed, pretending to himself that he was hurtgrievously. He could scarcely see for temper, and in the passage he ranagainst Miss Abbott, who promptly burst into tears.

  "I sleep at the Globo," he told her, "and start for Sawston tomorrowmorning early. He has assaulted me. I could prosecute him. But shallnot."

  "I can't stop here," she sobbed. "I daren't stop here. You will have totake me with you!"