"Non fate guerra al Maggio," he murmured. "'War not with the May' would render a correct meaning.""The point is, we have warred with it. Look." He pointed to the Val d'Arno, which was visible far below them, through the budding trees. "Fifty miles of Spring, and we've come up to admire them. Do you suppose there's any difference between Spring in nature and Spring in man? But there we go, praising the one and condemning the other as improper, ashamed that the same work eternally through both."No one encouraged him to talk. Presently Mr. Eager gave a signal for the carriages to stop and marshalled the party for their ramble on the hill. A hollow like a great amphitheatre, full of terraced steps and misty olives, now lay between them and the heights of Fiesole, and the road, still following its curve, was about to sweep on to a promontory which stood out in the plain.
It was this promontory, uncultivated, wet, covered with bushes and occasional trees, which had caught the fancy of Alessio Baldovinetti nearly five hundred years before. He had ascended it, that diligent and rather obscure master, possibly with an eye to business, possibly for the joy of ascending. Standing there, he had seen that view of the Val d'Arno and distant Florence, which he afterwards had introduced not very effectively into his work. But where exactly had he stood? That was the question which Mr. Eager hoped to solve now. And Miss Lavish, whose nature was attracted by anything problematical, had become equally enthusiastic.
But it is not easy to carry the pictures of Alessio Baldovinetti in your head, even if you have remembered to look at them before starting. And the haze in the valley increased the difficulty of the quest.
The party sprang about from tuft to tuft of grass, their anxiety to keep together being only equalled by their desire to go different directions. Finally they split into groups. Lucy clung to Miss Bartlett and Miss Lavish; the Emersons returned to hold laborious converse with the drivers; while the two clergymen, who were expected to have topics in common, were left to each other.
The two elder ladies soon threw off the mask. In the audible whisper that was now so familiar to Lucy they began to discuss, not Alessio Baldovinetti, but the drive. Miss Bartlett had asked Mr. George Emerson what his profession was, and he had answered "the railway." She was very sorry that she had asked him. She had no idea that it would be such a dreadful answer, or she would not have asked him. Mr. Beebe had turned the conversation so cleverly, and she hoped that the young man was not very much hurt at her asking him"The railway!" gasped Miss Lavish. "Oh, but I shall die! Of course it was the railway!" She could not control her mirth. "He is the image of a porter--on, on the South-Eastern.""Eleanor, be quiet," plucking at her vivacious companion. "Hush!
They'll hear--the Emersons--"
"I can't stop. Let me go my wicked way. A porter--""Eleanor!"
"I'm sure it's all right," put in Lucy. "The Emersons won't hear, and they wouldn't mind if they did."Miss Lavish did not seem pleased at this.
"Miss Honeychurch listening!" she said rather crossly. "Pouf!
Wouf! You naughty girl! Go away!"
"Oh, Lucy, you ought to be with Mr. Eager, I'm sure.""I can't find them now, and I don't want to either.""Mr. Eager will be offended. It is your party.""Please, I'd rather stop here with you."
"No, I agree," said Miss Lavish. "It's like a school feast; the boys have got separated from the girls. Miss Lucy, you are to go.
We wish to converse on high topics unsuited for your ear."The girl was stubborn. As her time at Florence drew to its close she was only at ease amongst those to whom she felt indifferent.
Such a one was Miss Lavish, and such for the moment was Charlotte. She wished she had not called attention to herself;they were both annoyed at her remark and seemed determined to get rid of her.
"How tired one gets," said Miss Bartlett. "Oh, I do wish Freddy and your mother could be here."Unselfishness with Miss Bartlett had entirely usurped the functions of enthusiasm. Lucy did not look at the view either.
She would not enjoy anything till she was safe at Rome.
"Then sit you down," said Miss Lavish. "Observe my foresight."With many a smile she produced two of those mackintosh squares that protect the frame of the tourist from damp grass or cold marble steps. She sat on one; who was to sit on the other?
"Lucy; without a moment's doubt, Lucy. The ground will do for me.
