Where Angels Fear to Tread - E. M. Forster (drm ebook reader .txt) 📗

But what do I care, so long as I have my silly fellow!” She always treated him as a boy, which he was, and as a fool, which he was not, thinking herself so immeasurably superior to him that she neglected opportunity after opportunity of establishing her rule. He was good-looking and indolent; therefore he must be stupid. He was poor; therefore he would never dare to criticize his benefactress. He was passionately in love with her; therefore she could do exactly as she liked.

“It mayn’t be heaven below,” she thought, “but it’s better than Charles.”

And all the time the boy was watching her, and growing up.

She was reminded of Charles by a disagreeable letter from the solicitors, bidding her disgorge a large sum of money for Irma, in accordance with her late husband’s will. It was just like Charles’s suspicious nature to have provided against a second marriage. Gino was equally indignant, and between them they composed a stinging reply, which had no effect. He then said that Irma had better come out and live with them. “The air is good, so is the food; she will be happy here, and we shall not have to part with the money.” But Lilia had not the courage even to suggest this to the Herritons, and an unexpected terror seized her at the thought of Irma or any English child being educated at Monteriano.

Gino became terribly depressed over the solicitors’ letter, more depressed than she thought necessary. There was no more to do in the house, and he spent whole days in the loggia leaning over the parapet or sitting astride it disconsolately.

“Oh, you idle boy!” she cried, pinching his muscles. “Go and play pallone.”

“I am a married man,” he answered, without raising his head. “I do not play games any more.”

“Go and see your friends then.”

“I have no friends now.”

“Silly, silly, silly! You can’t stop indoors all day!”

“I want to see no one but you.” He spat onto an olive tree.

“Now, Gino, don’t be silly. Go and see your friends, and bring them to see me. We both of us like society.”

He looked puzzled, but allowed himself to be persuaded, went out, found that he was not as friendless as he supposed, and returned after several hours in altered spirits. Lilia congratulated herself on her good management.

“I’m ready, too, for people now,” she said. “I mean to wake you all up, just as I woke up Sawston. Let’s have plenty of men⁠—and make them bring their womenkind. I mean to have real English tea parties.”

“There is my aunt and her husband; but I thought you did not want to receive my relatives.”

“I never said such a⁠—”

“But you would be right,” he said earnestly. “They are not for you. Many of them are in trade, and even we are little more; you should have gentlefolk and nobility for your friends.”

“Poor fellow,” thought Lilia. “It is sad for him to discover that his people are vulgar.” She began to tell him that she loved him just for his silly self, and he flushed and began tugging at his moustache.

“But besides your relatives I must have other people here. Your friends have wives and sisters, haven’t they?”

“Oh, yes; but of course I scarcely know them.”

“Not know your friends’ people?”

“Why, no. If they are poor and have to work for their living I may see them⁠—but not otherwise. Except⁠—” He stopped. The chief exception was a young lady, to whom he had once been introduced for matrimonial purposes. But the dowry had proved inadequate, and the acquaintance terminated.

“How funny! But I mean to change all that. Bring your friends to see me, and I will make them bring their people.”

He looked at her rather hopelessly.

“Well, who are the principal people here? Who leads society?”

The governor of the prison, he supposed, and the officers who assisted him.

“Well, are they married?”

“Yes.”

“There we are. Do you know them?”

“Yes⁠—in a way.”

“I see,” she exclaimed angrily. “They look down on you, do they, poor boy? Wait!” He assented. “Wait! I’ll soon stop that. Now, who else is there?”

“The marchese, sometimes, and the canons of the Collegiate Church.”

“Married?”

“The canons⁠—” he began with twinkling eyes.

“Oh, I forgot your horrid celibacy. In England they would be the centre of everything. But why shouldn’t I know them? Would it make it easier if I called all round? Isn’t that your foreign way?”

He did not think it would make it easier.

“But I must know someone! Who were the men you were talking to this afternoon?”

Low-class men. He could scarcely recollect their names.

“But, Gino dear, if they’re low class, why did you talk to them? Don’t you care about your position?”

All Gino cared about at present was idleness and pocket money, and his way of expressing it was to exclaim, “Ouf⁠—pouf! How hot it is in here. No air; I sweat all over. I expire. I must cool myself, or I shall never get to sleep.” In his funny abrupt way he ran out onto the loggia, where he lay full length on the parapet, and began to smoke and spit under the silence of the stars.

Lilia gathered somehow from this conversation that Continental society was not the go-as-you-please thing she had expected. Indeed she could not see where Continental society was. Italy is such a delightful place to live in if you happen to be a man. There one may enjoy that exquisite luxury of Socialism⁠—that true Socialism which is based not on equality of income or character, but on the equality of manners. In the democracy of the caffè or the street the great question of our life has been solved, and the brotherhood of man is a reality. But is accomplished at the expense of the sisterhood of women. Why should you not make friends with your neighbour at the theatre or in the train, when you know and he knows that feminine criticism and feminine insight and feminine prejudice will never come between you? Though you become