Chapter 13, The Enchanted April By Elizabeth Von Arnim

Chapter 13, The Enchanted April by Elizabeth Von Arnim, written in 1922, was inspired by a trip to the Italian Riviera.
Mrs. Wilkins and Mrs. Arbuthnot are captivated by an advertisement in The Times. "To those who appreciate wisteria and sunshine. Small medieval castle on the Mediterranean to be let furnished for the month of April..."

Read by Brita Benson

Transcript

The Uneventful Days,

Only outwardly uneventful,

Slipped by in floods of sunshine and the servants,

Watching the four ladies,

Came to the conclusion that there was very little life in them.

To the servants,

San Salvatore seemed asleep.

No one came to tea,

Nor did the ladies go anywhere to tea.

Other tenants in other springs had been far more active.

There had been a stir and enterprise.

The boat had been used,

Excursions had been made,

Beppo's fly was ordered,

People from Masago came over and spent the day.

The house rang with voices,

Even sometimes champagne had been drunk.

Life was varied,

Life was interesting.

But this,

What was this?

The servants were not even scolded.

They were left completely to themselves.

They yawned.

Perplexing,

Too,

Was the entire absence of gentlemen.

How could gentlemen keep away from so much beauty?

For added up and even after the subtraction of the old one,

The three younger ladies produced a formidable total of that which gentlemen usually sought.

Also the evident desire of each lady to spend long hours separated from the other ladies puzzled the servants.

The result was a deathly stillness in the house,

Except at mealtimes.

It might have been as empty as it had been all the winter,

For any sounds of life there were.

The old lady sat in her room,

Alone.

The dark-eyed lady wandered off alone,

Loitering,

So Domenico told them,

Who sometimes came across her in the course of his duties,

Incomprehensibly among the rocks.

And the very fair lady lay in her low chair at the top garden,

Alone.

The less but still beautiful fair lady went up the hills and stayed up them for hours,

Alone.

And every day the sun blazed slowly around the house and disappeared at the evening into the sea,

And nothing at all had happened.

The servants yawned.

Yet the four visitors,

While their bodies sat,

That was Mrs.

Fisher's,

Or lay,

That was Lady Caroline's,

Or loitered,

That was Mrs.

Arbuthnot's,

Or went up in solitude into the hills,

That was Mrs.

Wilkins's,

Were anything but torpid really.

Their minds were unusually busy.

Even at night their minds were busy,

And the dreams they had were clear,

Thin,

Quick things,

Entirely different from the heavy dreams of home.

There was in the atmosphere of San Salvatore which produced active-mindedness in all except the natives.

They,

As before,

Whatever the beauty around them,

Whatever the prodigal seasons did,

Remained immune from thoughts other than zones that they were accustomed to.

All their lives they had seen,

Year by year,

The amazing recurrent spectacle of April in the gardens,

And the custom had made them invisible to them.

They were as blind to it as conscious,

Unconscious of it,

As Domenico's dog asleep in the sun.

The visitors could not be blind to it.

It was too arresting after London,

In a particularly wet and gloomy March,

Suddenly to be transported to that place where the air was so still that it held its breath,

Where the light was so golden that the most extraordinary things were transfigured,

To be transported into that delicate warmth,

That caressing fragrance,

And to have the old grey castle as the setting,

And in the distance the serene,

Clear hills of Procino's backgrounds.

It was an astonishing contrast.

Even Lady Caroline,

Used all her life to beauty,

Who had been everywhere and seen everything,

Felt the surprise of it.

It was that year a particularly wonderful spring,

And of all the months at San Salvatore,

April,

If the weather was fine,

Was best.

May scorched and withered,

March was restless,

And could be hard and cold in its brightness,

But April came along softly like a blessing.

As if it were a fine April,

It was so beautiful,

It was impossible not to feel different,

Not to feel stirred and touched.

Mrs.

Wilkins,

We have seen,

Responded to it instantly.

She,

So to speak,

At once flung off all her garments and dived straight into glory,

Unhesitatingly,

With a cry of rapture.

Mrs.

Albasnot was stirred and touched,

But differently.

She had odd sensations,

Presently to be described.

Mrs.

Fisher,

Being old,

Was of a closer,

More impermeable texture,

And offered more resistance,

But she too had odd sensations,

Also in their place to be described.

Lady Caroline,

Already amply acquainted with beautiful houses and climates,

To whom they could not come quite with the same surprise,

Yet was very nearly as quick to react as Mrs.

Wilkins.

The place had an almost instantaneous influence on her as well,

And of one part of this influence she was aware.

It had made her think,

Beginning on the very first evening,

Want to think,

And acted on her curiosity like a conscience.

What this conscience seemed to press upon her notice with an insistence that startled her,

Lady Caroline hesitated to accept the word,

But it would keep coming into her head,

And that she was tawdry,

Tawdry,

She fancy.

She must think about that.

The morning after the first dinner together,

She woke up in a condition of regret,

That she would have liked to have been so talkative to Mrs.

Wilkins the night before.

What had made her be,

She wondered.

Now,

Of course,

Mrs.

Wilkins would want to grab,

She would want to be inseparable,

And the sort of grabbing and an inseparableness that should last for four weeks made scrap spirits swoon within her.

No doubt the encouraged Mrs.

Wilkins would be lurking in the top garden waiting to waylay her when she went out.

She would hail her with morning cheerfulness.

How much she hated being hailed with morning cheerfulness,

Or indeed hailed at all.

She oughtn't to have encouraged Mrs.

Wilkins the night before,

Fatal to encourage.

It was bad enough to not to encourage,

For just sitting there and saying nothing seemed usually to involve her,

But actively to encourage was suicidal.

What on earth made her?

Now she would have to waste all the precious time,

The precious lovely time for thinking in,

For getting square with herself in shaking Mrs.

Wilkins off.

With great caution,

And on the tips of her toes,

Balancing herself carefully lest the pebbles should scrunch,

She stole out when she was dressed to her corner,

But the garden was empty,

No shaking off was necessary,

Neither Mrs.

Wilkins nor anybody else was to be seen.

She had it entirely to herself,

Except for Dominica who presently came and hovered watering his plants again,

Especially all the plants that were nearest her.

No one came out at all,

And when after a long while of following up thoughts which seemed to escape her just as she had got them,

And dropping off exhausted to sleep in intervals of this chase,

She felt hungry,

And looked at her watch,

And saw that it was past three.

She realized that nobody had even bothered to call in.

So that Scrap could not but remark,

If anyone was shaken off,

It was she herself.

Well,

But how delightful,

And how very new.

Now she would really be able to think,

Uninterruptedly.

Delicious to be forgotten.

Still,

She was hungry,

And Mrs.

Wilkins,

After that excessive friendliness the night before,

Might at least have told her lunch was ready.

She had really been excessively friendly,

So nice about Mellisha's sleeping arrangements,

Wanting to have the spare room and all.

She wasn't usually interested in arrangements,

In fact,

She wasn't ever interested in them,

So that Scrap considered she might have said almost to have gone out of her way to be agreeable with Mrs.

Wilkins.

And in turn,

Mrs.

Wilkins didn't even bother whether or not she had any lunch.

Fortunately,

Though,

She was hungry.

She didn't mind missing a meal.

Life was full of meals.

They took up an enormous proportion of one's time,

And Mrs.

Fisher was,

She was afraid,

One of those persons who at meals linger.

Twice now she had dined with Mrs.

Fisher,

And each time she had been difficult at the end of this lodge,

Lingering on the slowly cracking innumerable nuts,

And slowly drinking a glass of wine that seemed as if it would never be finished.

Probably it would be a good thing to make a habit of missing lunch,

And it was quite easy to have tea brought out to her,

And if she breakfasted in her room,

Only once a day would she have to sit in the dining room table and endure the nuts.

Scrap burrowed her head comfortably in the cushions,

And with her feet crossed on the low parapet gave herself up to more thought.

She said to herself,

As if she had intervals throughout the morning,

Now I'm going to think.

But never having thought about anything in her life,

It was difficult.

Extraordinary how one's attention wouldn't stay fixed.

Extraordinary how one's mind slipped sideways.

Settling herself down to a review of her past as a preliminary to the consideration of her future,

And hunting in it to begin with for any justification of that distressing word,

Tawdry.

The next thing she knew was that she was thinking about all this,

But had somehow switched on to Mrs.

Wilkins,

And Mr.

Wilkins.

Well,

Mr.

Wilkins was quite easy to think about,

Though not pleasant.

She viewed his approach with misgivings,

For not only was it a profound and unexpected bore to have a man added to the party,

And a man too,

Of the kind she was sure Mr.

Wilkins must be,

But she was afraid,

And her fears was the result of a drearily unvarying experience,

That he might wish to hang about her.

This possibility had evidently not yet occurred to Mrs.

Wilkins,

And it was not one to which she could very well draw her attention,

Not that is,

Without being too fatuous to live.

She tried to hope that Mr.

Wilkins would be a exception to the dreadful rule.

If only he were,

She would like so much obliged to him,

That she believed she really might quite like him,

But she had her misgivings.

Suppose he hung about her,

So that she was driven from her lovely top garden,

Suppose the light in which Mrs.

Wilkins' funny flickering face was blown about.

Scrap felt,

She would particularly dislike to have this happen to Mrs.

Wilkins' face,

Yet she had never in her life met any wives,

Not any at all,

Who had been able to understand that she didn't in least want their husbands.

Often she had met wives who didn't want their husbands either,

But that made them nonetheless indignant if they thought somebody else did,

And nonetheless sure when they saw them hanging about Scrap and she was trying to get them,

Trying to get them.

The bare thought,

The bare recollection of these situations filled her with a boredom so extreme that it instantly sent her to sleep again.

When she woke up,

She went on with Mr.

Wilkins.

Now,

If,

Thought Scrap,

Mr.

Wilkins were not an exception and behaved in the usual way,

Would Mrs.

Wilkins understand,

Or would it simply spoil her holiday?

She seemed quick,

But would she be quick about this?

She seemed to understand and see inside one,

But would she understand and see inside one when it came to Mr.

Wilkins?

The experienced Scrap was full of doubts.

She shifted her feet on the parapet,

She jerked a cushion straight.

Perhaps she had better try and explain to Mrs.

Wilkins,

During the days still remaining before the arrival,

Explain in a general way,

Rather than vague and talking at large,

Her attitude towards such things.

She might also expound to her peculiar dislike of people's husbands and her profound craving to be,

At least for this one month,

Let alone.

But Scrap had her doubts about this too.

Such talk meant a certain familiarity,

Meant embarking on a friendship with Mrs.

Wilkins.

And if,

After having embarked on it and faced the peril it contained of too much Mrs.

Wilkins,

Mr.

Wilkins should turn out to be artful.

And people did get very artful when they were set on anything,

And managed after all to slip through into the top garden.

Mrs.

Wilkins might easily believe she had been taken in,

And that she,

Scrap,

Was deceitful,

Deceitful.

And about Mr.

Wilkins,

Wives really were pathetic.

At half past four,

She heard sounds of saucers on the other side of the dauphine bushes.

The tea was being sent out to her.

No,

The sounds came no closer.

They stopped near the house.

Tea was to be in the garden,

In her garden.

Scrap considered she might at least have been asked if she minded being disturbed.

They all knew she sat there.

Perhaps someone would bring hers to her in her corner.

No,

Nobody bought anything.

Well,

She was too hungry not to go and have it with the others today.

But she would give Francesca strict orders for the future.

She got up and walked with that slow grace which was another of her outrageous number of attractions,

Towards the sounds of tea.

She was consciously not only being very hungry,

But of wanting to talk to Mrs.

Wilkins again.

Mrs.

Wilkins had not grabbed.

She had left her free all day in spite of the reproachment the night before.

Of course,

She was an original,

But put on a silk jumper for dinner.

But she hadn't grabbed.

This was a great thing.

Scrap went towards the tea table,

Looking forward to Mrs.

Wilkins.

And when she came in sight of it,

She only saw Mrs.

Fisher and Mrs.

Arbuthnot.

Mrs.

Fisher was pouring out the tea,

And Mrs.

Arbuthnot was offering Mrs.

Fisher macaroons.

Every time Mrs.

Fisher offered Mrs.

Arbuthnot anything,

Her cup,

Or milk,

Or sugar,

Mrs.

Arbuthnot offered her macaroons,

Pressed them on her with an odd assiduousness,

Almost with obstinacy.

Was it a game?

Scrap wandered,

Sitting down and seizing a macaroon.

Where is Mrs.

Wilkins?

Asked Scrap.

They did not know.

At least Mrs.

Arbuthnot,

On Scrap's inquiry,

Did not know.

Mrs.

Fisher's face,

At the name,

Became elaborately uninterested.

It appeared that Mrs.

Wilkins had not been seen since breakfast.

Mrs.

Arbuthnot thought she had probably gone for a picnic.

Scrap missed her.

She ate the enormous macaroons,

The best and biggest she had ever come across,

In silence.

Tea without Mrs.

Wilkins was dull.

And Mrs.

Arbuthnot had that fatal flavour of motherliness about her,

Of wanting to pet one,

To make one very comfortable,

Coaxing one to eat,

Coaxing her,

Who was already so frankly,

So evenly,

Excessively eating,

That seemed to have dodged Scrap's steps through life.

Couldn't people let her alone?

She was perfectly able to eat what she wanted.

Unenticed.

She tried to quench Mrs.

Arbuthnot's zeal by being short with her.

Useless.

The shortness was not apparent.

It remained,

As all Scrap's evil feelings remained,

Covered up by the impenetrable veil of her loveliness.

Mrs.

Fisher sat monumentally,

And took no notice of either of them.

She had had a curious day,

And she was a little worried she had been left quite alone.

For none of the three had come to lunch,

And none of them had taken the trouble to let her know that they were not coming.

And Mrs.

Arbuthnot,

Drifting casually into tea,

Had behaved oddly till Lady Caroline joined them and distracted her attention.

Mrs.

Fisher was prepared not to dislike Mrs.

Arbuthnot,

Whose parted hair and mild expressions seemed very decent and womanly,

But she certainly had habits that were difficult to like.

Her habit of instantly echoing any offer made of her food or drink,

Of throwing the offer back on one,

As it were,

Was not somehow what one expected of her.

"'Will you have some more tea?

' was surely a question to which the answer was simply yes or no,

But Mrs.

Arbuthnot persisted in the trick she had exhibited the day before at breakfast of adding to her yes or no the words,

"'Will you?

' She had done it again that morning at breakfast,

And here she was doing it at tea,

The two meals at which Mrs.

Fisher presided and poured out.

"'Why did she do it?

' Mrs.

Fisher failed to understand.

But this was not what was worrying her.

This was merely by the way.

What was worrying her was that she had been quite unable that day to settle to anything and had done nothing but wander restlessly from her sitting room to her battlements and back again.

It had been a wasted day,

And how much she disliked waste!

She'd tried to read,

And she'd tried to write to Kate Lunley,

But no,

A few words read,

A few lines written,

And she got up again and went out,

On to the battlements and stared at the sea.

Reviews

Your voice acting is really quite good, and I'm thoroughly enjoying the story so far. If you are able to spare the time to rehearse each section once or twice prior to recording it, so that you then wouldn't be surprised by the places where you anticipate a different word from what actually is written, I think you could be a professional narrator. Thanks for selecting this wonderful story-- and for the care you obviously take in making sure to convey the subtleties of character and emotion. 😘