Chapter 17, The Enchanted April By Elizabeth Von Arnim

Chapter 17, 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 April..."

Read by Brita Benson

Transcript

The Enchanted April by Elisabeth von Arnhem CHAPTER XVII When so the second week began,

And all was harmony,

The arrival of Mr.

Wilkins instead of,

As three of the party had feared and the fourth had only been protected from fearing,

By her burning faith in the effect of 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 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,

And he did want to.

He was so much obliged to her,

So much pleased with her,

For making him acquainted with Lady Caroline,

That he felt really fond of her,

Or so proud,

For there must be,

He reflected,

A good deal more in her than he 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 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,

Meloche petted her.

There was,

At no time,

Much pet in Meloche,

Because he was by very nature a cool man,

Yet such an 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,

Marvelling at such rapidly developing affectionateness,

Wondered what he would do.

Should he continue at this rate,

In third week,

When her supply of ears would come,

Have come to the 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 to respond,

Lottie was even more desirous not to be in his way,

And the room became the scene of many an affectionate combat de générosité,

Each of which left them more and more pleased with each other,

More than ever.

He did not again have a bath in the bathroom,

Though it was mended and ready for him,

But got up and 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 Mrs.

Fisher,

Prepared for anything.

Lottie's belief in the irresistible influence of the heavenly atmosphere of San Salvatore,

Being thus obviously justified,

And Mr.

Wilkins,

Whose Rose knew as alarming and Scrap had pictured as icily unkind,

Being so evidently a changed man,

Both Rose and Scrap began to think there might,

After all,

Be something in what Lottie insisted on,

And that San Salvatore did work purgingly on the character.

And Rose in her bosom,

Itch though it still yearned,

Yearned to some purpose,

For she was reaching the conclusion that merely inactivity to yearn was no use at all.

And that she must either by some means stop her yearning,

Or give it at least a chance,

Remote,

But still a chance,

Of being quietened by writing to Frederick and asking him to come out.

If Mr.

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 them even a little understand each other,

Even a little bit friends.

Rose so far had loosening and disintegration go on in her character,

Now was beginning to think her obstinance straight-laced about his books and her austere absorption in good works have been foolish and perhaps even wrong.

He was her husband,

And she had frightened him away,

She had frightened love away,

Precious love,

And that couldn't be good.

Was not Lottie right when she said the other day that nothing at all except love mattered?

Certainly,

Nothing seemed to much use unless it was built up on love.

But once frightened away,

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 spread round like some divine infection.

She had,

However,

To get him here first,

And he certainly couldn't be got 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 him coming,

And if she didn't there was manifestly none,

And then,

Once hearing 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 at least an attempt at something different in their lives in the future,

Instead of the blankness of separation,

The cold,

Oh,

The cold,

Of nothing taught but the great windiness of faith,

The great bleakness of works.

Why,

One person in the world,

One single person belonging to one,

Of one's very own to talk to,

To 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,

Than all 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 courage failed her,

As it did on most days,

And it seemed impossible to write to Frederick,

She would look at Mrs.

,

Mr.

Wilkins,

And revive.

There he was,

A changed man,

There he was,

Going into that small,

Uncomfortable room every night,

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 owl-clouded and as nice to each other as they were when they went in.

And hadn't he,

So critical at home,

Lottie told her,

Of the least thing going wrong,

Emerged from that bath catastrophe as untouched in spirit,

As Shadrach,

Metachor,

And Betgenetho,

Were untouched in body,

When they emerged from the fire,

Miracles were happening in this place,

And if they could happen to Mr.

Wilkins,

Why not to Frederick?

She got up quickly,

Yes,

She would write,

She would go to write to him at once,

But suppose,

She paused,

Suppose he didn't answer,

Suppose he didn't even answer,

She sat down again to think a little longer,

In these hesitations did Rose spend most of her second week.

Then there was Mrs.

Fisher,

Her restlessness increased that second week,

It increased to the,

Such an extent that she might just as well have been in her private sitting room,

For all,

She could no longer sit.

Not for ten minutes together could Mrs.

Fisher sit,

And added to the restlessness,

As the days of the second week proceeded in their way,

She had a curious sensation which worried her of rising sap,

She knew the feeling,

Because she sometimes had it in her childhood,

In specially swift springs,

When the lilacs and the syringes seemed to rush out of the blossom 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 an absurd sensation at her age,

Yet oftener and oftener,

And every day more and more,

Did Mrs.

Fisher have a ridiculous feeling,

As if she were presently going to virgin.

Sternly she tried to frown the unseemly sensation down,

Virgin indeed,

She had heard of dried staffs,

Pieces of mere dead wood,

Suddenly putting forth fresh leaves,

But only in legend,

She was not a legend,

She knew perfectly what was due to herself,

Dignity demanded that she could have nothing to do with fresh leaves at her age,

And yet there it was,

The feeling that presently,

Than at any moment now,

She might crop out,

All green.

Mrs.

Fisher was upset,

There were many things she disliked,

More than anything else,

And one was when the elderly imagined that they felt young and behaved accordingly,

Of course they only imagined it,

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-grows and spasmodic returns,

If after all these years,

She was 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 behaviour,

To have Kate looking on,

Kate had known her law all her life,

And she felt that she could let herself go,

Hear Mrs.

Fisher frown at the book that 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 Mrs.

Fisher,

Who hoped she was reading,

Compared one constantly with that with what one used to be,

They are always doing it if one develops,

They're surprised at development,

They hark back,

They expect motionless after,

Say fifty,

To the end of one's days.

That,

Thought Mrs.

Fisher,

Her eyes growing steadily line by line down the page and not a word of it getting through 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,

She had nothing against developing,

Against further ripeness,

Because as long as one was alive one was not dead,

Obviously,

Decided Mrs.

Fisher,

And development,

Change,

Ripening were life,

What she would dislike would be unripening,

Going back to something green,

She would dislike it intensely,

And this is what she felt like 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 confine herself to her bafflements,

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 Mrs.

Fisher did was to stare for a few minutes at the view,

Pick a few dead leaves off the rose bushes and go away again.

In Mr.

Wilkins' conversation she found temporary relief,

And though he joined her in whenever he could get away,

For he spread his attention judiciously among the three ladies,

And when he was somewhere else she had to face and manage her thoughts as best she could by herself,

Perhaps it was the excess of light and the colour of San Salvatore which made every other place seem dark and black,

And Prince of Wales Terrace did seem a very dark black spot to have to go back to,

A dark narrow street and her house dark and narrow in 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 they were only the maids and they were dusty old things,

Dusty old things,

Mrs.

Fisher,

Paused in her thoughts,

Arrested by the strange expression,

Where had that come from,

How was it possible for it all to come at all,

It might have been one of Mrs.

Wilkins',

In its levity it almost slang,

Perhaps it was one of hers,

And she'd 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 Mrs.

Fisher's very mind and establish her personality there,

The personality which was still in spite of the harmony apparently existing between her and her intelligent husband,

So alien to Mrs.

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 had such a sentence come into Mrs.

Fisher's head,

Never in her life had she thought of the 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 to use the bathroom every Saturday night,

Elderly certainly,

But then also was she,

So was her house,

So was her furniture,

So were her goldfish,

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 evil communications corrupt good manners,

But did Ruskin say that,

On second thoughts she was not sure,

But it was the sort of thing he would have said if he had said it,

And in any case,

It was true,

Merely hearing Mrs.

Wilkins' evil communication at meals,

She did 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,

She must be classed as evil,

Was spoiling her own mental manners,

Soon she thought she would not think but say,

How terrible that would be,

If that were the form of her breaking out,

Was going to take,

The form of unseemly speech,

Mrs.

Fisher was afraid she would hardly,

With any degree of composure,

Be able to bear it,

At this stage Mrs.

Fisher wished,

More than ever,

That she were able to talk over her strange feelings with someone who would understand,

There was however,

No one who would understand except Mrs.

Wilkins herself,

She would,

She would know at once,

Mrs.

Fisher was sure,

What she felt like,

But this 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 at the top garden which presently roused even Scrap's attention,

Scrap had noticed it,

And vaguely wondered at it,

For some time before Mr.

Wilkins inquired of her one morning,

As she arranged her cushions for her,

He had established the daily assisting of Lady Caroline into her chair,

As his privilege,

Whether there was anything the matter with Mrs.

Fisher,

At that moment Mrs.

Fisher was standing by the eastern parapet,

Shading her eyes and carefully scrutinizing the distant white houses of Miss Gazel,

They could see her through the branches of the daphnis,

I don't know,

Said Scrap,

She is a lady I take it,

Said Mr.

Wilkins,

Who would be unlikely to have anything on her mind,

I should imagine so,

Said Scrap smiling,

If she has and her relentlessness appears to suggest it,

I should be more than glad to assist her with advice,

I'm sure you would be most kind,

Of course she has her own legal advisor,

But he is not on the spot,

I am,

And a lawyer on the spot,

Said Mr.

Wilkins,

Who endeavoured to make his conversation,

While he talked to Lady Caroline,

Light,

Aware that he must be light with young ladies,

We won't be ordinary and complete the proverb,

But same London,

You should ask her,

Ask her if 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 would tell you if you go and talk to her,

I think she must be lonely to be Mrs.

Fisher,

You are all thoughtfulness and consideration,

Declared Mr.

Wilkins,

Wishing for the first time in his life,

That he were a foreigner,

So that he might be respectfully kiss her hand,

On withdrawing to go obediently and relieve Mrs.

Fisher's loneliness,

It was wonderful what a variety of exits from her corner,

Scrap contrived for Mr.

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 he she instantly had discovered,

The very first five minutes of the very first evening,

That her fears,

Lest he should cling to her and staring dreadful admiration,

Were baseless,

Mr.

Wilkins did not admire like that,

It was not only she instinctively felt,

Not in him,

But if it had been,

He would have not dared to be,

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 to not admire her,

And she did like him,

She did not forget his moving defensiveness,

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 was not there,

But then she usually liked everybody most when they weren't there,

Certainly he did seem to be like most men,

Rare in her experience,

Who never looked at a woman from the predatory angle,

The comfort of this,

The simplification it brought to the relations of the party was immense,

From this point of view Mr.

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,

Bird bought a treasure,

Indeed it was Mr.

Wilkins 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 Lott have trouble sooner or later arise,

They would recollect how reliable and how sympathetic,

And turn 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 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 behaviour of Mrs.

Fisher,

The next in importance of the ladies from the professional point of view,

Showed definite promise,

It was almost certain that Mrs.

Fisher had something on her mind,

He had been observing her attentively,

And it was almost certain,

With the third was Mrs.

Arbuthnot,

He had to make up the headway,

So she was so very retiring and quiet,

But might not this be very retiringness,

This tendency to avoid the others and spend her time alone,

Indicate that she too was troubled,

If so he was 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 or present,

But Mr.

Wilkins regarded it as his business to know all sorts and kinds,

Besides there was promotion,

Arbuthnot promoted might become very much worthwhile,

As for Lottie she was charming,

She really had all the qualities he'd credited her with during his courtship,

And they had been,

It appeared,

Merely in absence 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 the world,

Her constant association with only the best,

Must make her quite unerring,

Lottie was evidently then,

That which was before marriage,

He had believed her to be,

She was valuable,

She certainly had been most valuable in introducing him to Lady Caroline,

And Mrs.

Fisher,

A man in his profession could be immensely helped by a clever and attractive wife,

Why had she not been attractive sooner?

Why this sudden clouring?

Mrs.

Mr.

Wilkins began too to believe that there was something peculiar,

As Lottie had almost at once 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,

And hopeful of progress to be made with a retiring third,

Mr.

Wilkins could not remember ever having had such an agreeable holiday,

The only thing that might have been bettered was the way that they would call him Mr.

Wilkins,

Nobody said Mr.

Mellash Wilkins,

Yet he had introduced himself to Lady Caroline,

He flinched a little on remembering circumstances as Mellash Wilkins,

Still this was a small matter,

Not enough to worry about,

He would be foolish of such,

In such a place,

And such society,

He worried about anything,

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 nest egg as intact as when she started,

And just the knowledge that he was preparing a happy surprise for her made him feel warmer than ever towards her,

In fact Mr.

Wilkins,

Who had begun by being consciously and according to plan on his best behaviour,

Remained on it unconsciously with no effort at all,

And meanwhile the beautiful golden days were dropping gently from the second week one by one,

Equal in beauty with those of the first,

And the scent of the bean fields in flower on the hillside behind the village came across to San Salvatore whenever the air moved,

And the garden that second week,

The poet's eyes Narcissus,

Disappeared out of the long grass at the edge of the zigzag path,

And while gladiolus,

Slender and rose-coloured,

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,

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 penurously over six,

Even primroses were found one day by Mrs.

Wilkins in a cold corner up in the hills,

And when she brought them down to the geraniums and the helitrope of San Salvatore,

They looked quite shy.

End of chapter 17