2 Room With A View - Guided Literature

In E.M. Forster's classic novel A Room with a View, the 'view' symbolises personal freedom and authentic living, while the 'room' represents the rigid social expectations of Edwardian society. The narrative critiques class snobbery, proper manners, and the pressure to conform, urging individuals to embrace their true passions over societal conformity.

This is a stoic study on how to honour your higher self whilst remaining true to your inner virtue.

Music by Jean-Miles Carter
All rights reserved. This audio file contains a hidden watermark. Individual use only. Copyright Neworld Books.

Transcript

Welcome to sleep stories with Steph your go-to podcast. That offers you a calm and relaxing transition. Into a great night's sleep. It is time to relax and fully let go. There is nothing you need to be doing now. And know where you need to go. Close your eyes. And feel yourself sink into the support beneath you. And let all the worries of the day go. Drift away. This is your time. And your space. Take a deep breath in through your nose. And let it out with a long sigh. That's it! There is nothing you need to be doing now. And know where you need to go. Happy listening. Chapter 2 in Santa Croce, With no Baiduka. It was pleasant to wake up in Florence, To open the eyes upon a bright bare room with a floor of red tiles, Which look clean though they're not. With a painted ceiling whereon pink griffins and blue borini sport in the forest of yellow violins and bassoons. It was pleasant too to fling wide the windows, Pinching the fingers in unfamiliar fastenings, To lean out into sunshine with beautiful hills and trees, And marble churches opposite, And close below the Arno, Gurgling against the embankment of the road. Over the river, Men were at work with spades and sieves on the sandy foreshore. And on the river was a boat, Also diligently employed for some mysterious end. An electric tram came rushing underneath the window. No one was inside it except one tourist. But its platforms were overflowing with Italians who preferred to stand. Children try to hang on behind and the conductor with no malice spat in their faces to make them let go. Then soldiers appeared, Good-looking undersized men, Wearing each a knapsack and a greatcoat which had been cut for some larger soldier. Beside them walked officers looking fierce and foolish, And before them went little boys turning somersaults in time with the band. The tram car became entangled in their ranks and moved on painfully, Like a caterpillar in a swarm of ants. One of the little boys fell down and some white bullocks came out of an archway. Indeed, If it had not been for the good advice of an old man who was selling button hooks, The road might never have got clear. Over such trivialities as these, Many a valuable hour may slip away, And the traveller who has gone to Italy to study the tactile values of Giotto or the corruption of the papacy may return remembering nothing but the blue sky and the men and women who live under it. So it was as well that Miss Bartlett should tap and come in, And having commented on Lucy's leaving the door unlocked, And her leaning out of the window before she was fully dressed, Should urge her to hasten herself, Or the best of the day would be gone. By the time Lucy was ready, Her cousin had done her breakfast and was listening to the clever lady among the crumbs. A conversation then ensued on not unfamiliar lines. Miss Bartlett was, After all, A wee bit tired and thought they'd better spend the morning settling in. Unless Lucy would at all like to go out. Lucy would rather like to go out as it was her first day in Florence. But of course she could not go alone. Miss Bartlett could not allow this. Of course she would accompany Lucy everywhere. Oh, Certainly not. Lucy would stop with her cousin. Oh no, That would never do. Oh yes! At this point the clever lady broke in. If it is Mrs Grundy who's troubling you, I do assure you can neglect the good person. Being English, Miss Honeychurch will be perfectly safe. Italians understand. A dear friend of mine, Contessa Baroncelli, Has two daughters, And when she cannot send a maid to school with them, She lets them go in sailor hats instead. Everyone takes them for English, You see, Especially if their hair is strained tightly behind. Miss Barclayt was unconvinced by the safety of Contessa Baroncelli's daughters. She was determined to take Lucy herself, Her head not being so very bad. The clever lady then said she was going to spend a long morning in Santa Croce, And if Lucy would come too, She would be delighted. I will take you by a dear dirty back way, Miss Honeychurch, And if you bring me luck, We shall have an adventure. Lucy said this was most kind and at once opened the Baedica to see where the Santa Croce was. Ta-ta, Miss Lucy. I hope we shall soon emancipate you from Bade. He does but touch the surface of things. As to the true Italy, He does not even dream of it. The true Italy is only to be found by patient observation. This sounded very interesting and Lucy hurried over her breakfast and started with her new friend in high spirits. Italy was coming at last. The Cockney Signora and her works had vanished like a bad dream. Miss Lavish, For that was the clever lady's name, Turned to the right along the sunny Langano. How delightfully warm! But the wind down the streets cut like a knife, Didn't it? Then Miss Lavish darted onto the archway of the White Bullocks and she stopped and cried. I smell. . . A true Florentine smell. Every city, Let me teach you, Has its own smell. A very nice smell, " said Lucy, Who had inherited from her mother a distaste to dirt. One doesn't come to Italy for niceness, Whist there were taught. One comes for life. Buongiorno, Buongiorno. Bowing right and left. Adorable wine cart! How the driver stares at us! Dear simple soul! So Miss Lavish proceeded through the streets of the city of Florence, Short, Fidgety and playful as a kitten, Though without a kitten's grace. It was a treat for the girl to be with anyone so clever and cheerful, And a blue military cloak such an Italian officer wears only increased the sense of festivity. Bonne journée! Take the word of an old woman, Miss Lucy. You will never repent of a little civility to your inferiors. That is the true democracy. Though I am a real radical as well. There, Now you're shocked. Indeed I am not, Exclaimed Lucy. We are radicals too, Out and out. My father always voted for Mr Gladstone until he was so dreadful about Ireland. I see, I see. And now you have gone over to the enemy. Oh, Please! If my father was alive, I'm sure he would vote radical again now that Eileen's all right. And as it is, The glass over our front door was broken last election, And Freddie's sure it was the Tories. But Matheson's nonsense! It was a trap! Shameful. A manufacturing district, I suppose. No, We're in the Surrey Hills, About five miles from Dorking, Looking over the Weald. This lavish seemed interested and slackened her trout. What a delightful part! I know it so well. It's full of the very nicest people. Do you know Sir Harry Otway? A radical, If ever there was. Very well indeed. An old Mrs. Butterworth, A philanthropist. Why, She rents a field of us, How funny! Miss Lavish looked at the narrow ribbon as sky and murmured, You have a property in Surrey? Howdy, Annie. Said Lucy, Fearful of being thought a snob. Only 30 acres, Just the garden, All downhill in some fields. Miss Lavish was not disgusted and said it was just the size of her aunt's Suffolk estate. Italy receded. They tried to remember the last name of Lady Louise's someone who had taken house near Summer Street the other year. But she had not liked it, Which was odd of her. And just as Miss Lavish had got the name, She broke off and exclaimed, Bless us, Bless us and save us. We've now lost the way! Certainly they'd seen a long time in reaching Santa Croce, The tower of which had been plainly visible from the landing window. But Miss Lavish had said so much about knowing her Florence by heart, That Lucy had followed her with no misgivings. Lost lost dear miss lucy during our political diatribes we've taken the wrong turning How these horrid conservatives would jeer at us. What are we to do now? Two lone females in an unknown town. Now this is what I call an adventure. Lucy who wanted to see Santa Croce suggested as a possible solution they should ask the way there. That is the word of a craven. And no, You are not, Not to look at your bed again. Give to me. I shan't let you carry it. We will simply drift. Accordingly, The two women drifted through a series of those grey-brown streets, Neither commodious nor picturesque, In which the eastern quarter of the city abounds. Lucy soon lost interest in the discontent of Lady Louisa and became discontented herself. For one ravishing moment, Italy appeared. He stood in the square of the Annunziata and saw the living terracotta, Those divine babies whom no cheap reproduction can ever stale. There they stood with their shining limbs bursting from the garments of charity, And their strong white arms extended against circlets of heaven. Lucy thought she had never seen anything more beautiful. But Miss Lavish, With a shriek of dismay, Dragged her forward, Declaring they were out of their path now by at least a mile. The hour was approaching at which the continental breakfast begins, Or rather ceases to tell, And the ladies brought some hot chestnut paste out of a little shop, Because it looked so typical. It tasted partly of the paper in which it was wrapped. Partly of hair oil. Partly of the great unknown. But it gave them strength to drift into another piazza, Large and dusty, On the farther side of which rose black and white façade of surpassing ugliness. This lavish spoke to it dramatically. It was Santa Crotchy. The adventure was over. Stop a minute. Let those two people go on, Or I shall have to speak to them. I do detest conventional intercourse. Nasty! They're going into the church too! Oh, The British are abroad! We sat opposite them at dinner last night. They've given us their rooms, " said Lucy. They were so very kind. Hickers! Laughed Miss Lavish. They walk through my Italy like a pair of cows. It's very naughty of me, But I would like to see an examination paper at Dover and turn back every tourist who couldn't pass. What would you ask us? Miss Lavish laid her hand pleasantly on Lucy's arm as if to suggest that she, At all events, Would get full marks. In this exalted mood they reached the steps of the great church and were about to enter it when Miss Lavish stopped squeaking. Flung up her arms and cried. There goes my local colour box. I must have a word with him. And in a moment she was away over at the piazza, Her military cloak flapping in the wind. Nor did she slacken speed till she caught up an old man with white whiskers and nipped him playfully upon the arm. Lucy, Meanwhile, Waited for nearly 10 minutes. Then she began to get tired. The beggars worried her, The dust blew in her eyes, And she remembered a young girl ought not to loiter in public places. She descended slowly into the piazza with the intention of rejoining Miss Lavish. Who was really almost too original. But at that moment, Miss Lavish and her local colour box moved also and disappeared down a side street, Both gesticulating largely. Tears of indignation came to Lucy's eyes. Partly because Miss Lavish had jilted her. Partly because she had taken her Vedika. How now could she find her way home? Her first morning was ruined and she might never be in Florence again. A few minutes ago had been all high spirits talking as a woman of culture and half persuading herself she was full of originality. Now she entered the church depressed and humiliated, Even able to remember whether it was built by the Franciscans or the Dominicans. Of course it must be a wonderful building. But how like a barn, And how very cold! Of course it contained frescoes by Giotto in the presence of those whose tactile values she was capable of feeling what was proper. Who was to tell her which they were? She walked about disdainfully and willing to be enthusiastic over monuments of uncertain authorship or dates. Then the pernicious charm of Italy worked on her, And instead of acquiring information, Lucy began to be happy. She puzzled out the Italian notices that forbade people to introduce dogs into the church. The notice that prayed people, In the interest of health and out of respect, To the sacred edifice in which they found themselves, Not to speak. She watched the tourists. Their noses were as red as their Baedekers, So cold was Santa Crotchy. She beheld the horrible fate that overtook three papists, Two he-babies and a she-baby, Who began their career by sousing each other with the holy water. Then she proceeded to the Machiavelli memorial, Dripping but hallowed. Hateful bishop. Exclaimed the voice of old Mr Emerson, Who had darted forward also. Hard in life, Hard in death. Go out into the sunshine, Little boy, And kiss your hand to the sun, For that is where you ought to be in Toro Bishop. Look at him. Said Mr Emerson to Lucy. Here's a mess, A baby hurt, Cold and frightened. But what else can you expect from a church? In Lucy's mood, She no longer despised the Emersons. She was determined to be gracious to them, Beautiful rather than delicate, And if possible to erase Miss Bartlett's civility by some gracious reference to the pleasant rooms. What are you doing here? " said Mr Emerson. Are you doing the church? Are you through with the church? No, Cried Lucy. I came here with Miss Lavish, Who was to explain everything, And just by the door. It's too bad she simply ran away, And after waiting quite a time I had to come in by myself. Why shouldn't you? Said Miss Ramerson. Yes, Why shouldn't you come in by yourself? Said his son. Addressing Lucy for the first time. But Miss Lavish has even taken away Baedica. Bajika? Said Miss Emerson. I'm glad it's that you minded. It is worth minding the loss of Abedeker. That is worth minding. Lucy was puzzled. If you've no Baedica. . . Said the sun. You better join us. Was this where the idea would lead? Thought Lucy. She took refuge in her dignity. Thank you very much but i could not think of that I hope you do not suppose I came to join on to you. I wish to thank you so kindly for giving us your rooms tonight. I hope that you have not been put to any great inconvenience. My dear, " said the old man gently, I think you're repeating what you've heard older people say. You are pretending to be touchy, But you're not really. Stop being so tiresome and tell me instead what part of the church you want to see. To take you to it will be a real pleasure.