6 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.

All rights reserved. Individual use only. Copyright Neworld Books Ltd.
This audio file is enabled with an invisible watermark.
Adapted for radio by S D HUDSON
Performed by Stephanie Poppins
Music by Jean-Miles Carter
Published by 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 6 The Reverend Arthur Beebe, The Reverend Cuthbert Eager, Mr Emerson, Mr George Emerson, Miss Eleanor Lavish, Miss Charlotte Bartlett and Miss Lucy Honeychurch Drive out in carriages to see a view. Italians drive them. It was Vuitton who drove them to Fiesole that memorable day, All youth, All irresponsibility and fire, Recklessly urging his master's horses up the stony hill. Mr B recognised him at once. Neither the ages of faith nor the age of doubt had touched him. And it was Persephone whom he asked leave to pick up on the way, Saying she was his sister. Persephone, Tall and slender and pale, Returning with the spring to her mother's cottage, And still shading her eyes from the unaccustomed light. To her Mr Eager objected saying there was the thin edge of the wedge and one must guard against imposition. But the ladies interceded, And when it was made clear it was a very great favour. . . The goddess was allowed to mount beside the god. But on at once slipped that left rain over her head. This enabled himself to drive with his arm about her waist. She did not mind. Mr Eager, Who sat with his back to the horse, Saw nothing of the proceeding and continued his conversation with Lucy. The other two occupants of the carriage were old Mr Emerson and Miss Lavish. The dreadful thing had happened. Mr Beebe, Without consulting Mr Eager, Had doubled the size of the party. And though Miss Bartlett and Miss Lavish had planned all the morning how the people were to sit and eat. . . At the critical moment when the carriages came round, They lost their heads, And Miss Lavish got in with Lucy, While Miss Bartlett, With George Emerson and Mr Beeb, Followed on behind. It was hard on the poor chaplain to have his party thus transformed. Tea at a renaissance villa, If he had ever meditated it, Was now impossible. Lucy and Miss Bartlett had a certain style about them. And Mr. B, Though unreliable, Was a man of parts. But a shoddy lady writer and a journalist who'd murdered his wife in the sight of God. They should enter Novella at his introduction. Lucy was elegantly dressed in white. She sat erect and nervous amid these explosive ingredients, Attentive to Mr. Eager, Repressive towards Miss Lavish, Watchful of old Mr. Emerson. And hitherto fortunately asleep. Thanks to a heavy lunch and the drowsy atmosphere of spring he was. She looked on at the expedition as the work of fate. But for it, She would have avoided George Emerson successfully. In an open manner, He had shown he wished to continue their intimacy. She had refused, Not because she disliked him, Because she did not know what had happened, And suspected he did. This frightened her. The real event, Whatever it was, Had taken place by the river. To behave wildly at the sight of death. Is pardonable. But to discuss it afterwards, To pass from discussion to silence, And through silence into sympathy. That is an error, Not of startled emotion, But of the whole fabric. There was really something blameworthy, She thought in their joint contemplation of the shadowy stream. In the common impulse which had turned them to their house without the passing of a look or word. This sense of wickedness. Had been slight at first. She had nearly joined the party to the Torre de Gallo. But each time. . . That she avoided George, It became more imperative that she should avoid him again. And now Celestia, Irony, Working through her cousin and two clergymen, Did not suffer her to leave Florence till she had made this expedition with him through the hills. Meanwhile, Mr. Eager held her in civil convert. The little tiff was over. So, Miss Honeychurch, You are travelling as a student of ours? Oh, Timmy, No, No. Perhaps as a student of human nature, And to pose mislavish like myself. I'm here as a tourist. Said Lucy. Oh, Indeed, Mr Eager, Are you indeed? If you will not think me rude, We residents sometimes pity you poor little tourists, Not a little. Handed about like a parcel of goods from Venice to Florence, From Florence to Rome, Living herded together in pensions or hotels. Quite unconscious of anything that is outside Baedeker, They are. And the result is they mix up towns, Rivers, Palaces in one inextricable whirl. Mr. Eager proceeded to tell Miss Honeychurch that on the right lived Mr. Someone-Something, An American of the best type, So rare, And that somebody else's were further down the hill. During this speech, The two figures on the box were sporting with each other disgracefully. Lucy had a spasm of envy. Granted that they wish to misbehave. It was pleasant for them to be able to do so. They were probably the only people enjoying the expedition. And as the pace increased to gallop. The large slumbering form of Mr Emerson was thrown against the chaplain with the regularity of a machine. Piano, Piano, Said he, With a martyred look at Lucy. An extra lurch made him turn angrily in his seat. Petain, Who for some time had been endeavouring to kiss Persephone, Had just succeeded. A little scene ensued, Which, As Miss Bartlett said afterwards, Was most unpleasant. The horses were stopped. The lovers ordered to disentangle themselves. The boy was to lose his pourboire. The goal was immediately to get down. She is my sister, Said he, Turning round on them with piteous eyes. Mr Eager took the trouble to tell him he was a liar. Vuitton hung down his head, Not at the matter of the accusation, But at his manner. At this point, Mr Emerson, Whom the shock of stopping had awoke, Declared the lovers must on no account be separated and patted them on the back to signify his approval. Miss Lavish, Though unwilling to ally him. Felt bound to support the cause of bohemianism. Most certainly I would have let them be, She cried, But I dare say I shall receive scant support. I have always flown in the face of the conventions all my life. This is what I call an adventure. We must not submit. Said Mr Eager. I knew he was trying it on. He's treating us as if we were a party of cook's tourists. Surely no, Said Miss Lavish, Her ardour visibly decreasing. The other carriage had drawn up behind, And sensible Mr Beeb called out that after this warning, The couple would be sure to behave themselves properly. Leave them alone, Mr Emerson begged the chaplain. Do we find happiness so often we should turn it off the box when it happens to sit there? To be driven by lovers, A king might envy us. And if we part them, It's more sacrilege than anything I know. Here the voice of Miss Bartlett was heard saying a crowd had begun to collect. Mr Eager, Who suffered from an over-fluent tongue rather than a resolute will, Was determined to make himself heard. He addressed the driver again. Italian in the mouth of Italians is a deep voice stream with unexpected cataracts and boulders to preserve it from monotony. In Mr Eegie's mouth it resembled nothing so much as an acid whistling fountain which played ever higher and higher and quicker and quicker and more and more shrilly until abruptly it was turned off with a click. Signorino, Said the man to Lucy when the display had ceased. Signorina. Echo Persephone in her glorious contralto. For a moment, The two girls looked at each other. Then Persephone got down from the box. Victory at last, Said Mr Eager, Smiting his hands together as the carriages started again. It is not victory, " said Mr Emerson. It is defeat. You have parted two people who were happy. Mr Eager then shut his eyes. He was obliged to sit next to Mr Emerson, But he would not speak to him. The old man was refreshed by sleep. And took up the matter warmly. He commanded Lucy to agree with him. He shouted for support to his son. We have tried to buy what cannot be bought with money, He said. He has bargained to drive us and he's doing it. We have no rights over his soul. This lavish frown. It is hard when a person you've classed as typically British speaks out of his character. He was not driving us well, She said. He jolted us. That I deny. It was as restful as sleeping. Said Mr Emerson. He's jolting us now. Can you wonder? He would like to throw us out and most certainly he's justified. And if I were superstitious, I'd be frightened of the girl, Too. It does not do to injure young people. 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 round onto a promontory which stood out in the plain. This had caught the fancy nearly 500 years before of Alessio Baldovinetti. He had ascended it, That diligent and rather obscure master, Possibly with an eye to business, Possibly for the joy of ascending. The party sprang about from tuft to tuft of grass, Their anxiety to keep together only equaled by their desire to go in different directions. Finally they split into groups. Lucy clung to Miss Barkley to Miss Lavish. The Emersons return 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. Miss Sparklet had asked Mr George Emerson what his profession was as they travelled, And he had answered the railway. She was very sorry she had asked. She had no idea it would be such a dreadful answer. Or she would not have asked him. Mr B, Meanwhile, Had turned the conversation so cleverly, And she hoped the young man was not very much hurt at her asking him. The railway, Gasmish lavish. I shall die. Here's the image of a porter on the southeastern border. Eleanor, Be quiet. Hush, They'll hear. The Emersons, Said Miss Bartlett. I can't stop, Let me go my wicked way! Eleanor? I'm sure it's alright, " 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, She said rather crossly, You naughty girl, Stop listening, 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. Oh please beg Lucy, I'd rather stop here with you. 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. But Lucy was stubborn. As her time at Florence drew to a 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 any attention to herself. Now they were both annoyed at her remark and seemed determined to get rid of her. "'How tired one gets, ' said Miss Barclayt. "'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 until she was safe at Rome. And sit you down, " said Miss Lavish, Observe my foresight. And with many a smile, She produced two of those Macintosh squares that protect the frame of the tourist from damp grass or cold marble steps. At the end of five minutes, Lucy departed in search of Mr. Beeb and Mr. Eager, Vanquished by the Macintosh Square. She addressed herself to the drivers who were sprawling in the carriages, Perfuming the cushions with cigars. The miscreant, A bony young man scorched black by the sun, Rose to greet her. Dove? " said Lucy after much anxious thought. His face lit up. Of course, He knew where. Not so far either. His arm swept three-fourths of the horizon. He should just think he did not know where. Was the Italian for clergyman. More seemed necessary, She thought. He showed her his cigar. Has the cigar been given to you by Mr Beebe, The smaller of two men? Lucy started. She was correct as usual. He tied the horse to a tree, Kicked it to make it stay quiet, Dusted the carriage, And then, Arranging his hair, The young man, In rather less than a quarter of a minute, Was ready to conduct her. Anyone can find places, But the finding of people is a gift from God. He only stopped once to pick her some great blue violets, And she thanked him with real pleasure. Then he bowed. Good men first, Violets afterwards. They proceeded briskly through the undergrowth which became thicker and thicker. They were nearing the edge of the promontory and the view was stealing around them, But the brown network of the bushes shattered it into countless pieces. He was very occupied in his cigar. And she was rejoicing in her escape from dullness. What is that? She said suddenly. There was a voice in the wood in the distance behind them. The voice of Mr. Eager The young man shrugged his shoulders. An Italian's ignorance is sometimes more remarkable than his knowledge. She could not make him understand, Perhaps they had missed the clergyman. Then the view was forming at last. She could discern the river. The Golden Plain and other hills. At the same moment the ground gave way and with a cry Lucy fell out of the wood. Light and beauty enveloped her. She had fallen onto a little open terrace which was covered with violets from end to end. Courage! Cried her companion, Now standing some six feet above. Lucy did not answer. From her feet, The ground sloped sharply into view and the violets ran down in rivulets and streams and cataracts. They were in such profusion. This terrace was the wellhead, The primal source, Whence beauty gushed out to water the earth. And there standing at his brink. Like a swimmer who prepares. Was the good man. But he was not the good man she had expected. And he was alone. George had turned at the sound of her arrival. For a moment he contemplated her as one who had fallen out of heaven. He saw radiant joy in her face. He saw the flowers beat against her dress in blue waves. The bushes above them closed, He stepped quickly forwards And he kissed her. But before she could speak, Almost before she could feel, A voice called Lucy! The silence of life had been broken by Miss Bartlett. Who stood brown against the view.