Part 1 · Chapter 6The 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

Part 1 • 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

"Seriously?" said Mr. Eager. " You’re one of those tourists?"

If you don’t mind me saying, we locals sometimes feel a little bad for you - shipped around like packages from Venice to Florence, then Florence to Rome, stuck in hotels or pensions, totally oblivious to anything beyond what’s in your guidebook.

"All you care about is ticking things off your list and moving on. It’s a mess, honestly. You know, like that cartoon of the American girl asking, ‘Hey, poppa, what did we see in Rome?

And her dad replies, ‘Oh, I think it was where we saw the yellow dog. That’s travel for you. Haha!"

"I totally agree," said Miss Lavish, who’s been trying to jump in a few times. " The shallowness and lack of depth of the Anglo-Saxon tourist is honestly a problem."

"Exactly. Now, the English community in Florence, Miss Honeychurch - it's pretty big, though not everyone’s the same, of course. A few are here for business, for example. But most are students.

Lady Helen Laverstock is working on Fra Angelico right now. We're passing her villa on the left."

"No, you can’t see it unless you stand up - though don’t, you’ll fall. She’s really proud of that thick hedge. Inside, it’s total seclusion. You could have gone back six hundred years.

Some critics even think her garden was where The Decameron was set, which adds to the vibe, right?"

"Totally!" cried Miss Lavish. " Tell me, where do they place the scene of that amazing seventh day?"

"But Mr. Eager went on to tell Miss Honeychurch that on the right lived Mr.

Someone Something, an American - a good one, which is rare! - and the Somebody Elses live further down the hill. " You’ve probably read her books in the ‘Medieval Byways’ series, right? He’s working on Gemistus Pletho.

"Sometimes, when I’m having tea in their gorgeous yard, I can hear the electric tram squealing up the new road with its load of hot, dusty, clueless tourists going to "do" Fiesole in an hour just so they can say they’ve been there, and I think - think - I think how little they notice what’s right in front of them."

During this whole thing, the two figures in the carriage were totally goofing off. Lucy felt a pang of envy. Okay, they wanted to act up, but it was nice for them to actually be able to do it.

They were probably the only people enjoying the trip.

The carriage bounced and jolted its way up through the Piazza of Fiesole and onto the Settignano road.

"Easy! Easy!" said Mr. Eager, waving his hand dramatically.

"Va bene, signore, va bene, va bene," the driver crooned, and whipped the horses forward.

Now Mr. Eager and Miss Lavish started arguing about Alessio Baldovinetti. Was he a cause of the Renaissance, or just one of its results? The other carriage was left behind. As the pace picked up to a full gallop, the big, sleepy form of Mr.

Emerson kept slamming into the chaplain like clockwork.

"Easy! Easy!" he said, giving Lucy a martyr look.

Another jolt made him spin around angrily in his seat. Phaethon, who’s been trying to kiss Persephone for a while, finally succeeded.

A little scene unfolded, which, as Miss Bartlett said later, was super awkward. The horses were stopped, the lovers were told to separate, the boy was losing his tip, and the girl was immediately to get out.

"She’s my sister," he said, turning to them with pleading eyes.

Mr. Eager took the time to tell him he was lying.

Phaethon slumped, not because he was accused, but because of how he was being talked to. Mr. Emerson, finally snapping out of his shock, declared that the lovers absolutely couldn’t be separated, and gave them a supportive pat on the back.

Miss Lavish, though not exactly on his side, felt like she had to support the whole bohemian vibe.

"Seriously, let them be," she said. " But I doubt I’ll get much support. I’m always going against the grain, you know? This is what I call an adventure."

"We can’t give in," said Mr. Eager. " I knew he was messing with us. He’s treating us like a bunch of clueless tourists."

"Really?" said Miss Lavish, her enthusiasm fading fast.

The other carriage had pulled up behind, and sensible Mr. Beebe called out that this warning should straighten them out.

"Leave them alone," Mr. Emerson pleaded with the chaplain, who he definitely didn’t intimidate. " Do we find happiness so rarely that we should just switch it off when it happens to show up?

To be driven by lovers - a king would be jealous, and breaking them up would be practically sacrilegious."

Just then, Miss Bartlett’s voice announced that a crowd was starting to gather.

Mr. Eager, who had a tendency to talk way too much rather than having a strong will, was determined to be heard. He addressed the driver again. Italian, when spoken by Italians, is a deep, flowing stream with unexpected twists and turns.

Coming from Mr. Eager’s mouth, it sounded like a high-pitched, frantic fountain spraying higher and higher, faster and faster, and more and more shrilly, until it suddenly cut off with a click.

"Signorina!" the driver said to Lucy, when the display had stopped. Why was he even talking to Lucy?

"Signorina!" echoed Persephone in her gorgeous voice.

She pointed at the other carriage. Why?

For a moment, the two girls stared at each other. Then Persephone hopped down from the carriage.

"Victory at last!" said Mr. Eager, clapping his hands together as the carriages started rolling again.

"It’s not a victory," said Mr. Emerson. " It’s a defeat. You’re pulling apart two people who were happy."

Mr. Eager closed his eyes. He was stuck sitting next to Mr. Emerson, but he wasn't going to say a word to him.

The older man was refreshed and launched back into the argument, demanding Lucy agree with him and shouting for support from his son.

"We tried to buy something that can’t be bought with money. He’s agreed to drive us, and he’s doing it. We have no claim over his soul."

Miss Lavish frowned. It’s awkward when someone you consider typically British acts completely out of character.

"He wasn’t driving us well," she said. " He was jolting us around."

"I completely disagree. It was as relaxing as falling asleep. Aha! He’s jolting us now. Can you blame him? He probably wants to toss us out, and honestly, he's justified.

And if I were superstitious, I’d be a little nervous about the girl, too. It’s never good to upset young people."

"Have you ever heard of Lorenzo de Medici?" Miss Lavish bristled.

"Of course, I have. Are you referring to Lorenzo il Magnifico, or to Lorenzo, Duke of Urbino, or to Lorenzo nicknamed Lorenzino because he was short?"

"The Lord knows. Maybe He does know, because I’m talking about Lorenzo the poet. I heard yesterday that he wrote a line that goes like this: ‘Don’t go fighting against the Spring.’"

Mr. Eager couldn’t resist showing off his knowledge.

"Non fate guerra al Maggio," he murmured. "' War not with the May' is a pretty accurate translation."

"The thing is, we’s been fighting it. Look."

He pointed to the Val d’Arno, which you could see way down below, through all the new leaves. " Fifty miles of spring, and we hiked all the way up here to admire it.

Do you think there’s a difference between spring in nature and spring in people?"

"But here we go, praising one and judging the other, embarrassed that the same rules work for both."

No one really encouraged him to talk. Then Mr. Eager gave a signal for the carriages to stop and got everyone ready for a walk up the hill.

A huge bowl-shaped area, like a giant amphitheater, filled with terraced steps and misty olive trees, now lay between them and the heights of Fiesole, and the road, still curving, was about to sweep onto a cliff jutting out into the plain.

This was the spot that had grabbed Alessio Baldovinetti’s attention almost five hundred years before. He’s climbed up there, that super-dedicated, kinda obscure artist, maybe looking for a deal, maybe just to enjoy the view.

Standing there, he’s seen that view of the Val d’Arno and distant Florence, which he later tried to put into his work, but not very well. But exactly where did he stand? That’s what Mr. Eager was hoping to figure out now.

And Miss Lavish, who was drawn to anything puzzling, was totally into it too.

But honestly, it's tough to picture Alessio Baldovinetti’s paintings in your head, even if you remembered to look at them beforehand. And the haze in the valley made the search even harder.

The group scattered around from patch to patch of grass, desperate to stay together but also wanting to wander off in different directions. Eventually, they split into smaller groups.

Lucy stuck with Miss Bartlett and Miss Lavish; the Emersons went off to have a long chat with the drivers; while the two clergymen, who you'd think would have things in common, were left to their own devices.

The two older ladies quickly dropped the pretense. In that quiet whisper that Lucy was now so used to, they started talking - not about Alessio Baldovinetti, but about the drive.

Miss Bartlett had asked Mr. George Emerson what he did for a living, and he’s said "the railway." She was really bummed she’s asked him. She had no idea he’s give such a lame answer, or she wouldn’t have asked.

Mr. Beebe had tried to steer the conversation in a different direction, and she hoped the young man wasn’t too hurt by her question.

"The railway!" gasped Miss Lavish. " Oh my god, I’m dying! Of course it was the railway!"

She couldn’t stop laughing. " He looks exactly like a train porter - on the South-Eastern!"

"Eleanor, be quiet," tugging at her energetic friend. " Shhh! They’ll hear - the Emersons - "

"I can’t help it. Let me go wild. A porter - " "Eleanor!"

"I’m sure it’s fine," Lucy chimed in. " The Emersons won’t hear, and they wouldn’t even care if they did."

Miss Lavish didn’t seem happy about this.

"Miss Honeychurch listening!" she said, a little annoyed. " Pouf! Wouf! You naughty girl! Go away!"

"Oh, Lucy, you should 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’s your party."

"Please, I’d rather just stop here with you."

"No, I agree," said Miss Lavish. " It’s like a school picnic; the boys have all gotten separated from the girls. Miss Lucy, you have to go. We want to talk about important stuff that’s not suitable for your ears."

The girl was stubborn. As her time in Florence was coming to an end, she only felt comfortable around people she didn't really connect with. Miss Lavish was one of those people, and for the moment, so was Charlotte.

She wished she hadn’t drawn attention to herself; they both seemed annoyed by her comment and were trying to get rid of her.

"How tired one gets," said Miss Bartlett. " Oh, I really wish Freddy and your mother could be here."

Selflessness had totally taken over Miss Bartlett's enthusiasm. Lucy wasn't even looking at the view. She wasn’t going to enjoy anything until they were safe in Rome.

"Sit down," Miss Lavish said. " Check out my foresight."

She grinned and pulled out two of those mackintosh squares - you know, the ones that protect tourists from damp grass or cold marble steps. She plopped down on one. Who was gonna sit on the other?

"Lucy, obviously. The ground's fine for me. Seriously, I haven’t had rheumatism in years. If I do feel it coming on, I’ll just stand. Imagine your mom's reaction if I let you sit in the wet in your white linen."

"She sat down heavily where the ground looked particularly damp. " There we go, all settled. Even though my dress is thinner, it won’t show too much, being brown. Sit down, dear; you’re too selfless; you don’t stand up for yourself enough.

She cleared her throat. "

"Now don’t freak out; this isn’t a cold. It’s just a tiny cough, and I’m been dealing with it for three days. It’s totally unrelated to sitting here."

There was only one thing to do. After five minutes, Lucy headed off to find Mr. Beebe and Mr. Eager, totally defeated by the mackintosh square.

She approached the drivers, who were sprawled out in the carriages, filling the cushions with cigar smoke.

The driver - a bony, sun-baked young guy - stood up to greet her with the politeness of a host and the confidence of someone who knew her well.

"Dove?" Lucy asked, after thinking hard.

His face lit up. Of course he knew where to go. Not too far either. He waved his arm across most of the horizon. He was pretty sure he knew where.

He pressed his fingertips to his forehead and then pushed them towards her, like he was dripping with visible knowledge.

More information seemed necessary. What was "clergyman" in Italian?

"Dove buoni uomini?" she said finally.

"Good?" He looked at her like she was crazy. " Good" wasn't really the right word for those amazing guys! He showed her his cigar.

"Uno - piu - piccolo," she said next, implying, "Has Mr. Beebe, the smaller of the two good men, given you this cigar?"

She was right, as usual. He tied the horse to a tree, gave it a little kick to keep it quiet, dusted off the carriage, fixed his hair, reshaped his hat, groomed his mustache, and in less than a minute was ready to take her.

Italians just know the way.

It’s like the whole world is a chessboard to them, where they can always see the changing pieces and the squares. Anyone can find places, but finding people - that’s a gift from God.

He only stopped once, to pick her some gorgeous blue violets. She thanked him with genuine pleasure. With this regular guy, the world felt beautiful and straightforward. For the first time, she felt the influence of Spring.

He swept his arm across the horizon gracefully; violets, like everything else, were everywhere - "would she like to see more?" "Ma buoni uomini."

He bowed. Absolutely. Good men first, violets later. They pushed their way through the undergrowth, which was getting thicker and thicker.

They were nearing the edge of the cliff, and the view was slowly coming into focus, but the tangle of brown bushes broke it up into a million pieces.

He was busy with his cigar and holding back the flexible branches. She was loving her escape from boredom. Not a single step, not a single twig - everything felt important to her. "What’s that?"

There was a voice in the woods, in the distance behind them. Mr. Eager’s voice? He shrugged. An Italian’s ignorance could be pretty impressive, sometimes - even more than his knowledge.

She couldn't make him understand that they might have missed the clergymen.

The view was finally coming together; she could see the river, the golden plain, other hills. "Eccolo!" he exclaimed.

The ground just disappeared, and with a shriek, she tumbled out of the woods. Suddenly, she was surrounded by light and something beautiful. She’s landed on a little open terrace, totally covered in violets.

"Hang in there!" her friend yelled, standing about six feet above her. " You got this, and love will see you through."

She didn't say anything. Below her, the ground sloped down sharply, and violets flowed like little rivers and streams, cascading down the hillside.

They were everywhere, swirling around the tree trunks, gathering in little puddles, and making the grass look like it was covered in blue bubbles.

You'd never see so many violets again; this terrace was like the source, where all that beauty just poured out to refresh the world.

Standing at the edge, like someone getting ready to dive, was this good guy. But he wasn’t what she expected, and he was all by himself.

George had turned when he heard her fall. For a second, he just stared at her, like she’s just dropped from the sky. He saw this amazing joy on her face, and he saw the flowers swirling around her dress in blue waves.

The bushes closed in above them. He stepped forward quickly and kissed her.

Before she could even speak, or really even feel it, a voice called out, "Lucy! Lucy! Lucy!" The quiet of everything was shattered by Miss Bartlett, standing out against the view.