E. M. Forster: "Room with a view"
The book
Florence, at the beginning of the last century: During an educational trip, the young Englishwoman Lucy Honeychurch falls in love with the spirited free spirit George Emerson. Her cousin, who accompanies Lucy as a straightforward chaperone, is indignant: For this man considers her socially completely inappropriate. Quickly she travels back to England with Lucy; there she is supposed to get engaged with the well-bred, but very boring Cecil Vyse. However, no one of the participants has reckoned with the vagaries of fate and the power of feelings. Least Lucy herself.
With subtle irony and lightness, Edward Morgan Forster dismisses the rigid manners and empty conventions of Victorian society.
The author
Edward Morgan Forster (1879-1970) is considered one of the most important English writers of the 20th century. His novel "Room with view" was faithfully imitated in 1985, starring Helena Bonham Carter and Julian Sands, and received three Oscars. Forster's literary successes include "Seeing Howard's End," "Angels and Fools," and "In Search of India."
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Leseprobe "Room with a view"
Pension Bertolini "To this the Signora had no right," said Miss Bartlett indignantly, "in no way! She has promised us south-facing rooms with a beautiful view, right next to each other, and now they are north-facing rooms that open out onto the courtyard and far apart Oh, Lucy! "
"And she's still a true Londoner!" said Lucy, who had added to the Signora's unexpected Cockney accent. "As if Westminster were here!" She glanced over the two rows of Englishmen sitting across from each other at the table; across the row of white water and red wine bottles between the ranks of the English; on the portraits of the deceased Queen and the late poeta laureatus, which hung heavily framed behind the English; and the notice of the English Church (Rev. Cuthbert Eager, M.A. Oxon.), which was the only other wall decoration. "Charlotte, do not you think we might as well be in London, I can not believe there's any other things out there, probably because you're so tired."
"You've probably cooked a bouillon on this meat," said Miss Bartlett, putting down the fork. "And I was so looking forward to the Arno! The rooms that the Signora had promised us in her letter should go out on the Arno." The Signora had no right whatsoever. "Every chamber is right for me," continued Miss Bartlett, "but that you should not enjoy a beautiful view is already a cross."
Lucy was afraid of being selfish. "Charlotte, you should not spoil me, of course you too must have a nice view of the Arno." "I really meant that, the first room out front that will be vacant ..." "Must you get," said Miss Bartlett, whose travel expenses were partly paid by Lucy's mother? a generosity to which she often tactfully alluded. "No, no, you!" "I insist, your mother would never forgive me, Lucy." "She would never forgive me for that."
The voices of the ladies were louder, but also revealed? if it necessarily has to be said? a certain irritation. They were exhausted and quarreled, though they pretended to outdo each other in selflessness. Some of her neighbors already switched looks, and one of them? one of those people without a nursery, as they were met abroad? even had the nerve to lean forward and interfere in their quarrel. He said, "I have a room with a nice view, I have one." Miss Bartlett jumped in shock.
Usually, guest guests did not watch them for a day or two before addressing them? and often found out only after their departure, whether they had been 'suitable' or not. She knew that the one who interfered had no manners; she did not need to look at him at first. He was an old man of massive stature with an open, clean-shaven face and big eyes. These eyes had something childlike, though it was not the childishness of senility. What exactly would it be? The trouble of finding out did not make Miss Bartlett herself; Her gaze wandered down to his suit, which certainly did not impress her.He was probably trying to make her acquaintance before he knew who he was dealing with. She was a little confused when he spoke to her and then said: "A nice view, oh, a nice view! How lovely to have a nice view!"
"This is my son," said the old man. "His name is George, he also has a nice view." "Ah," Miss Bartlett said, letting Lucy, who was about to say something, not even speak. "What I mean," he went on, "is, you can get our rooms, and we'll take yours, we'll just trade." The better-off tourists were shocked and sympathetic to the newcomers. Miss Bartlett gave herself as tightly as possible when she responded to the offer, saying, "Thank you very much, but that's out of the question." "Why not?" said the old man, both fists on the table. "Because it's out of the question, thank you." "Oh, you know, we do not like ...", Lucy began. Again, her cousin did not let her speak. "But why?" He did not let up. "Women make something of a nice view, men do not." Whereupon he slammed both fists on the table like a naughty child, turned to his son and said, "George, persuade her!" 2It is obvious that they should have the rooms, "said the son." There is nothing more to say. "
He did not look at the ladies at these words, but his voice betrayed embarrassment and concern. Lucy, too, was embarrassed, but realized that they were faced with what they call a "right-wing scene," and she had the uncanny feeling that the quarrel would widen and deepen each time those tourists without a nursery opened their mouths, until it was no longer a question of rooms and beautiful views, but of something quite different, something she had never known before that existed. Now the old man was getting hot: Why not want to trade them? he quipped. What they have only against it? In half an hour they would have cleared the rooms.
However clever in the subtleties of conversation? In the face of brutal violence, Miss Bartlett passed out. She could not put such a wedge on a wedge. Her face reddened with displeasure, and she looked around as if to say, 'Are you all like that?' Whereupon two little old ladies, who were sitting a little farther up the table and had the envelope cloth hanging over the arm of the chair, looked up and clearly indicated: 'No, not us; we belong to the fine society. '
"Eat on, my dear," she said to Lucy, playing again with the flesh that she had previously so disapproved of. Lucy said, mumbling, these are very strange people facing them. "Just keep eating, my dear, this pension is a letdown, tomorrow we're going somewhere else."
