Old World Begone!

Chapter VIII

Mrs. Touchett was having an early breakfast when Isabel came into the small dining alcove adjacent to the kitchen. Isabel entered from the courtyard having spent the morning admiring the gabled fountain and the few wildflowers coming through the crevices in the old stone floor. When she saw her aunt, she joined her with the intention of letting her know she had invited the Bantlings to luncheon.
“Quite on my own instincts, Aunt, I invited Mr. and Mrs. Bantling to luncheon today. Yes, they are married. I hope you don’t mind. If you are unavailable, I shall entertain them on my own but it would be so nice if you joined us; you know well Mr. Bantling - he was Ralph’s closest friend.”
Her aunt was looking at her with some peculiarity but that was not unusual, her aunt looked at everyone with an “eye” as Ralph often said. “Well, as it happens, I am in today. I don’t suppose anyone really cares if I am or not, your friend goes her own way and does not abide by my will. However, Mr. Bantling is another matter. I have always been fond of that gentleman. He was very good to my son. I should be pleased to lunch and will tell the kitchen to make it especially festive for the newlyweds. So your friend will now take the English for a turn?”
“That may be an understatement. She’s to start a magazine. I don’t have the details but Ralph’s legacy to her was not in vain; she took it to heart. Britain will have Mrs. Henrietta Stackpole Bantling to contend with now. I look with anticipation to see what she does.”
“Yes, that will be interesting,” said her aunt pronouncing “interesting” in a way that gave one reason to think the old woman was being wry.
“I will send a message to the hotel for them to be here at one o’ clock sharp if that’s right by you.”
“Yes, fine. I look forward to some company. It gets lonely here though I dare say, I have enough visitors during the season. Speaking of which, Mrs. Bantling is not the only newlywed: Madame Merle has returned from America with her new husband. They are in England at the moment but plan on coming to Italy soon. She’s going to give up her apartment in Rome, I hear. I dare say not grand enough for her now.”

Isabel sat still absorbing the information while drinking a cup of tea. She wasn’t expecting Madame Merle back in Rome so soon and wondered what it would mean. Surely she would not come to Palazzo Roccanera but would she wish to see Pansy? She could hardly do so without some word from Osmond and he would not likely give her a word. “So the fastidious lady finally met her match. And so quickly. She had only been in America for three months, how did she manage? Well, I’m glad. She will be diverted,” said Isabel.
“I don’t suppose she’s such a threat to you, she seems to have been banished all around.”
“Osmond is done with her, if that’s what you mean. She has no further use.”
“Ah, you’re bitter, child. Well, she made use of you, I can see why, but don’t let it consume you. It’s not worth it.”
“I’m not bitter. I’ve thought a lot about my own part in my deception. I blame no one buy myself if I am unhappy.”
“And are you unhappy?”
“No. I am not. I would be awfully ungrateful if I were.”
“That’s the right attitude. Go your own way, as I say, but I won't lecture you. You are of your own mind. I know how far that gets me.”

With that, her aunt left the breakfast room and went into the kitchen. Isabel could hear her devising an impromptu menu and the kitchen staff fully engaged in the post-wedding planning. Isabel was left again with her thoughts and a plate of cream scones, none of which she ate, she would be having a very good lunch in a few hours if she heard the staff right: she was happy all over again for her friend and only wished Ralph would be here too. Would she ever stop missing her cousin?

Mr. and Mrs. Bantling arrived a on the dot and found a dining room replete with flowers, fruits, ornate silver, shimmering porcelain and two women very happy to see them. Henrietta was wearing a pale rose organza gown of the sort one never had occasion to see her wearing in her incarnation as Henrietta Stackpole, American journalist. Mr. Bantling was as usual, in the proper dress for a man of his distinction, given to fastidiousness. His gloves were spotless and of just the right hue.
“Oh Isabel, you are too beautiful,” she said kissing her friend warmly on both cheeks. Ah, Mrs. Touchett so wonderful to see you again. I did not have a chance to talk with you at the funeral of your darling son, I hope we are not disturbing your mourning. I told Isabel if you were not up to anything so insignificant as the nuptial celebration of myself and Mr. Bantling I would certainly understand. Still I am very happy to see you.”
“As you see, I am still in mourning but that needn’t stop me from having lunch in my own rooms. My son was ill for some time. I had plenty of opportunity to mourn him; I am not given to emotional excess. I think of my son in my own way, I always have.”
“Ah Mrs. Touchett, you are your same marvelous self. I am happy we have a reason to be together. Mrs. Osmond so kindly invited us and we accepted with enthusiasm,” said Mr. Bantling.
“I am happy to see the friends of my son. It is like having him here though I dare say, he would do nothing but tease and make jokes…Isabel tells me you are to settle in London now?”
“Henrietta has agreed to take on my country though we shall not give up America entirely. I have affection for your country though I certainly can’t pretend to understand much of it. Still, wonderful inventions, customs. I look forward to a long relationship with the American way.”
“I understand Mrs. Bantling that you are to start a magazine. What is the subject of this publication? I had thought it was to be a newspaper though I don’t think London needs another newspaper.”
“That’s what I thought,” said Henrietta. Then a friend in publishing in New York suggested the field was not too terribly crowded for a magazine and has offered to help a little with the financial end. It will be a magazine for expatriates living in Europe informing our countrymen of the vagaries of European life and culture and Europeans with a view toward understanding us; a cultural exchange, if you will.”
“Ah, that could be useful. I’ve often thought we need someone to guide us while living here in the Old World. Not myself, of course, I’ve been here forever but for the newcomers who get confused at times. I’ve seen many a woman learn the hard way what society will and will not tolerate here. We are quite a different breed, you know, and you Mrs. Bantling are just the one to set everyone straight. I wish you the best of luck with your venture,” said Mrs. Touchett. The champagne she ordered was brought in and glasses were handed around. She did not drink during the day but was happy to offer her niece a chance to toast her friends.

Isabel who had been quiet now held up her glass and said “To the most lovely couple in all of England, I wish you the best of health, the most awfully grand success on your magazine and years of devoted affection.”
The glasses were touched, the luncheon was served after which Mrs. Touchett excused herself, Mr. Bantling departed on an errand and Isabel and Henrietta sat in the courtyard with their tea.

“You haven’t said anything Henrietta on Madame Merle’s return to Europe. Have you seen her?”
“She and I do not really get on though I actually know the man she is now married to. Mr. Roger Halpern of Indiana. He owns a factory that makes wheels for carriages and various equipage parts. Not too exciting for the grand lady of art and culture but I dare say she will certainly make good use of his money. He is very rich, you know.”
“I’m glad for her,” said Isabel without a too much zeal. “How did they meet?”
“Oh, the usual, a party given in someone’s honor in a grand Fifth Avenue house. Apparently, he saw her at the piano, listened to a Schubert something or other and fell promptly in love. And no time to waste. She’s not young, nor is he. He’s a widower. You and she were such great friends at one time. Has your marriage put you off her?”
“She is not so much a friend at present. We have had our falling out, so to speak. Osmond is tired of her.”
“Ah yes, your husband. I suspect he tires of friends easily.”
“And wives.”
“Oh Isabel, have you thought of leaving Rome? It’s not impossible, you know. Especially now that you have the lovely Gardencourt?”
“No, I will stay in Rome for the time being. I have duties and interests.”
“Yes, so you say. Well, I hope they are worth your time. You know, you could help me with the magazine. I could offer you all sorts of interesting prospects, you could have your pick. Editor, reporter, features, reviews…you used to love writing when we were in school.”
“Thank you dear. I’ll keep it in mind but I’ve no inclination to put pen to paper. I have nothing to say in particular. I am growing passive. Does that strike you as detestable? I simply have no need to mark my presence. I barely remember what it was I was so all-fired up about when I first came to Europe.”
“That is your husband’s doing. He has put you down. You are no longer the dynamic American you once were.”
“Have I become corrupted, do you think?”
“No, I wouldn’t say that; but you’ve lost some spark. I can’t quite put my finger on it but you are wearing down and yet you are still young.”
“I think life wears one down naturally. I can’t be the eager novice I once was. I am a married woman with responsibilities, cares.”
“Well I hope life does not wear me down so quickly as a married woman. I intend that it shall invigorate me.”
“I hope it does, dear friend. Do you plan to have children?”
“Oh larky, I haven’t time for that. My magazine will take up my time. I told Mr. Bantling if he expected an heir, he would have to take care of it, I might be rather busy. He only laughed and said it would be God’s will and he would do his part. Isn’t he just delightful, Isabel? He is never bad. By that I mean, he is always in great good form, always willing to carry off on any of my projects, always ready with a happy word or a lovely deed. To think he is the first man I laid eyes on in Europe. I have you to thank for that, Isabel. You and Ralph. You know what had been my opinion of European morals: I never expected to find someone so unadulterated as my husband…Oh, I do go on. Forgive me, I am a newlywed.”
“Henrietta, your happiness thrills me, I will never tire of your good fortune.”

Henrietta admitted she had capitulated to the Old World. She wasn’t proud of it but here she was. But she was going to do her part she said to bring the Old World a breath of modernity. Isabel admired her fortitude and courage. She wondered at her own lack of spirit in this area but decided to accept her shortcomings; after all, she started married life on a pretext, how lacking in wisdom could one get?
“I will help you in any way I can, dear but I feel I’m not up to much,” said Isabel.
“I’m afraid your husband may balk at any help you may offer me. Oh, but that is your business; I interfere a little too much, I’m going to let you handle your marriage. You’ve a good head, I expect gallant things of you yet. I offer you all of my support, that goes without saying, dear girl.“
“Yet? I hear a slight rebuke but thank you Henrietta. Don’t count me out yet. We didn’t get a chance to talk about my cousin’s gift to your ‘expansion in literature.’”
“Your cousin made it plain in his last days that I must do something. He was only joking as he can’t be serious for long but he put an idea into my head; something he said. He was spot on and it only just slipped into my mind for a second or two but I thought of it one long night on a train. I remembered something. I actually think I heard his voice but I was tired and not myself. Mr. Bantling takes care of me at these times, but that is beside the point. What I heard was your cousin saying, You are going to have a great influence for the good. Now you know me Isabel. I am not vain, I don't wish to inflate my abilities but I took it to heart. Whether my influence will be great may be an overstatement but I intend to give it my best effort, I live to work."

Before the conversation went any further, Mr. Bantling returned carrying a handful of letters and telegrams. He was at his most officious best and was warmly greeted again.
“Henrietta was just telling me of her plans for a magazine, Mr. Bantling. Are you ready for that?” said Isabel with a little teasing in her voice.
“Well London is not going to like a lady journalist in its midst but by George, she’ll have a real go at them. She plans to make an assault on British journalism, Mrs. Osmond.” He was in obvious delight at the prospect of haranguing the old guard and Isabel could barely get a word in.
“When will you start your magazine, Henrietta? Have you sold my cousin’s books?” Her cousin Ralph left a surprising legacy, decreed in his will, that his rare book collection should go to Henrietta Stackpole, that she should sell them at Christies, many rare and valuable, and start a newspaper. That, according to his mother, Mrs. Touchett, was quite the joke but Henrietta took it literally and began selling them almost immediately. Some she would keep for a small reference library at the magazine.
"I've already begun looking for its home. I may have found a place."
“I think you are wonderful Henrietta. I will be the first subscriber, certainly in Rome, and will enjoy the effect it will have on my husband enormously.”
“Well, well, well…there was a time you would have hid it under your bed before showing him anything with my name on it. This is the new Isabel? Shameless? The two women had a fit of giggling as only women who have known each other as girls would have.
"It will be brilliant. I will be so proud.” Isabel threw her arms around her friend. And then they laughed some more while the good Mr. Bantling smiled at them both, ever ready to do whatever his wife deemed appropriate.

Isabel thought one could see at a glance her friend was changed from the radical young woman who came to Europe to have a look around six years previous - had had her look and was now satisfied there was a place for a woman of her type, her style of journalism. Isabel did not want to speak of her own affairs, there was nothing interesting to talk about and she was more than happy to turn the attention to her friend who elaborated on plans and projects for her magazine. Isabel took it all in and was grateful. She was coming into the realization that she had a life to live and had to find a purpose for it. Italian gossip, flirtations and avarice did not appeal to her American spirit of self-improvement.

Peace had reigned at Palazzo Roccanera for the past month. Isabel did not have so much control that she could bring her stepdaughter to Florence on this trip; she did not have enough authority to take her to Gardencourt. But she was gaining ground. For now Pansy was content with her father, her father happy to have her at home. He’d won this battle after all: Mr. Rosier had been sidelined forever. Isabel did not ask too much of him.

She is subdued, thought Osmond not without some satisfaction. They ceased talking of personal matters leaving Osmond to talk of his favorite subject; the altarpiece; how certain he was that it was the hand of Giotto. Isabel listened - her husband was erudite on art - and as he talked she could distance herself. She began during these times to think of other places, other pursuits. If a outside observer saw her, he or she might say she was placidly participating in conversation with her husband but that is because she had to hide euphoria from Osmond, it had become, as a rule, her method. If aware of a glint of pleasure in her, he would crush it. She kept her joy to herself until later in her room…she had time…she would see Pansy was given the opportunity to find her place in life, her self-expression. Her own pursuits, whatever they might be, could wait.