Read Online The Watercolourist by Beatrice Masini - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Beatrice Masini
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Count Bernocchi, strutting like a peacock to the front of the room.
The women in the kitchen, poets by association, have put Bianca on her guard when it comes to the young count, with a memorable verse:
An occhio [eye] of regard to Bernocchio
,
his pockets are full of pidocchio [lice],
he has a very long occhio and even longer hands.
With this introduction preceding him, Bianca is instinctively cautious. Young Count Bernocchi is definitely not handsome. He is short with an enormous belly. He wears a horrible, outdated white
wig that makes his forehead look excessively broad. And the socially inexpert Bianca suddenly finds herself standing next to him. As the guests begin to move off in different directions, he corners
her in the room, with the intention of keeping her there for some time.
‘So, Miss Bianca, have you grown accustomed to the wilderness? You’re surely used to big cities: London, Paris . . .’
‘Yes, I have been there,’ Bianca replies curtly and almost impolitely. Her short response doesn’t offer him anything to build on. She isn’t trying to be rude, though, she
simply lacks confidence. They have just been introduced to each other but he already seems to know a lot about her. Of course, the opposite is also true, but at least Bianca has sense enough not to
show it. The diminutive that precedes his name is a joke: despite his advanced age, he still has not inherited his father’s position as count. This father, the servants have told her, clings
to dear life with his teeth. So even though he is past forty, Young Count Bernocchi seems frozen in eternal adolescence.
He inspects her through an eyeglass that is so out of fashion it is deeply comical. It surely isn’t often that someone cuts him short. He furrows his brow and continues, as though nothing
has happened.
‘Vienna, Turin, Rome . . . In my opinion, the Grand Tour is nothing more than a grandiose invention. It allows for European
fainéants
to continue to practise the activities
they enjoy most. It prevents them from getting involved in the fields of humanities and economics, which they should leave to people summoned to that duty – and the true engine of the world
– and it gives them the opportunity to dissolve a giant portion of their assets into travel, hotels, rent and thoughtless purchases of mediocre works of art . . . Actually, this healthy
circulation of money does quite a bit of good.’
‘Didn’t you travel, too, in your youth?’ Tommaso suddenly appears at her side.
Bianca senses a slight tension in his tone, held in check by politeness. The phrase ‘your youth’ is actually a slight. Clearly Bernocchi cares a great deal about his appearance, but
his excessive regard for it only highlights the defects of his age. His over-enjoyment of food and wine has led to puffy features and skin coloured by a reddish network of veins.
‘But of course,’ he answers calmly. ‘And, rightly so; I include myself in the category of drones of which I speak. Let’s just say that I have always had the good sense
not to consider myself destined for great accomplishments and have been deaf to the callings of the Muses, who can do great harm if summoned forth by the wrong person.’
If this offhand comment is intended for Tommaso, he doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, he offers Bianca his arm and they move off. Disgruntled, Bernocchi follows the couple to the centre of
the sitting room. There everyone is seated, attentive, and ready to resume the show. Donna Julie seems lost in one of her daydreams. Innes’s long fingers fiddle impatiently with the hems of
his trousers. He provides silent company to the old priest, who appears either intimidated or profusely bored, or maybe a bit of both, thinks Bianca. His big white head droops forward over his
threadbare tunic as though he is inspecting a strange landscape.
When Pia enters the room with a tray of refreshments, the old priest is shaken out of his stupor. A beautiful
The women in the kitchen, poets by association, have put Bianca on her guard when it comes to the young count, with a memorable verse:
An occhio [eye] of regard to Bernocchio
,
his pockets are full of pidocchio [lice],
he has a very long occhio and even longer hands.
With this introduction preceding him, Bianca is instinctively cautious. Young Count Bernocchi is definitely not handsome. He is short with an enormous belly. He wears a horrible, outdated white
wig that makes his forehead look excessively broad. And the socially inexpert Bianca suddenly finds herself standing next to him. As the guests begin to move off in different directions, he corners
her in the room, with the intention of keeping her there for some time.
‘So, Miss Bianca, have you grown accustomed to the wilderness? You’re surely used to big cities: London, Paris . . .’
‘Yes, I have been there,’ Bianca replies curtly and almost impolitely. Her short response doesn’t offer him anything to build on. She isn’t trying to be rude, though, she
simply lacks confidence. They have just been introduced to each other but he already seems to know a lot about her. Of course, the opposite is also true, but at least Bianca has sense enough not to
show it. The diminutive that precedes his name is a joke: despite his advanced age, he still has not inherited his father’s position as count. This father, the servants have told her, clings
to dear life with his teeth. So even though he is past forty, Young Count Bernocchi seems frozen in eternal adolescence.
He inspects her through an eyeglass that is so out of fashion it is deeply comical. It surely isn’t often that someone cuts him short. He furrows his brow and continues, as though nothing
has happened.
‘Vienna, Turin, Rome . . . In my opinion, the Grand Tour is nothing more than a grandiose invention. It allows for European
fainéants
to continue to practise the activities
they enjoy most. It prevents them from getting involved in the fields of humanities and economics, which they should leave to people summoned to that duty – and the true engine of the world
– and it gives them the opportunity to dissolve a giant portion of their assets into travel, hotels, rent and thoughtless purchases of mediocre works of art . . . Actually, this healthy
circulation of money does quite a bit of good.’
‘Didn’t you travel, too, in your youth?’ Tommaso suddenly appears at her side.
Bianca senses a slight tension in his tone, held in check by politeness. The phrase ‘your youth’ is actually a slight. Clearly Bernocchi cares a great deal about his appearance, but
his excessive regard for it only highlights the defects of his age. His over-enjoyment of food and wine has led to puffy features and skin coloured by a reddish network of veins.
‘But of course,’ he answers calmly. ‘And, rightly so; I include myself in the category of drones of which I speak. Let’s just say that I have always had the good sense
not to consider myself destined for great accomplishments and have been deaf to the callings of the Muses, who can do great harm if summoned forth by the wrong person.’
If this offhand comment is intended for Tommaso, he doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, he offers Bianca his arm and they move off. Disgruntled, Bernocchi follows the couple to the centre of
the sitting room. There everyone is seated, attentive, and ready to resume the show. Donna Julie seems lost in one of her daydreams. Innes’s long fingers fiddle impatiently with the hems of
his trousers. He provides silent company to the old priest, who appears either intimidated or profusely bored, or maybe a bit of both, thinks Bianca. His big white head droops forward over his
threadbare tunic as though he is inspecting a strange landscape.
When Pia enters the room with a tray of refreshments, the old priest is shaken out of his stupor. A beautiful
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