“Never mind, mamma,” said Catherine, indignant in her turn. “We all know he is a genius—as Tasso was.”
“Those times were not these, nor is Klesmer Tasso,” said Mrs. Arrowpoint, getting more heated. “There is no sting in that sarcasm, except the sting of undutifulness.”
“I am sorry to hurt you, mamma. But I will not give up the happiness of my life to ideas that I don’t believe in and customs I have no respect for.”
“You have lost all sense of duty, then? You have forgotten that you are our only child—that it lies with you to place a great property in the right hands?”
“What are the right hands? My grandfather gained the property in trade.”
“Mr. Arrowpoint, will you sit by and hear this without speaking?”
“I am a gentleman, Cath. We expect you to marry a gentleman,” said the father, exerting himself.
“And a man connected with the institutions of this country,” said the mother. “A woman in your position has serious duties. Where duty and inclination clash, she must follow duty.”
“I don’t deny that,” said Catherine, getting colder in proportion to her mother’s heat. “But one may say very true things and apply them falsely. People can easily take the sacred word duty as a name for what they desire any one else to do.”
“Your parent’s desire makes no duty for you, then?”
“Yes, within reason. But before I give up the happiness of my life—”
“Catherine, Catherine, it will not be your happiness,” said Mrs. Arrowpoint, in her most raven-like tones.
“Well, what seems to me my happiness—before I give it up, I must see some better reason than the wish that I should marry a nobleman, or a man who votes with a party that he may be turned into a nobleman. I feel at liberty to marry the man I love and think worthy, unless some higher duty forbids.”
“And so it does, Catherine, though you are blinded and cannot see it. It is a woman’s duty not to lower herself. You are lowering yourself. Mr. Arrowpoint, will you tell your daughter what is her duty?”
“You must see, Catherine, that Klesmer is not the man for you,” said Mr. Arrowpoint. “He won’t do at the head of estates. He has a deuced foreign look—is an unpractical man.”
“I really can’t see what that has to do with it, papa. The land of England has often passed into the hands of foreigners—Dutch soldiers, sons of foreign women of bad character:—if our land were sold tomorrow it would very likely pass into the hands of some foreign merchant on ‘Change. It is in everybody’s mouth that successful swindlers may buy up half the land in the country. How can I stem that tide?”
“It will never do to argue about marriage, Cath,” said Mr. Arrowpoint. “It’s no use getting up the subject like a parliamentary question. We must do as other people do. We must think of the nation and the public good.”
“I can’t see any public good concerned here, papa,” said Catherine. “Why is it to be expected of any heiress that she should carry the property gained in trade into the hands of a certain class? That seems to be a ridiculous mishmash of superannuated customs and false ambition. I should call it a public evil. People had better make a new sort of public good by changing their ambitions.”
“That is mere sophistry, Catherine,” said Mrs. Arrowpoint. “Because you don’t wish to marry a nobleman, you are not obliged to marry a mountebank or a charlatan.”
“I cannot understand the application of such words, mamma.”
“No, I dare say not,” rejoined Mrs. Arrowpoint, with significant scorn. “You have got to a pitch at which we are not likely to understand each other.”
“It can’t be done, Cath,” said Mr. Arrowpoint, wishing to substitute a better-humored reasoning for his wife’s impetuosity. “A man like Klesmer can’t marry such a property as yours. It can’t be done.”
“It certainly will not be done,” said Mrs. Arrowpoint, imperiously. “Where is the man? Let him be fetched.”
“I cannot fetch him to be insulted,” said Catherine. “Nothing will be achieved by that.”
“I suppose you would wish him to know that in marrying you he will not marry your fortune,” said Mrs. Arrowpoint.
“Certainly; if it were so, I should wish him to know it.”
“Then you had better fetch him.”
Catherine only went into the music-room and said, “Come.” She felt no need to prepare Klesmer.
“Herr Klesmer,” said Mrs. Arrowpoint, with a rather contemptuous stateliness, “it is unnecessary to repeat what has passed between us and our daughter. Mr. Arrowpoint will tell you our resolution.”
“Your marrying is out of the question,” said Mr. Arrowpoint, rather too heavily weighted with his task, and standing in an embarrassment unrelieved by a cigar. “It is a wild scheme altogether. A man has been called out for less.”
“You have taken a base advantage of our confidence,” burst in Mrs. Arrowpoint, unable to carry out her purpose and leave the burden of speech to her husband.
Klesmer made a low bow in silent irony.
“The pretension is ridiculous. You had better give it up and leave the house at once,” continued Mr. Arrowpoint. He wished to do without mentioning the money.
“I can give up nothing without reference to your daughter’s wish,” said Klesmer. “My engagement is to her.”
“It is useless to discuss the question,” said Mrs. Arrowpoint. “We shall never consent to the marriage. If Catherine disobeys us we shall disinherit her. You will not marry her fortune. It is right you should know that.”
“Madam, her fortune has been the only thing I have had to regret about her. But I must ask her if she will not think the sacrifice greater than I am worthy of.”
“It is no sacrifice to me,” said Catherine, “except that I am sorry to hurt my father and mother. I have always felt my fortune to be a wretched fatality of my life.”
“You mean to defy us, then?” said Mrs. Arrowpoint.
“I mean to marry Herr Klesmer,” said Catherine, firmly.
“He had better not count on our relenting,” said Mrs. Arrowpoint, whose manners suffered from that impunity in insult which has been reckoned among the privileges of women.
“Madam,” said Klesmer, “certain reasons forbid me to retort. But understand that I consider it out of the power either of you, or of your fortune, to confer on me anything that I value. My rank as an artist is of my own winning, and I would not exchange it for any other. I am able to maintain your daughter, and I ask for no change in my life but her companionship.”
“You will leave the house, however,” said Mrs. Arrowpoint.
“I go at once,” said Klesmer, bowing and quitting the room.
“Let there be no misunderstanding, mamma,” said Catherine; “I consider myself engaged to Herr Klesmer, and I intend to marry him.”
The mother turned her head away and waved her hand in sign of dismissal.
“It’s all very fine,” said Mr. Arrowpoint, when Catherine was gone; “but what the deuce are we to do with the property?”
“There is Harry Brendall. He can take the name.”
“Harry Brendall will get through it all in no time,” said Mr. Arrowpoint, relighting his cigar.
And thus, with nothing settled but the determination of the lovers, Klesmer had left Quetcham.
CHAPTER XXIII.
Among the heirs of Art, as is the division of the promised land, each has to win his portion by hard fighting: the bestowal is after the manner of prophecy, and is a title without possession. To carry the map of an ungotten estate in your pocket is a poor sort of copyhold. And in fancy to cast his shoe over Eden is little warrant that a man shall ever set the sole of his foot on an acre of his own there.
The most obstinate beliefs that mortals entertain about themselves are such as they have no evidence for beyond a constant, spontaneous pulsing of their self-satisfaction—as it were a hidden seed of madness, a confidence that they can move the world without precise notion of standing-place or lever.