by Henry James
CHAPTER XXXIV
One morning, on her return from her drive, some half-hour beforeluncheon, she quitted her vehicle in the court of the palace and,instead of ascending the great staircase, crossed the court, passedbeneath another archway and entered the garden. A sweeter spot at thismoment could not have been imagined. The stillness of noontide hung overit, and the warm shade, enclosed and still, made bowers like spaciouscaves. Ralph was sitting there in the clear gloom, at the base of astatue of Terpsichore--a dancing nymph with taper fingers and inflateddraperies in the manner of Bernini; the extreme relaxation of hisattitude suggested at first to Isabel that he was asleep. Her lightfootstep on the grass had not roused him, and before turning away shestood for a moment looking at him. During this instant he opened hiseyes; upon which she sat down on a rustic chair that matched with hisown. Though in her irritation she had accused him of indifference shewas not blind to the fact that he had visibly had something to broodover. But she had explained his air of absence partly by the languor ofhis increased weakness, partly by worries connected with the propertyinherited from his father--the fruit of eccentric arrangements ofwhich Mrs. Touchett disapproved and which, as she had told Isabel, nowencountered opposition from the other partners in the bank. He ought tohave gone to England, his mother said, instead of coming to Florence;he had not been there for months, and took no more interest in the bankthan in the state of Patagonia.
"I'm sorry I waked you," Isabel said; "you look too tired."
"I feel too tired. But I was not asleep. I was thinking of you."
"Are you tired of that?"
"Very much so. It leads to nothing. The road's long and I never arrive."
"What do you wish to arrive at?" she put to him, closing her parasol.
"At the point of expressing to myself properly what I think of yourengagement."
"Don't think too much of it," she lightly returned.
"Do you mean that it's none of my business?"
"Beyond a certain point, yes."
"That's the point I want to fix. I had an idea you may have found mewanting in good manners. I've never congratulated you."
"Of course I've noticed that. I wondered why you were silent."
"There have been a good many reasons. I'll tell you now," Ralph said.He pulled off his hat and laid it on the ground; then he sat looking ather. He leaned back under the protection of Bernini, his head againsthis marble pedestal, his arms dropped on either side of him, his handslaid upon the rests of his wide chair. He looked awkward, uncomfortable;he hesitated long. Isabel said nothing; when people were embarrassed shewas usually sorry for them, but she was determined not to help Ralph toutter a word that should not be to the honour of her high decision. "Ithink I've hardly got over my surprise," he went on at last. "You werethe last person I expected to see caught."
"I don't know why you call it caught."
"Because you're going to be put into a cage."
"If I like my cage, that needn't trouble you," she answered.
"That's what I wonder at; that's what I've been thinking of."
"If you've been thinking you may imagine how I've thought! I'm satisfiedthat I'm doing well."
"You must have changed immensely. A year ago you valued your libertybeyond everything. You wanted only to see life."
"I've seen it," said Isabel. "It doesn't look to me now, I admit, suchan inviting expanse."
"I don't pretend it is; only I had an idea that you took a genial viewof it and wanted to survey the whole field."
"I've seen that one can't do anything so general. One must choose acorner and cultivate that."
"That's what I think. And one must choose as good a corner as possible.I had no idea, all winter, while I read your delightful letters, thatyou were choosing. You said nothing about it, and your silence put meoff my guard."
"It was not a matter I was likely to write to you about. Besides, I knewnothing of the future. It has all come lately. If you had been on yourguard, however," Isabel asked, "what would you have done?"
"I should have said 'Wait a little longer.'"
"Wait for what?"
"Well, for a little more light," said Ralph with rather an absurd smile,while his hands found their way into his pockets.
"Where should my light have come from? From you?"
"I might have struck a spark or two."
Isabel had drawn off her gloves; she smoothed them out as they layupon her knee. The mildness of this movement was accidental, for herexpression was not conciliatory. "You're beating about the bush, Ralph.You wish to say you don't like Mr. Osmond, and yet you're afraid."
"Willing to wound and yet afraid to strike? I'm willing to wound HIM,yes--but not to wound you. I'm afraid of you, not of him. If you marryhim it won't be a fortunate way for me to have spoken."
"IF I marry him! Have you had any expectation of dissuading me?"
"Of course that seems to you too fatuous."
"No," said Isabel after a little; "it seems to me too touching."
"That's the same thing. It makes me so ridiculous that you pity me."
She stroked out her long gloves again. "I know you've a great affectionfor me. I can't get rid of that."
"For heaven's sake don't try. Keep that well in sight. It will convinceyou how intensely I want you to do well."
"And how little you trust me!"
There was a moment's silence; the warm noontide seemed to listen. "Itrust you, but I don't trust him," said Ralph.
She raised her eyes and gave him a wide, deep look. "You've said it now,and I'm glad you've made it so clear. But you'll suffer by it."
"Not if you're just."
"I'm very just," said Isabel. "What better proof of it can there be thanthat I'm not angry with you? I don't know what's the matter with me, butI'm not. I was when you began, but it has passed away. Perhaps I oughtto be angry, but Mr. Osmond wouldn't think so. He wants me to knoweverything; that's what I like him for. You've nothing to gain, I knowthat. I've never been so nice to you, as a girl, that you should havemuch reason for wishing me to remain one. You give very good advice;you've often done so. No, I'm very quiet; I've always believed in yourwisdom," she went on, boasting of her quietness, yet speaking with akind of contained exaltation. It was her passionate desire to bejust; it touched Ralph to the heart, affected him like a caress from acreature he had injured. He wished to interrupt, to reassure her; for amoment he was absurdly inconsistent; he would have retracted what he hadsaid. But she gave him no chance; she went on, having caught a glimpse,as she thought, of the heroic line and desiring to advance in thatdirection. "I see you've some special idea; I should like very much tohear it. I'm sure it's disinterested; I feel that. It seems a strangething to argue about, and of course I ought to tell you definitely thatif you expect to dissuade me you may give it up. You'll not move mean inch; it's too late. As you say, I'm caught. Certainly it won't bepleasant for you to remember this, but your pain will be in your ownthoughts. I shall never reproach you."
"I don't think you ever will," said Ralph. "It's not in the least thesort of marriage I thought you'd make."
"What sort of marriage was that, pray?"
"Well, I can hardly say. I hadn't exactly a positive view of it, but Ihad a negative. I didn't think you'd decide for--well, for that type."
"What's the matter with Mr. Osmond's type, if it be one? His beingso independent, so individual, is what I most see in him," the girldeclared. "What do you know against him? You know him scarcely at all."
"Yes," Ralph said, "I know him very little, and I confess I haven'tfacts and items to prove him a villain. But all the same I can't helpfeeling that you're running a grave risk."
"Marriage is always a grave risk, and his risk's as grave as mine."
"That's his affair! If he's afraid, let him back out. I wish to God hewould."
Isabel reclined in her chair, folding her arms and gazing a while at hercousin. "I don't think I understand you," she said at last coldly. "Idon't know w
hat you're talking about."
"I believed you'd marry a man of more importance."
Cold, I say, her tone had been, but at this a colour like a flame leapedinto her face. "Of more importance to whom? It seems to me enough thatone's husband should be of importance to one's self!"
Ralph blushed as well; his attitude embarrassed him. Physically speakinghe proceeded to change it; he straightened himself, then leaned forward,resting a hand on each knee. He fixed his eyes on the ground; he had anair of the most respectful deliberation.
"I'll tell you in a moment what I mean," he presently said. He feltagitated, intensely eager; now that he had opened the discussion hewished to discharge his mind. But he wished also to be superlativelygentle.
Isabel waited a little--then she went on with majesty. "In everythingthat makes one care for people Mr. Osmond is pre-eminent. There maybe nobler natures, but I've never had the pleasure of meeting one. Mr.Osmond's is the finest I know; he's good enough for me, and interestingenough, and clever enough. I'm far more struck with what he has and whathe represents than with what he may lack."
"I had treated myself to a charming vision of your future," Ralphobserved without answering this; "I had amused myself with planning outa high destiny for you. There was to be nothing of this sort in it. Youwere not to come down so easily or so soon."
"Come down, you say?"
"Well, that renders my sense of what has happened to you. You seemed tome to be soaring far up in the blue--to be, sailing in the bright light,over the heads of men. Suddenly some one tosses up a faded rosebud--amissile that should never have reached you--and straight you drop tothe ground. It hurts me," said Ralph audaciously, "hurts me as if I hadfallen myself!"
The look of pain and bewilderment deepened in his companion's face. "Idon't understand you in the least," she repeated. "You say you amusedyourself with a project for my career--I don't understand that.Don't amuse yourself too much, or I shall think you're doing it at myexpense."
Ralph shook his head. "I'm not afraid of your not believing that I'vehad great ideas for you."
"What do you mean by my soaring and sailing?" she pursued.
"I've never moved on a higher plane than I'm moving on now. There'snothing higher for a girl than to marry a--a person she likes," saidpoor Isabel, wandering into the didactic.
"It's your liking the person we speak of that I venture to criticise, mydear cousin. I should have said that the man for you would have been amore active, larger, freer sort of nature." Ralph hesitated, then added:"I can't get over the sense that Osmond is somehow--well, small." He haduttered the last word with no great assurance; he was afraid she wouldflash out again. But to his surprise she was quiet; she had the air ofconsidering.
"Small?" She made it sound immense.
"I think he's narrow, selfish. He takes himself so seriously!"
"He has a great respect for himself; I don't blame him for that," saidIsabel. "It makes one more sure to respect others."
Ralph for a moment felt almost reassured by her reasonable tone.
"Yes, but everything is relative; one ought to feel one's relation tothings--to others. I don't think Mr. Osmond does that."
"I've chiefly to do with his relation to me. In that he's excellent."
"He's the incarnation of taste," Ralph went on, thinking hard how hecould best express Gilbert Osmond's sinister attributes without puttinghimself in the wrong by seeming to describe him coarsely. He wishedto describe him impersonally, scientifically. "He judges and measures,approves and condemns, altogether by that."
"It's a happy thing then that his taste should be exquisite."
"It's exquisite, indeed, since it has led him to select you ashis bride. But have you ever seen such a taste--a really exquisiteone--ruffled?"
"I hope it may never be my fortune to fail to gratify my husband's."
At these words a sudden passion leaped to Ralph's lips. "Ah, that'swilful, that's unworthy of you! You were not meant to be measured inthat way--you were meant for something better than to keep guard overthe sensibilities of a sterile dilettante!"
Isabel rose quickly and he did the same, so that they stood for a momentlooking at each other as if he had flung down a defiance or an insult.But "You go too far," she simply breathed.
"I've said what I had on my mind--and I've said it because I love you!"
Isabel turned pale: was he too on that tiresome list? She had a suddenwish to strike him off. "Ah then, you're not disinterested!"
"I love you, but I love without hope," said Ralph quickly, forcing asmile and feeling that in that last declaration he had expressed morethan he intended.
Isabel moved away and stood looking into the sunny stillness of thegarden; but after a little she turned back to him. "I'm afraid your talkthen is the wildness of despair! I don't understand it--but it doesn'tmatter. I'm not arguing with you; it's impossible I should; I've onlytried to listen to you. I'm much obliged to you for attempting toexplain," she said gently, as if the anger with which she had justsprung up had already subsided. "It's very good of you to try to warnme, if you're really alarmed; but I won't promise to think of whatyou've said: I shall forget it as soon as possible. Try and forget ityourself; you've done your duty, and no man can do more. I can't explainto you what I feel, what I believe, and I wouldn't if I could." Shepaused a moment and then went on with an inconsequence that Ralphobserved even in the midst of his eagerness to discover some symptom ofconcession. "I can't enter into your idea of Mr. Osmond; I can't do itjustice, because I see him in quite another way. He's not important--no,he's not important; he's a man to whom importance is supremelyindifferent. If that's what you mean when you call him 'small,' thenhe's as small as you please. I call that large--it's the largest thingI know. I won't pretend to argue with you about a person I'm going tomarry," Isabel repeated. "I'm not in the least concerned to defend Mr.Osmond; he's not so weak as to need my defence. I should think it wouldseem strange even to yourself that I should talk of him so quietly andcoldly, as if he were any one else. I wouldn't talk of him at all to anyone but you; and you, after what you've said--I may just answer you oncefor all. Pray, would you wish me to make a mercenary marriage--whatthey call a marriage of ambition? I've only one ambition--to be free tofollow out a good feeling. I had others once, but they've passed away.Do you complain of Mr. Osmond because he's not rich? That's just what Ilike him for. I've fortunately money enough; I've never felt so thankfulfor it as to-day. There have been moments when I should like to go andkneel down by your father's grave: he did perhaps a better thing thanhe knew when he put it into my power to marry a poor man--a man who hasborne his poverty with such dignity, with such indifference. Mr. Osmondhas never scrambled nor struggled--he has cared for no worldly prize. Ifthat's to be narrow, if that's to be selfish, then it's very well. I'mnot frightened by such words, I'm not even displeased; I'm only sorrythat you should make a mistake. Others might have done so, but I'msurprised that you should. You might know a gentleman when you seeone--you might know a fine mind. Mr. Osmond makes no mistakes! He knowseverything, he understands everything, he has the kindest, gentlest,highest spirit. You've got hold of some false idea. It's a pity, butI can't help it; it regards you more than me." Isabel paused a moment,looking at her cousin with an eye illumined by a sentiment whichcontradicted the careful calmness of her manner--a mingled sentiment,to which the angry pain excited by his words and the wounded pride ofhaving needed to justify a choice of which she felt only the noblenessand purity, equally contributed. Though she paused Ralph saidnothing; he saw she had more to say. She was grand, but she was highlysolicitous; she was indifferent, but she was all in a passion. "Whatsort of a person should you have liked me to marry?" she asked suddenly."You talk about one's soaring and sailing, but if one marries at all onetouches the earth. One has human feelings and needs, one has a heart inone's bosom, and one must marry a particular individual. Your motherhas never forgiven me for not having come to a better understandingwith Lord Warburton, and she's h
orrified at my contenting myself with aperson who has none of his great advantages--no property, no title,no honours, no houses, nor lands, nor position, nor reputation, norbrilliant belongings of any sort. It's the total absence of all thesethings that pleases me. Mr. Osmond's simply a very lonely, a verycultivated and a very honest man--he's not a prodigious proprietor."
Ralph had listened with great attention, as if everything she saidmerited deep consideration but in truth he was only half thinking ofthe things she said, he was for the rest simply accommodating himselfto the weight of his total impression--the impression of her ardent goodfaith. She was wrong, but she believed; she was deluded, but she wasdismally consistent. It was wonderfully characteristic of her that,having invented a fine theory, about Gilbert Osmond, she loved him notfor what he really possessed, but for his very poverties dressed out ashonours. Ralph remembered what he had said to his father about wishingto put it into her power to meet the requirements of her imagination. Hehad done so, and the girl had taken full advantage of the luxury. PoorRalph felt sick; he felt ashamed. Isabel had uttered her last words witha low solemnity of conviction which virtually terminated the discussion,and she closed it formally by turning away and walking back to thehouse. Ralph walked beside her, and they passed into the court togetherand reached the big staircase. Here he stopped and Isabel paused,turning on him a face of elation--absolutely and perversely ofgratitude. His opposition had made her own conception of her conductclearer to her. "Shall you not come up to breakfast?" she asked.
"No; I want no breakfast; I'm not hungry."
"You ought to eat," said the girl; "you live on air."
"I do, very much, and I shall go back into the garden and take anothermouthful. I came thus far simply to say this. I told you last year thatif you were to get into trouble I should feel terribly sold. That's howI feel to-day."
"Do you think I'm in trouble?"
"One's in trouble when one's in error."
"Very well," said Isabel; "I shall never complain of my trouble to you!"And she moved up the staircase.
Ralph, standing there with his hands in his pockets, followed her withhis eyes; then the lurking chill of the high-walled court struck him andmade him shiver, so that he returned to the garden to breakfast on theFlorentine sunshine.