Arthur and Maria were supported by Darcourt only, for Hollier said he had nothing to contribute to such a meeting, and Geraint Powell was too busy with the forthcoming Festival season in Stratford for anything else to claim his attention. The Schnakenburgs had been asked to come at half past eight and they were prompt.
Schnak’s parents were not the nonentities Dean Wintersen’s description had led Darcourt to expect. Elias Schnakenburg was not very tall, but he was very thin, which made him look tall; he wore a decent grey suit and a dark tie; his grey hair was receding. His expression was solemn and had a distinction Darcourt had not expected; this watch-repair man was a master craftsman and nobody’s servant. His wife was as grey and thin as he; she wore a felt hat that was much too heavy for May weather, and grey cotton gloves.
Arthur explained what the Foundation had in mind, making it clear that they were prepared to back a young woman who was said to have great promise, and whose project appealed to the imagination. They expected that a good deal of money would be spent, and without in any way holding the Schnakenburgs responsible for the outcome, they felt that Hulda’s parents should be aware of what was being done.
“If you don’t hold us responsible, Mr. Cornish, just what do you expect of us?” said the father.
“Your goodwill, really. Your assent to the project. We don’t want to appear to be doing anything over your head.”
“Do you think our assent, or our doubts, would make any difference to Hulda?”
“We don’t know. Presumably she would like to have your encouragement.”
“No. It would mean nothing to her either way.”
“You regard her as an entirely free agent, then?”
“How could we do that? She is our daughter and we have not given up our feeling that we are responsible for her, nor have we stopped loving her very dearly. We think we are her natural protectors, whatever the law may say about it. Her natural protectors until she marries. We have not rejected her. We are made to feel that she has rejected us.” A slight German accent but carefully phrased English.
Mrs. Schnakenburg began to weep silently. Maria hastened to give her a glass of water—why add water to tears? she thought as she did so—and Darcourt decided that he might suitably intervene.
“Dean Wintersen has told us that the feeling between your daughter and yourselves is strained. And you see, of course, that we cannot interfere in that. But we must behave in a proper way, without being parties to any personal disagreement.”
“Very business-like and proper of you, of course, but it isn’t a matter of business. We feel that we have lost our child—our only child—and this arrangement that you intend so kindly can only make that worse.”
“Your daughter is still very young. The breach may not last long. And of course I can assure you that anything Mr. and Mrs. Cornish can do, or I can do, to put things right will be done.”
“Very kind. Very well meant. But you are not the people to do much about it. Hulda has found other advisers. Not of your sort. Not at all.”
“Would it help to tell us about it?” said Maria. She had seated herself by Mrs. Schnakenburg and was holding her hand. The mother did not speak, but her husband, after some sighing, continued.
“We blame ourselves. We want you to understand that. I guess we were too strict, though we didn’t mean it. We are very firm, you see, in our religion. We are very strict Lutherans. That was how Hulda was brought up. We never let her run wild, as so many kids do these days. I blame myself. Her mother was always kind. I wasn’t as understanding as I should have been when she wanted to go to the university.”
“Did you oppose that?” said Darcourt.
“Not entirely. Mind you, I didn’t see what good it could do. I wanted her to do a business course, find a job, be happy, find a good man, get married—kids. You know.”
“You didn’t see her musical gift?”
“Oh, yes. That was clear from when she was little. But she could have done that, too. We paid for lessons until they got too expensive. We’re not rich, you know. We thought she might give her music to the church. Lead a choir and play the organ. There’s always a place for that. But can you build a whole life on it? We didn’t think so.”
“You don’t think of music as a profession? The Dean says she has possibilities as a composer.”
“Well—I know. He told me that, too. But is that the kind of life you want your daughter—your only daughter—to get into? Do you hear much good of it? What kind of people? Undesirables, many of them, from what you hear. Of course the Dean seems to be a good man. But he’s a teacher, eh? Something solid. I tried to put my foot down, but it looks like the time for parents putting their feet down has gone.”
This was a familiar story to Darcourt. “So you have a rebellious daughter, is that it? But don’t all children rebel? They must—”
“Why must they?” said Schnakenburg, and for the first time there was a note of combat in his voice.
“To find themselves. Love can be rather stifling, don’t you agree?”
“Is the love of God stifling? Not to a truly Christian spirit.”
“I meant the love of parents. Even the kindest, most well-meaning parents.”
“The love of parents is the love of God manifesting itself in the life of their child. We prayed with her. We called on God to give her a contrite heart.”
“Yes. And what happened?”
After a silence: “I can’t tell you. I wouldn’t repeat the things she said. I don’t know where she picked up such language. Or—yes, I do know; you hear it everywhere nowadays. But I would have thought a girl brought up as she was would have deafened her ears to such filth.”
“And she left home?”
“Walked out in what she stood up in, after a few months I wouldn’t go through again for any money. Have any of you people any children?”
Shaking of heads.
“Then you can’t know what Mother and I went through. We never hear from her. But of course we hear about her, because I make inquiries. She’s done well in the university I grant you. But what has the cost been? We see her, sometimes, when we take care she doesn’t see us, and my heart is sore to see her.—I’m afraid she’s fallen.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Well—what would I mean? I’m afraid she’s living an immoral life. Where else would she get money?”
“Students do get jobs, you know. They do earn money, quite legitimately. I know scores of students who finance their own studies doing jobs that only a young, strong person could do, and keep up a program of studies at the same time. They are a very honourable group, Mr. Schnakenburg.”
“You’ve seen her. Who would give her a job, looking the way she does?”
“She’s as thin as a rake,” said Mrs. Schnakenburg. It was her only contribution to the conversation.
“Do you really hate the idea of us giving her this chance?” said Maria.
“To be frank with you, Mrs. Cornish—yes, we do. But what can we say? She’s not a minor, according to law. We’re poor people and you’re rich people. You have no children, so you can’t know the pain of children. I hope for your sake it will always be so. You have ideas about all this music and art and other stuff that we don’t have and don’t want. We can’t fight you. The world would say we were standing in Hulda’s way. But the world doesn’t come first with us. There’s other things to be thought of. We’re beaten. Don’t think we don’t know it.”
“We certainly don’t want you to think that you are beaten or that we have beaten you,” said Arthur. “I wish you would try to see things a little more our way. We sincerely want to give your daughter the chance her talents entitle her to.”