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diff --git a/old/34761.txt b/old/34761.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..98a5589 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/34761.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11728 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Dr. Adriaan, by Louis Couperus, Translated by +Alexander Teixeira de Mattos + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Dr. Adriaan + + +Author: Louis Couperus + + + +Release Date: December 27, 2010 [eBook #34761] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DR. ADRIAAN*** + + +E-text prepared by Christine Bell and Marc D'Hooghe +(http://www.freeliterature.org) + + + +DR. ADRIAAN + +by + +LOUIS COUPERUS + +Translated by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos + + + + + + + +New York +Dodd, Mead and Company +1918 + + + + +TRANSLATOR'S NOTE + +_Dr. Adriaan_ is the fourth and last of the volumes forming _The Books +of the Small Souls_. In it the reader renews his acquaintance with all +the characters that survive from _Small Souls, The Later Life_ and _The +Twilight of the Souls._ + + ALEXANDER TEIXEIRA DE MATTOS. + + _Chelsea_, 30 March, 1918. + + + +CHAPTER I + + +The afternoon sky was full of thick, dark clouds, drifting ponderously +grey over almost black violet: clouds so dark, heavy and thick that they +seemed to creep laboriously upon the east wind, for all that it was +blowing hard. In its breath the clouds now and again changed their +watery outline, before their time came to pour down in heavy straight +streaks of rain. The stiff pine-woods quivered, erect and anxious, along +the road; and the tops of the trees lost themselves in a silver-grey air +hardly lighter than the clouds and dissolving far and wide under all +that massive grey-violet and purple-black which seemed so close and low. +The road ran near and went winding past, lonely, deserted and sad. It +was as though it came winding out of low horizons and went on towards +low horizons, dipping humbly under very low skies, and only the +pine-trees still stood up, pointed, proud and straight, when everything +else was stooping. The modest villa-residence, the smaller poor +dwellings here and there stooped under the heavy sky and the gusty wind; +the shrubs dipped along the road-side; and the few people who went +along--an old gentleman; a peasant-woman; two poor children carrying a +basket and followed by a melancholy, big, rough-coated dog--seemed to +hang their heads low under the solemn weight of the clouds and the +fierce mastery of the wind, which had months ago blown the smile from +the now humble, frowning, pensive landscape. The soul of that landscape +appeared small and all forlorn in the watery mists of the dreary +winter. + +The wind came howling along, chill and cold, like an angry spite that +was all mouth and breath; and Adeletje, hanging on her aunt's arm, +huddled into herself, for the wind blew chill in her sleeves and on her +back. + +"Are you cold, dear?" + +"No, Auntie," said Adeletje, softly, shivering. + +Constance smiled and pressed Adeletje's arm close to her: + +"Let's walk a little faster, dear. It'll warm you; and, besides, I'm +afraid it's going to rain. It's quite a long way to the old lady's and +back again.... I fear I've tired you." + +"No, Auntie." + +"You see, I didn't want to take the carriage. This way, we do the thing +by ourselves; and otherwise everybody would know of it at once. And you +must promise me not to talk about it." + +"No, Auntie, I won't." + +"Not to anybody. Otherwise there'll be all sorts of remarks; and it's no +concern of other people's what we do." + +"The poor old thing was very happy, Auntie. The beef-tea and the wine +and chicken...." + +"Poor little old woman...." + +"And so well-mannered. And so discreet.... Auntie, will Addie be back +soon?" + +"He's sure to telegraph." + +"It's _very_ nice of him to take such pains for Alex. We all of us give +Addie a lot of trouble.... When do you think he'll come back?" + +"I don't know; to-morrow, or the next day...." + +"Auntie, you've been very fidgety lately." + +"My dear, I haven't." + +"Yes, you have.... Tell me, has anything happened with Mathilde? Has +there?" + +"No, child.... But do keep your little mouth shut now. I'm frightened, +the wind's so cold." + +They walked on in silence, Adeletje accommodating her step by Aunt +Constance' regular pace. Constance was a good walker; and Addie always +said that, leading the outdoor life she did, Mama grew no older. They +had now been living for ten years at Driebergen, in the big, old, gloomy +house, which seemed to be lighted only by themselves, by their affection +for one another, but which Constance had never brought herself to like, +hard though she tried. Ten years! How often, oh, how often she saw them +speed before her in retrospect!... Ten years: was it really ten years? +How quickly they had passed! They had been full and busy years; and +Constance was satisfied with the years that had fleeted by, only she was +distressed that it all went so fast and that she would be old before.... +But the wind was blowing too fiercely and Adeletje was hanging heavily +on her arm--poor child, she was shivering: how cold she must be!--and +Constance could not follow her thoughts.... Before ... before.... Well, +if she died, there would be Addie.... Only.... No, she couldn't think +now; and besides they would be home presently.... They would be home.... +Home! The word seemed strange to her; and she did not think that right. +And yet, struggle against the singular emotion as she would, she could +not cure herself of thinking that big house gloomy and regretting the +little villa in the Kerkhoflaan at the Hague, even though she had never +known any great domestic happiness there.... Still ... still, one loves +the thing that one has grown used to; and was it not funny that she had +grown so fond of that little house, where she had lived four years, and +been disconsolate when, after the old man's death, Van der Welcke and +Addie too had insisted on moving to the big, sombre villa at +Driebergen?... Fortunately, it was at once lighted by all of them, by +their affection for one another; if she had not had the consoling +brightness of mutual love, oh, it would have been impossible for her to +go and live in that dark, gloomy, cavernous villa-house, among the +eternally rustling trees, under the eternally louring skies! The house +was dear to Van der Welcke and Addie because of a strange sympathy, a +sense that their home was there and nowhere else. The father was born in +the house and had played there as a child; and the son, strangely +enough, cherished the exact same feeling of attraction towards it. Had +they not almost forced her to move into the house: Van der Welcke crying +for it like a child, first going there for a few days at a time and +living there with nobody but the decrepit old charwoman who made his bed +for him; then Addie following his father's example, fitting up a room +for herself and making constant pretexts--that he must go and have a +look among his papers, that he must run down for a book--seizing any +excuse that offered?... Then they left her alone, in her house in the +Kerkhoflaan. That had trees round it too and skies overhead. But it was +strange: among those trees in the Hague Woods, under those clouds which +came drifting from Scheveningen, she had felt at home, though their +little villa was only a house hired on a five years' lease, taken at the +time under Addie's deciding influence. He, quite a small boy then, had +gone and seen the fat estate-agent.... Oh, how the years, how the years +hurried past!... To think that it was all so long ago!... Strange, in +that leasehold house she had felt at home, at the Hague, among her +relations, under familiar skies and among familiar people and things, +unyielding though both things and people had often proved. Whereas here, +in this house, in this great cavernous, gloomy villa-residence--and she +had lived in it since the old man's death fully ten years ago--she had +always felt, though the house belonged to them as their inheritance, as +their family-residence, a stranger, an intruder, one who had come there +by accident ... along with her husband and her son. She could never +shake off this feeling. It pursued her even to her own sitting-room, +which, with its bits of furniture from the Kerkhoflaan, was almost +exactly the same as her little drawing-room at the Hague.... Oh, how the +wind blew and how Adeletje was shivering against her: if only the poor +child did not fall ill from that long walk!... There came the first +drops of rain, thick and big, like tears of despair.... She put up her +umbrella and Adeletje pushed still closer, walked right up against her, +under the same shelter, so as to feel safe and warm.... The lane now ran +straight into the high road; and there, before you, lay the house.... It +stood in its own big garden--nearly a park, with a pool at the +back--like a square, melancholy block, dreary and massive; and she could +not understand why Van der Welcke and Addie clung to it so. Or rather +she did understand now; but she ... no, she did not care for the house. +It never smiled to her, always frowned, as it stood there broad and +severe, as though imperishable, behind the front-garden, with the dwarf +rose-bushes and standard roses wound in straw, awaiting the spring +days.... It looked down upon her with its front of six upper windows as +with stern eyes, which suffered but never forgave her.... It was like +the old man himself, who had died without forgiving.... Oh, she could +never have lived there if she had not always remembered the old woman's +forgiveness, that last hour of gentleness by her bedside, the +reconciliation, in complete understanding and knowledge almost +articulate, offered at the moment of departure for ever.... Then it +seemed to her as if she heard the old woman's breaking voice speak +softly to her and say: + +"Forgive, even though he never forgives, for he _will_ never +forgive...." + +And it seemed to her as if she heard that voice, rustling with soft +encouragement, in the wind, in the trees, now that she was passing +through the garden, while the implacable house looked down upon her with +that everlasting cold frown. It was a strange feeling which always sent +a shudder through her for just two or three seconds every time that she +went past the roses in their straw wrappings to the great front door, +the feeling which had sent a shudder through her the very first time +when she alighted from their carriage ... after being disowned for +years, as a disgrace, hidden away in a corner.... It was only for two or +three seconds. The rain was now splashing down. She closed her umbrella +as Truitje opened the door, with a glad laugh, that mevrouw had got home +before it absolutely poured; and now she was in the long hall.... Oh, +what a gloomy hall it was, with the oak doors on either side, the Delft +jugs on the antique cabinet; the engravings and family-portraits; and +then, at the far end, the one door gloomier than the others, that door +which led ... simply to a small, inner staircase, for the servants, so +that they should not constantly be using the main staircase.... But she +had not known this until she moved in and, yielding to an impulse, ran +to the sombre door which had always stared at her, from the far end of +that typical Dutch interior, as an eternally-sealed mystery.... +Pluckily, playing the mistress of the house who was looking into things, +while her heart beat with terror, she had opened the door and seen the +staircase, the little staircase winding up in the dark to the bedroom +floor; and the old charwoman had told her that it was very handy for +carrying up water, because there was no water laid on upstairs: a +decided fault in the house.... Then she had shut the door again and +known all about it: a little back-stair, for the maids, and nothing +more.... But why had she never opened the door since, never touched the +handle? No doubt because there was no need to, because she felt sure +that the maids would scrub the small staircase as well as the big one on +the days set aside for cleaning stairs and passages. Why should she have +opened the gloomy door?... And she had never opened it since. Once and +once only she had seen it open; old Mie had forgotten to shut it; and +she had grumbled, had told Truitje that it looked slovenly to leave the +door open like that.... She had then seen the little staircase winding +up in the dark, its steps just marked with brown stripes against the +black of the shadow.... But the door, when closed, stared at her. She +had never told anyone; but the door stared at her ... like the front of +the house. Yes, in the garden behind, the back-windows also stared at +her as with eyes, but more gently, sadly and almost laughingly, with an +encouraging and more winsome look amid the livelier green of the +lime-trees which, in summer, surrounded her with their heavy +fragrance.... Summer!... It was November now, with its incessant wind +and rain, raging all around and against the house and rattling on the +window-panes until they shivered.... It was a strange feeling ever and +always, though it did last for only two or three seconds, but she could +not feel at home there.... And yet during those ten years her life had +sped and sped and sped.... It sped on without resting.... She was always +busy.... + +She had sent Adeletje upstairs, to change her things at once, and opened +the door of the drawing-room.... It felt a little chilly, she thought; +and, while she saw her mother sitting quietly in the conservatory, +peering out of doors from her usual seat, she went to the stove, moved +the cinder-drawer to and fro to send the ashes to the bottom and make +the fire glow up behind the mica doors.... + +"Aren't you cold out there, Mummie?" + +The old woman looked round at the sound of her voice. Constance went +into the conservatory and again asked: + +"Aren't you cold, Mummie?" + +The old woman heard her this time; and Constance stooped over her and +kissed the waxen forehead. + +"It's blowing," said the old woman. + +"Yes, it's blowing like anything!" said Constance. "You don't feel +cold?" + +The old woman smiled, with her eyes in her daughter's. + +"Won't you rather come and sit inside, Mamma?" + +But the old woman only smiled and said: + +"The trees are waving from side to side; and just now a branch fell ... +right in front of the window." + +"Yes. Harm'll have plenty of work to-morrow. There are branches lying +all over the place." + +"It's blowing," said the old woman. + +Constance went in, took a shawl and put it over her mother's shoulders: + +"You'll come in, won't you, Mamma, if you feel cold?" + +And she went back to the drawing-room, intending to go upstairs. + +But voices sounded from the hall and the door was opened. It was Gerdy +and Guy: + +"Are you in, Auntie?" + +"Are you back at last?" + +"Where have you been all the afternoon?" + +"Have you been walking with Adele?" + +"Come, Auntie," said Guy, "give an account of yourself!" + +He was a well-set-up, fair-haired boy of nineteen, tall and broad, with +a fair moustache; and she spoilt him because he was like his father. +Really she spoilt them all, each for a different reason, but Guy could +do anything that he pleased with her. He now caught her in his arms and +asked once more: + +"Now, Auntie, where have you been?" + +And she blushed like a child. She did not mean to say where she had +been, but she had not reckoned on his attacking her like this: + +"Why, nowhere!" she said, defending herself. "I've been walking with +Adele...." + +"No!" said Guy, firmly. "You've been to the little old lady's." + +"Oh, no!" + +"Oh, yes!" + +"Come, boy, let me be. I want to go up and change.... Where's Mamma?" + +"Mamma's upstairs," said Gerdy. "Are you coming down soon again, Auntie? +Shall I get tea ready? Shall I light the lamp? It's jolly, having tea in +a storm like this." + +"All right, dear, do." + +"Will you come down soon?" + +"Yes, yes, at once...." + +She went upstairs, up the wide, winding oak staircase.... Why did she +think, each time the wind blew, of that evening when she had gone up +like that, across the passage, through the rooms, to the great, dark +bedstead, in which the wan face of the dying woman showed palely on the +pillow?... Then as now the heavy rain rattled against the windows and +the tall cabinets in the dark passage creaked with those sudden sounds +which old wood makes and which sometimes moaned and reverberated through +the house. But one scarcely heard them now, because the house was no +longer silent, because now there were always voices buzzing and young +feet hurrying in the rooms and along the passages, thanks to all the new +life that had entered the house.... Ten years, thought Constance, while +she put on the light in her room, before dressing: was it really ten +years?... Immediately after the death of her poor brother Gerrit--poor +Adeline and the children had moved from their house to a cheap +_pension_--came the death of old Mr. Van der Welcke, just as she, Van +der Welcke and Addie, going through Gerrit's papers, had come upon this +letter: + +"Addie, I recommend my children to your care; my wife I recommend to +yours, Constance." + +It was the letter of a sick man, mentally and physically sick, who +already saw death's wings beating before his eyes. And even in that +shabby _pension_ Addie had taken charge of the children, as though he +were their own young father; but, when the old gentleman died and both +Van der Welcke and Addie insisted on moving to Driebergen, then the boy +had stepped forward boldly as the protector of those nine children, as +the protector of that poor woman distraught and utterly crushed by the +blow.... Even now, while hurriedly changing her dress, so as not to +keep them waiting too long downstairs, Constance still heard her boy +say, in his calm, confident voice: + +"Papa ... Mamma ... we have a big house now, a very big house.... We are +rich now ... and Aunt Adeline has nothing ... the children have only a +couple of thousand guilders apiece.... They must all come to us now, +mustn't they, all come and live with us at Driebergen, mustn't they, +Papa ... and Mamma?" + +He said nothing beyond those few simple words; and his confident voice +was as quiet as though his proposal spoke for itself, as though it were +quite commonplace.... + +"What is there to make a fuss about?" he had asked, with wide-open eyes, +when she fell upon his neck with tears of emotion and kissed him, her +heart swelling with happiness in her child.... + +She had just looked round anxiously at her husband, anxious what he +would wish, what he would say to his son's words.... There were fewer +scenes between them, it was true, much fewer; but still she had thought +to herself, what would he say to this?... But he had only laughed, burst +out laughing, with his young laugh like a great boy's ... laughed at all +his son's great family: a wife and nine children whom Addie at sixteen +was quietly taking unto himself, because his people had money now and a +big house.... Since that time Van der Welcke had always chaffed the boy +about his nine children. And Addie answered his father's chaff with that +placid smile in his eyes and on his lips, as though he were thinking: + +"Have your joke, Daddy. You're a good chap after all!..." + +And Addie had interested himself in his nine children as calmly as if +they were not the least trouble.... Then came the move to Driebergen, +but Addie remained at the Hague, staying with Aunt Lot, for the two +years that he still went to school. He came down each week-end, however: +by the husband's train. Van der Welcke said, chaffingly, to join his +wife and children; and he took a hand in everything: in the profitable +investment and saving of their two thousand guilders apiece; in their +schooling; in the choice of a governess for the girls: he saved Aunt +Adeline all responsibility; his Saturday afternoons and Sundays were +filled with all sorts of cares; he considered and discussed and +decided.... Moreover, Granny, who was now lonely and fallen into her +dotage, could no longer be left to live in her big house, with no one to +look after her; and Constance had easily managed for old Mamma to +accompany them to Driebergen. But the old woman had hardly noticed the +change: she thought that she was still living in the Alexanderstraat +sometimes, in the summer, she would be living at Buitenzorg, in the +viceregal palace, and the children round her went about and talked +vivaciously ... as she had always known them to do.... Emilie had +refused to leave Constance; and, though she sometimes went to stay at +Baarn, she really lived with them: Emilie, so grievously shattered in +her young life, so unable to forget Henri's death that she was as a +shadow of her former self, pale and silent, mostly pining in her room +... until from sheer loneliness she went to join the family-circle +downstairs.... + +Ten years ... ten years had sped like this, sped like fleeting shadows +of time; and yet how much had happened! The children growing up, +blossoming into young girls and sturdy lads; Addie studying medicine at +Amsterdam, walking the hospitals, until, after passing his examination, +the young foster-father at last settled down among them all as a +doctor, in the great house at Driebergen; and then that immense change +in their lives: his marriage, his dreadfully premature marriage.... Oh, +that marriage of her son's!... She had had to summon all her deeper +wisdom and to clutch it with convulsive hands ... in order to approve +... to approve ... and not for a single moment to let herself be dragged +along by all the prejudices of the old days, the prejudices of the +narrow little circle which she had learnt to scorn in her later life, +the life which had become permanent!... Now he was really a husband, now +he was really a father. + +"Aunt Constance ... do come!" + +It was Gerdy's voice; and it fidgeted her. They were all very nice, +certainly, but also they were all very restless; and she was really a +woman for loneliness and dreams--had become so--and sometimes felt a +need to be quite alone ... quite alone ... in her room; to lie on her +sofa and think ... above all things, to think herself back into the +years which had sped and sped and sped as fleeting shadows of time.... + +A tripping step came hastening up the stairs, followed by a tapping at +the door: + +"Auntie! Aunt Constance.... I've made tea; and, if you don't come, it'll +be too strong...." + +She would have liked to tell Gerdy that she did not care for that +calling out all over the house and through the passages: it always +jarred upon her, as though the clear, girlish voice profaned that brown +indoor atmosphere of the sombre old house which was so full of the past +... as though the old people were still living there and might be +shocked by all that youthful carelessness and presumption. But she never +did tell her. + +"Yes, darling, I'm coming." + +She was ready now and turned out the gas. Gerdy ran downstairs again; +and Constance found the lamps lit in the drawing-room and Gerdy very +busy with the tea-pot and tea-cups. And Constance smiled, for there was +a sort of homely peace, in this room, a peace almost of happiness, the +lesser happiness which people sometimes find, for a brief moment. +Marietje, the eldest of the girls, a motherly little soul from +childhood, had coaxed Grandmamma into leaving the conservatory, which +was really too cold, had installed her in the back drawing-room, where +the old woman now sat, with her shawl round her, her toes on the +foot-warmer, her hands trembling in her lap and her head nodding, as +though she knew all sorts of things for certain.... Always she sat like +that and scarcely spoke, only a few words, quietly living away the last +few years of her life and already looking at the rest in panorama ... +but quite unconscious of her surroundings.... In front of the fire, +close together, sat Adeline and Emilie, both silent, but filled with the +strange peace that reigned in both of them, because things around them +were so youthful and so bright. For at this hour all the young people +were gathered in the drawing-room, all Gerrit's children, except +Constant, who was seventeen and at a boarding-school near Arnhem, to +Gerdy's great regret, for she and he had always been together, two good +little, fair-haired children. Marietje was twenty-two now, had not grown +up pretty, was tall and lank, fair-haired, really an unattractive girl, +though she had a certain lovableness from always caring for others, +especially for Grandmamma: she had acquired this very early, as the +eldest sister, because her mother had at once and as a matter of course +entrusted her with the care of her little brothers and sisters. +Adeletje too was plain and in addition ailing and anything but strong, +with her narrow, shrunk chest; and Constance often wondered that the two +elders had become like that, because she remembered them as the two +pretty little fair-haired children that they used to be, frail, it is +true, but rosy-cheeked, sweet little children. Alex also was there; and +he too often surprised Constance, when she remembered the naughty rascal +that he was, now a boy of twenty, pale and sallow, with frightened blue +eyes, shy, reserved, with a trick of giving a sudden glance of terror +which made her anxious, she did not know why. She recognized her brother +Gerrit most in Guy, who was tall, fair and broad, as Gerrit had been, +but who had always been unmanageable, with not one serious thought in +his head; he was nineteen years old now and as undecided about his +future as Alex himself.... That was Constance' great care and not only +hers but Addie's as well; and Van der Welcke often chaffed his son, that +it was not an unmixed joy to be the father of nine children. If Alex was +gloomy now, with that strange look, sometimes of sudden fright, in his +eyes, Guy was undoubtedly attractive, was genial, pleasant, cheerful, +foolish, a great baby and the favourite nephew of Van der Welcke, with +whom he went cycling, as Addie never had time now: Addie the serious +man, the young doctor with an increasing practice. Guy called Van der +Welcke Papa; they got on so well, almost too well together: Van der +Welcke, who had remained a child for all his fifty-one years delighted +in that tall, fair-haired adopted son of Addie's; and, jealous as he was +of all the earnestness, the labour and care displayed by Addie, who had +hardly a moment nowadays to give his father, he was glad to have found +Guy, as though to show Addie: + +"I've got another friend, you know, and I can do without you sometimes!" + +After Guy came Gerdy, the beauty of the family, an exquisitely pretty +girl of eighteen, who with Guy was the light and laughter of the house; +next, Constant, away at boarding-school. The two younger boys, Jan and +Piet, were fortunately doing well at their lessons, whereas little +Klaasje, twelve years old, had remained very backward and might have +been a child of eight, at one time dull and silent, at another wantonly +gay, but so silly that she was not yet able to read.... Yes, she had all +of them there, all Gerrit's children; she and Addie looked after them; +and poor Adeline had come to take it as a matter of course and never +decided anything for herself and consulted Constance and Addie about +everything.... + +The wind outside roared and a violent rain beat down upon the windows, +as though tapping at them with furious angry fingers. The drawn blinds, +the closed curtains, the lighted lamps, Gerdy pouring out the tea with +her pretty little ways: it all gave Constance, though she felt tired and +would gladly have been alone for once, a caress of soft, homely +satisfaction, a velvety sense of being in utter harmony with all around +her, even though there was so much trouble, not only with the children, +but also sometimes no little difficulty and misunderstanding with +Mathilde, Addie's wife. Where was Mathilde now? Where were the two +children? Gerdy, fussy and fidgety, pretending to be very busy, with a +light clatter of her tea-things, had pushed an easy-chair nearer to the +fireplace, where tongues of flames were darting. She now gave Constance +her cup of tea, handed a plate of cakes; and Constance asked: + +"Where's Mathilde?" + +"Mathilde?... I don't know, but ... shall I go and look for her?" + +"No, never mind. Where are the children?" + +"In the nursery, I expect. Shall I send for them to come down?" + +"No, dear, it doesn't matter...." + +And Gerdy did not insist. With the wind and rain raging out of doors, it +was still and peaceful inside; and, fidgety though Gerdy was, she felt +that peaceful stillness and valued it, valued it as they all did. In her +heart she hoped that Mathilde would not come down before dinner, +because, whenever Mathilde did come down at tea-time, something +happened, as though an imp were creeping in between Gerdy's nervous +little fingers: she would break a cup or upset things; once indeed she +had nearly set the house on fire, because she had tried to blow out the +methylated spirit with a furious blast from her excitable little pouting +lips.... It was very cosy now: if only Mathilde would remain upstairs a +little longer.... And, while the wind and the rain raged outside, +indoors there was but the sound of a few gentle phrases, uttered in the +yellow circles of the lamps, which Gerdy had placed so that they shone +with an intimate and pleasant cosiness.... Old Granny, over in her +corner, sat quietly in her great arm-chair, which was like a throne; she +did not move, did not speak, but was nevertheless in the picture, +thought Gerdy: that waxen face of a very old lady, framed in the white +hair; the woollen shawl over the shoulders; the motionless dark lines of +the gown; and, in the lap, the fine detail of the fingers, quivering +fingers, but for which she would have seemed devoid of all motion.... +Near the fire, Constance was talking with Mamma and Emilie; and Gerdy +did not know why, but something about those three, as they sat talking +together, made her feel as if she could suddenly have cried for no +reason, because of a touch of melancholy that just grazed against her, +like a trouble dating back to former years and things that were long +past.... Then Gerdy made an unnecessary clatter with her tea-cups and +spoons and could not understand why she was so sensitive. Marie was +doing some needlework and Alex was gloomily reading a book; but Guy was +playing backgammon with Adeletje, making constant jokes in between: the +dice were rattled in the boxes and dumped into the board; the men moved +with a hard, wooden sound over the black and white points; the dice were +rattled again and dumped down again. + +"Five-three...." + +"Double-six.... Double-four.... One more: two-three...." + +And Klaasje had come and sat by Aunt Constance, almost creeping into her +dress, with a very babyish picture-book in her hand. She pressed her +fair-haired little head comfortably in Auntie's skirts, against Auntie's +lap and had silently taken Auntie's arm and laid it round her neck. +Herself unobserved, she noticed every single thing that happened: Guy +and Adele's backgammon, Gerdy's fussing with the tea-things; and she +listened to Auntie, Mamma and Emilie; but all the time it was as though +she were outside that circle of homeliness, as though she were far away +from it, as though she were hearing and seeing through a haze, +unconsciously, in her slowly awakening little brains, the brains of a +backward child. And, so as not to be too far away, she took Aunt +Constance' hand, opened the palm with her fingers and pushed her little +head under it: that made it seem as if she were much nearer.... + +Suddenly, the door opened; and everybody gave a little start, soon +recovering, however: Mathilde had entered and only Grandmamma, yonder, +more in the background in her dark corner, had remained motionless, with +quivering fingers in her lap, white and waxen, trembling in the dark +shadow of her dress.... But, near the fire, Constance, Adeline and +Emilie were silent and remained sitting, stiffly, Adeline and Emilie +without moving. Constance alone forced herself to look round at +Mathilde; Alex read on, nervously hunching his shoulders; but Guy +rattled his dice and Adeletje had a sudden flush on her cheek and turned +pale.... And Gerdy was the most nervous of all: she suddenly ducked down +in front of the fire and began poking it desperately. + +"Do be careful, Gerdy!" said Adeline. "You'll set us on fire, the sparks +are flying all over the place!" + +Mathilde had sat down in the arm-chair next to Constance, which made +little Klaasje feel a bit squeezed, in between Auntie and Mathilde, and +Mathilde's shadow fell across the child's book and prevented her from +seeing the pictures, causing such a sudden outburst of temper that, +before anyone could stop her, she put out both arms convulsively, pushed +with her hands against Mathilde's chair and cried: + +"Go away!" + +So much enmity was apparent in the child's voice that they all started +again: only Grandmamma, in her corner, noticed nothing. But Constance +recovered herself at once: + +"For shame, Klaasje!" she said, in a chiding tone. "You mustn't do that, +you know! What makes you so naughty?" + +But the child pushed against the chair with such force that she pushed +it aside, with Mathilde in it: + +"Go away!" she repeated, pale in the face, with wide eyes starting from +her head in hatred. + +"Klaasje!" cried Constance. "Stop that at once!" + +Her voice rang harsh and loud through the room. The child looked at her +in alarm, understood merely that Auntie was angry and burst into loud +sobs. + +"Oh, very well, I'll go and sit somewhere else!" said Mathilde, +pretending indifference. + +She got up and sat beside Emilie. + +"Haven't you been out?" asked Emilie, gently, for the sake of saying +something. + +"Out? In this horrible weather? Where would you have me go?" asked +Mathilde, coldly. "No, I've had two hours' sleep. Gerdy, have you any +tea left for me?" + +"Yes, certainly," said Gerdy, in a forced voice. + +She poked the fire once more, fiercely. + +"But, Gerdy, mind what you're doing!" cried Adeline, terrified, for the +sparks were flying out of the hearth. + +Gerdy bobbed up from among her skirts and began clattering with her +tea-tray. Klaasje had ceased crying, had stopped the moment that +Mathilde had moved and was now looking up at Aunt Constance and trying +to take her hand again. + +"No," said Constance, "you're naughty." + +"No-o!" whined the little girl, like a very small child. "I'm _not_ +naughty!" + +"Yes, you are. It's not at all nice of you to push Mathilde away. You +must never do that again, do you hear?" + +"Oh, let the child be, Mamma!" said Mathilde, wearily. + +The child looked up at Constance with such an unhappy expression in her +face that Constance put her hand on her head again; and, at once +forgetting everything, Klaasje now looked at her book and even hummed +softly as she showed herself the pictures. + +Gerdy was pouring out Mathilde's tea. There it was again: she had spilt +the milk; the tea-tray was one white puddle! However, she mopped it up +with a tea-cloth and now handed the cup to Mathilde. + +Mathilde tasted it: + +"Did you put any sugar in?" + +"Yes, one lump." + +"I never take sugar." + +"Oh!... Shall I give you another cup?" + +"No, thanks.... Your tea is weak." + +Gerdy's tea was her pride, always: + +"Tea gets bitter after standing three quarters of an hour," she said, +aggressively, "or, if you pour water on it, it gets weak." + +"Then I must always come three quarters of an hour late, for your tea is +always either bitter or weak." + +"Then make your own tea...." + +But Gerdy saw Aunt Constance looking at her and said nothing more. + +"Mamma," asked Mathilde, "do _you_ know when Addie is coming back?" + +"No, dear; to-morrow, I expect, or the next day." + +"Haven't you had a card from him?" + +"No, dear." + +"Oh, I thought he would have written to you!... I might really have gone +with him to Amsterdam." + +"He had business to attend to...." + +"Well, I shouldn't have hindered him in his business...." + +She sat silent now and indifferent and looked at her watch, regretting +that she had come down too early. She thought that it was six and that +they would be having dinner at once. And it was not even half-past five +yet.... Should she go upstairs again for a bit?... No, she was there now +and she would stay.... She had slept too long that afternoon.... She +felt heavy and angry.... What a place, what a place, Driebergen in +November! Not a soul to talk to, except three or four antediluvian +families.... When was she likely to see the Hague again? The children +would be looked after all right: there were busybodies enough in the +house for that!... And she remained sitting beside Emilie, without +moving or speaking, weary, indifferent and heavy after her long +sleep.... She knew it: as usual, her entrance had caused friction. That +odious idiot child, pushing her chair away, with its "Go away!" She +could have boxed its ears.... But she had controlled herself. Didn't she +always control herself? Wasn't she always being insulted by her +husband's relatives?... Why on earth had she married him? Couldn't she +have married anybody at the Hague?... In her weary, heavy indifference, +mingled with spiteful rancour, she felt herself a martyr.... Wasn't she +a very handsome woman? Couldn't she have married anybody, though her +father was a penniless naval officer, though there was no money on her +mother's side either?... She was a handsome girl; and, from the time +when she was quite young, her one thought had been to make a good match, +first and foremost a good match, and to get away from the poverty and +the vulgar crew that gathered in Papa and Mamma's house.... Oh, yes, she +was very fond of her husband; but now it was all his fault: he ... he +was neglecting her!... Wasn't she a martyr? + +Deep down within herself, no doubt, she knew that she had not married +him for himself alone, that she had certainly thought it heavenly, she, +a Smeet, plain Mathilde Smeet, to marry Baron van der Welcke ... plenty +of money ... a smart match ... even though the family no longer lived in +the Hague.... + +Baroness van der Welcke.... On her cards: _Baroness van der Welcke_.... +A coronet on her handkerchiefs, a coat-of-arms on her note-paper: oh, +how delicious, how delicious!... What a joy at last to order the gowns +in Brussels, to get out of the poverty of her parents' home, which +reeked of rancid butter and spilt paraffin, to shake it from her, to +plunge and drown it in the past, that poverty, as you drown a mangy dog +in a pond.... + +Driebergen ... well, yes. But it wouldn't always be Driebergen. She +would back herself to coax her husband out of that patriarchy, to coax +him to the Hague, where he would be the young, fashionable doctor: a +fine house, smart acquaintances, a box at the Opera, presentation at +court, Baroness ... Baronne van der Welcke.... + +She had two children now, a boy and a girl. It was irresistible; and yet +she knew that she must take care and not let the nurse have too much of +it: + +"Geertje, have you washed the jonker's hands?... Geertje, I want the +freule to wear her white frock to-day?"[1] + +For she had noticed that the others never used the words in speaking to +Geertje or to the maids, never said jonker or freule, always just simply +Constant and Henriette, or even Stan and Jet; and so, when the others +were there, she copied them and said, "Stan" and "Jet"; but oh, the +joy, as soon as they were gone, of once more blurting out the titles to +Geertje, the warm rapture of feeling that she was not only a baroness +but the mother of a freule and a jonker: + +"Geertje, has Freule Henriette had her milk?... Geertje, let the jonker +wear his new shoes to-day!..." + +No, she simply could not keep from it; and yet she had sense enough to +know and perception enough to feel that the others thought it a mark of +bad breeding in her, to refer to her babies of one year old and two as +freule and jonker.... That was the worst of it, that she had married not +only her husband but his whole family into the bargain: his grandmamma, +his parents and Aunt Adeline with her troops of children whom Addie--so +silly of him, because he was so young--regarded as his own, for whom it +was his duty to care.... That was the worst of it; and oh, if she had +known everything, known what a martyr she would be in this house, where +she never felt herself the mistress--a victim to the idiot child's rude +ways, a victim to Gerdy, who gave her sugar in her tea--if she had known +everything, she might have thought twice before marrying him at all!... + +And yet she was wonderfully fond of Addie, might still be very happy +with him, if he would only come back to her ... and not neglect her, +over and over again, for all that crew of so-called adopted children +with which he had burdened himself.... Oh, to get him out of it, out of +that suffocating family-circle ... and then to the Hague: her husband a +young, smart doctor, she at court; and then see all the old friends +again ... and Papa and Mamma's relations ... and perhaps leave cards on +them sweetly: Baronne van der Welcke!... + +She was not all vanity: she had plenty of common sense besides and no +small portion of clear and penetrating insight. She saw her own vanity, +indeed, but preferred not to see it. She would rather look upon herself +as a martyr than as vain and therefore saw herself in that light, +deliberately thrusting aside her common sense; and then, sometimes, in +an unhappy mood, she would weep over her own misfortunes. Her only +consolation at such times was that she was handsome, a young, handsome +woman, and healthy and the mother of two pretty little children: a +jonker and a freule. + +She now sat wearily, with very few words passing among them all; the +dice in Adele and Guy's boxes rattled loudly and worked on Mathilde's +nerves. + +Gerdy could stand it no longer: she had run out into the hall and almost +bumped against Van der Welcke, who was just going to the drawing-room. + +"Hullo, kiddie!" he exclaimed. + +"Oh, I beg your pardon, Uncle!" + +"Where are you rushing off to?" + +She laughed. + +"Nowhere, Uncle. I don't know. I'm going to wash my hands. I upset the +milk.... There's no tea left, Uncle." + +"That's all right, kiddie, I don't want any tea.... Shall we be having +dinner soon?" + +"It's not six yet." + +"Anything from Addie?" + +"No, Uncle." + +"Has ... has Mathilde come down?" + +"Yes, Uncle." + +"I see. Well, I think I'll go upstairs again for a bit." + +"Oh, don't, Uncle!" + +"I may as well." + +"No, don't. Why should you? You're always putting her on us and clearing +out yourself!" + +"I? But I have nothing to do with her!" + +"She's your daughter-in-law." + +"I dare say, but I can't help that." + +"Yes, you can." + +"How do you mean? How can I help it?" + +"Why, if you had stopped Addie at the time ... had forbidden it ... as +his father." + +"You young baggage! Do you imagine that I can forbid Addie anything? +I've never been able to prevent his doing a thing. He's always done what +he wanted to, from the time when he was a child." + +"You _can_ help it." + +"Can I? Well, whether I can help it or not ... I'm going upstairs." + +"No, Uncle, you're not to. You must come in. Do be nice. Come along for +our sake. You're fond of us, aren't you? You love all Addie's adopted +children, Uncle, don't you?" + +"Yes, kiddie, I'm fond of you all, though I've lost Addie altogether +through you." + +"No, Uncle, not altogether." + +"Well, what's the use of sharing him with the pack of you?" + +"But you can afford to share him a little bit. Tell me: you _are_ fond +of us?" + +"Of course I am, you're a dear, jolly lot. But Mathilde...." + +"What about Mathilde, Uncle?" + +He bent over her and bit each word separately into her ear: + +"I--can't--stand--her.... I hate her as I have never hated anybody." + +"But, Uncle, that's overdoing it," said Gerdy, lapsing into +reasonableness. + +"Overdoing it?" + +"Yes, she's not so bad as all that. She can be very nice." + +"You think her nice, do you? Well, she's like a spectre to me." + +"No, no, you mustn't say that. And she's Addie's wife and the mother of +his children." + +"Look here, kiddie, don't be putting on such wise airs. They don't suit +you." + +"But she _is_ the mother of his children and you're not to be so +jealous." + +"Am I jealous?" + +"Yes, you're jealous ... of Mathilde and of us." + +"Very likely. I never see Addie. If I hadn't got Guy...." + +"Well, you've got Guy. And you've got Addie as well." + +"No, I haven't.... Do you know when he's coming back?" + +"No, I don't, Uncle. And now come along in." + +She drew Van der Welcke into the room with her; and, as usual, he went +up to the old woman seated silently in her corner, rubbing his hands, +trying to speak a few words to her. She recognized him and smiled.... +The wind outside raged with a deeper note.... The branches of the trees +swished along the windows, the twigs tapped at them as with +fingertips.... And amid the eeriness of it all Constance suddenly felt +it very strange that they were all of them there, all strangers in the +old, gloomy house, which had once belonged to Henri's stern parents. The +old woman had forgiven her, but the old man had never forgiven. He had +died, his heart filled with rancour. And now they were all there, all +strangers, except the son, except the grandson; and he was not there at +the moment.... They were all strangers: her mother, in her second +childhood, imagining herself at the Hague and very often at +Buitenzorg;[2] she herself and Gerrit's widow and their children; +Emilie: all, all strangers, all with their manifold life and ceaseless +bustle filling the once silent and serious house.... And Mathilde, a +stranger.... And, so strange, even Mathilde and Addie's children, little +Constant and Jetje, were two little strangers, though they bore the +family name.... Why did she feel this? Perhaps because she still +considered that the great gloomy house belonged to the old man. It was +as though he lived there still, as though he still walked outside, in +the garden. It was as though the great, gloomy house was still filled +with his rancour towards her and hers.... Yes, she had been living here +for ten years, but the old man still bore rancour because she was there +and because so many of hers had come with her to the house in which they +had no business, in which she herself was an intruder as were all who +had intruded themselves along with her.... It was a feeling which had so +often oppressed her, during those ten years, and which would always +oppress her.... And she would not utter it to anybody, for Van der +Welcke had given Addie free leave to bring the troop with him; and he +himself loved the troop.... + +Oh, how the angles between her and her husband had been rubbed smooth +with the years, whether they passed slow or fast!... How they had learnt +to put up with each other!... They were growing old: she fifty-six, he a +little younger; it was true, no affection had come between them, but so +much softening of all that had once been sharp and unkind between them, +so that they had been able to go on living, in this house, and together +with their child performing the task that seemed to be laid upon them: +looking after Gerrit's children!... + +And Adeline took it as quite natural; but yet ... how grateful she was +to them! How often she told them that she could never have brought up +the children alone, that she would have had neither the strength for it +nor the money!... Gerrit's death had broken her. She had always quietly +done her little duties as a wife and mother, but Gerrit's death had +broken her. She had remained among all her children as one who no longer +knows. It was as if the simplicity of her life had become shrouded in a +darkness wherein she wandered and sought, groping with outstretched +hands. Ah, if Constance and Addie had not led her!... + +And Constance in her turn was grateful to Van der Welcke, for was it not +his house in which she lived with her nephews and nieces, was it not +with his money, for a great part, that she brought up those children?... +Oh, if the old man would only cease spreading that rancour around them, +filling the whole great sombre house with it because they had intruded, +because they were living there on his money, though that money now +belonged to his heir! At every guilder that Constance spent on her +swollen household, she felt the old man's rancour. And it made her +thriftier than she had ever been at the time when she and Henri, though +their needs were far from small, had had to live on a few thousand +guilders a year. Though she now lived in this big house, though twelve +and often fifteen of them sat down to table, she was comparatively +thriftier in her whole mode of life than she had ever been in her little +house with her husband and child.... It was the old man's money, a +large fortune, and it was Henri's money now, of course, but it was first +and foremost the old man's money!... The curtains in the drawing-room +were sadly faded, but she would not buy new, though Van der Welcke +himself had begged her at least to buy some for the front room. Her +everyday table was very simple, simpler than she had ever been +accustomed to. And this gave her the remorse that she was feeding Henri, +now that he was growing older, more simply than she had in his younger +days. And she urged him daily to buy a motor-car.... + +He was sensible, refused to do anything of the kind. Buying the +"sewing-machine," well, yes, that was one big initial outlay ... but the +most expensive part of it was the upkeep of it, the chauffeur, the +excursions. He feared that, once he possessed the "machine," it would +become a very costly joke.... And all those ten years, though he had +often thought of a car, he had never bought the old sewing-machine. Then +Constance felt so violently self-reproachful, at using Henri's money for +her brother's children, that she discussed it with Addie. Those +discussions about the motor had recurred regularly every year. Addie +thought that Papa was right, that it was not the initial outlay that was +so burdensome, but all the further expenses. Then again motor-cars were +being so much improved yearly that, when once Papa had caught the fever, +he would get rid of his sewing-machine yearly to buy a new and more +modern one. No, it would be a very expensive story.... And Van der +Welcke had never bought his sewing-machine, had barely, once in a way, +hired one.... Constance felt a lasting self-reproach because of it.... + +They were rich now; and yet ... what _was_ their fortune, with so many +burdens! Burdens, moreover, which were not even the natural burdens of +one's own children growing up! Burdens of Gerrit's children!... And so +she economized more and more, wearing her gowns till they became shiny, +till Addie said that Mamma was losing all her daintiness in her old age. +He had always known his mother as a well-dressed woman and now she went +about in blouses that shone like looking-glasses. He used to tease her; +there was one which he always called the looking-glass blouse. Constance +laughed gaily, said she no longer cared so much about clothes. Well off +though she now was, she spent upon her dress not half of what she used +to in the old days.... And Mathilde, who sprang from a poverty reeking +of paraffin and rancid butter, Mathilde, who would have liked to be +surrounded with luxury at every moment, Mathilde thought her +mother-in-law above all things stingy, decided that stinginess was the +outstanding feature of her character.... + + +[1] _Jonker_ is the title borne by the sons of Dutch noblemen until they +come of age, when, as a rule, they bear the same title as their father; +_freule_ is the title of all the unmarried daughters. + +[2] The governor-general's house near Batavia. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +It was six o'clock. Constance and Marietje had taken Grandmamma +upstairs, for she no longer had her meals with the rest, but went to bed +very early in the evening. And they were now in the dining-room, sitting +at the great dinner-table: a table, Constance considered, of +strangers--her brother's children--gathered round her husband, who alone +had any right to live there, in the old man's house, and to sit at his +table.... And yet it seemed quite natural that Emilie should be sitting +there, that Adeline should be sitting there with her four girls, +Marietje, Adele, Gerdy and Klaasje, and her two big boys, Alex and Guy; +it seemed quite natural that, after the soup, the parlour-maid should +set the great piece of beef in front of Guy for Guy to carve: one of the +few things that he did well, as Van der Welcke told him, without +thinking, for there was some truth in the jibe. It was the same simple +fare daily: soup, a joint, green potatoes, vegetables and a sweet, so +that Van der Welcke sometimes said: + +"But, Constance, how Dutch you have grown in your taste!" + +"Well, if there's anything you fancy, you have only to say so!" she +would answer, gently. + +And yet she was afraid that he would name something, some game or +poultry, that would be much too expensive for so large a table and such +appetites as the children's: wasn't she spending more than enough as it +was, with that good, simple homeliness and wasn't the butcher's bill +absurdly high, month after month? + +And Guy carved the beef in fine, heavy slices, falling neatly and +smoothly one on top of the other, with a dexterity which he remembered +learning when quite a small boy from his father, when he recollected +very well indeed carving the meat in the little dining-room in the +Bankastraat.... That was Guy's duty, to carve the meat neatly; and he +would have gone on carving till it all lay in neat slices on the dish, +if Constance had not warned him: + +"That ought to do, Guy." + +The boy was just handing the dish to the maid, for her to take round, +when a carriage drove into the front garden. + +"Listen!" said Constance. + +"That must be Addie!" exclaimed Gerdy, joyously. + +"It's Addie, it's Addie!" cried Klaasje. + +"Yes, it must be Addie," said Van der Welcke. + +There was a loud ring at the bell; and at the same time a key grated in +the latch. + +"It's Addie!" they now all cried, with cheerful, expectant faces, +rejoicing that he was back. + +And Gerdy, in her restless way, got up. Mathilde would have got up too, +but, finding Gerdy before her, she remained sitting. Gerdy's clear voice +rang in the hall: + +"Addie, you're back, you're back! Oh, but how cold and windy it is!" + +The maids, likewise glad, fussed about, three of them to one handbag. +Gerdy had left the door open and the draught penetrated to the +dinner-table. But Addie was now in the room; and all their radiant faces +were raised to his. They had done without him for five days.? They had +missed him for five days. + +"Good-evening, everybody!" + +He flung off his wet great-coat: Truitje[1] caught it and took it out of +the room. He gave a nod here and there, but kissed nobody and shook +hands with nobody. He looked tired; and his collar was limp with the +rain. + +"Won't you go and change first, Addie?" asked Constance, smiling with +content, because he was there. + +"No, Mamma, I'd rather not. I'm hungry. Give me a glass of wine." + +They saw at once what was the matter. He was out of humour. All their +radiant faces fell immediately; and they were silent. Guy, who was +nearest to him, poured him out a glass of wine, without a word. Addie +drank down the wine. His eyes glanced up wearily from under their +lashes; his gestures were nervous and jerky. When Addie was out of +humour, they were silent, subduing the sound of their voices and the +light in their eyes. Nobody knew what to say. And it cost Constance an +effort to ask: + +"How were things in Amsterdam?" + +"All right." + +He answered coldly, as though begging her to ask no more questions about +Amsterdam. Nobody else asked anything: he would be sure to tell what +there was to tell later. They began to talk among one another in +constrained tones. They were sorry that Addie was out of humour, but +they did not take it amiss in him. He must be tired; he had had a busy +time. Yes, he must be tired. It was not only his collar: his coat also +hung limp from his shoulders; his grey-blue eyes were dull. Oh, how +serious his eyes had become, now that he was a man of twenty-six! How +serious his forehead was, with those two wrinkles, above the nose, +which seemed to unite with the tawny eyebrows! In face and figure alike +he was older than his years, almost too old, as though bowed down with +premature cares. He stooped over his plate; and they were all struck by +his air of weary exhaustion. What was it that had overstrained him so? +He did not speak, but ate on in silence and drank rather more wine than +was his wont. Alex looked at him for a long time, with a touch of +anxious surprise. And at last, glancing, almost in alarm, at their +faces, he suddenly perceived how forced and confused they all were in +their attitudes, sitting and staring in front of them or into their +plates--even his father, even his mother--and he understood that they +sat and stared like that because he had not returned in a cheerful mood, +after his five days' absence. He had a feeling of remorse, did violence +to his fatigue and his ill-humour, steadied his nerves. He smiled--a +tired smile--at his mother; asked his wife: + +"How are the children, Mathilde?" + +It was at once evident to them all, from his tone of addressing +Mathilde, that he was making an effort and no longer wished to be out of +humour and tired. They were thankful that he was making this obvious +effort, because, with Addie gloomy, a gloom fell over all. Even Alex +seemed to breathe again. And they could none of them bear it when +Mathilde just answered, coolly: + +"All right." + +Nevertheless his endeavour succeeded. He now spoke to his father; and +Van der Welcke answered with a jest. There was a laugh at last; Gerdy +led the outburst, about nothing; the voices broke into a hum.... + +After dinner, Addie went upstairs; and, when he had changed his things, +he found Mathilde in her own sitting-room. Constant and Jetje had gone +to bed. Out of doors, the night seemed to be wilder and stormier than +ever; and the house creaked, the windows rattled. Mathilde sat staring +before her, her ears filled with the sounds of the night. Nevertheless +she heard her husband come in; but she did not move. + +"Tilly...." + +There was now an undoubted tenderness in his voice, in his deep, earnest +voice. She was certainly very fond of him, she thought, if only he did +not neglect her. She just raised her head towards him, sideways. She was +a handsome woman; and her young, healthy blood seemed to give her a +complexion of milk and roses. Her features were not delicate, but they +were pure; her eyes were gold-grey and large, clear and bright; her hair +had a natural wave in it and was almost too heavily coiled. Beneath her +black silk blouse her bust was heavy, with a low breast and a naturally +wide waist too tightly laced. She had the full, spacious form of a young +and healthy woman and lacked all the morbid distinction of finer +breeding. Her eyes seemed to stare at a vision of physical delight; her +lips seemed ready to salute that delight; the grip of her large hands +was greedy and decisive. Her foot, in its substantial shoe, was large, +too large for a woman of fashion. Nor was she that: she was rather a +woman of health. She had no delicacy of wit: she had rather common +sense; and the only morbid part of her intelligence was an irrepressible +vanity. She had no delicate taste: she wore a simple black blouse and a +black skirt, both from Brussels; and yet there was a coarse line and a +heavy fold in both. The brilliant on her finger gleamed insolently, +white and hard. It was very strange, but she saw this herself. Her +mamma-in-law had given her that brilliant during her engagement, out of +her own jewels, because she had once admired the ring on Constance's +finger, where the stone seemed to throw out sparks of fire.... + +"Tilly...." + +She smiled at him now, made him come and sit beside her. Twenty-six +years of age, a young husband and father, he looked quite ten years +older, had aged more particularly, she thought, during the three years +of his marriage. Now, however, that he had washed and changed, now that +he no longer looked tired and wet, now that he was laughing under his +fair moustache, now that his grey-blue eyes were filled with laughing +kindness, now his aging no longer struck her so much; and she knew him +again and he was hers again, in this one moment when her husband and she +were alone.... + +"Tell me," he said. "How have you been getting on ... these five days?" + +She felt a kindly affection for him; and she loved this in him. She let +her hand remain in his two hands; she allowed him to kiss her and +returned his kiss. And she answered lazily, with a movement of her +shoulders: + +"How have I been getting on? Oh, as usual!..." + +"You mean, all right?" + +"Yes, quite all right." + +"I believe, Tilly...." + +"What?" + +"That you're telling a fib. Your voice is very abrupt." + +She shrugged her shoulders and gave her little laugh, which meant that +she couldn't help it. + +"You ought to talk candidly to me for once," he said. + +"Yes," she answered; and her tone was more intimate. "We don't do that +too often." + +"I'm very busy sometimes." + +"You're always busy. Why did you have to go to Amsterdam suddenly? I +hardly know the reason." + +"It was for Alex." + +"And did you succeed?" + +"Possibly." + +"Oh, I'm not asking to know!" she said, at once, in a tone of piqued +indifference which he appeared not to notice. + +"I have been thinking things over, Tilly...." + +"Thinking things over? When?" + +"At Amsterdam." + +"I thought you were so busy!" + +"I used to think in my room, in the evenings. About you." + +"About me?" + +"Yes. Tell me, wouldn't you rather have your own house? You might feel +happier if you had a home of your own." + +She was silent. + +"Well, what do you say?" + +She shrugged her shoulders. + +"Of course I would rather have a home of my own. I told you so at once +... when we married." + +"Yes, but at that time...." + +"Well?" + +"I didn't see it so clearly ... that you would not be happy in this +house." + +"Oh ... happy? I don't know." + +"You're not happy here." + +"I would certainly rather have my own house ... at the Hague." + +"At the Hague. Very well. But, if we move to the Hague, Tilly, we shall +have to be very economical." + +"Very economical?" + +"Well, of course! I'm not making much yet." + +"And you're always busy!" + +"Yes...." + +"You have patients here, at Driebergen, and all around." + +"Yes," he said, with a laugh, "but they don't pay me." + +"No." + +"Why not?" + +He shrugged his shoulders: + +"Because they can't." + +She shrugged her shoulders also: + +"It's very noble of you, Addie.... But we have to live too." + +"Yes. But don't we live?" + +"If we moved to the Hague, though ...?" + +"We should have to be very economical." + +"You're well off." + +"I'm not well off.... Tilly, you know I'm not. Papa has a pretty +considerable fortune. But he has a good many calls...." + +"Calls!... why, you're his only son!" + +"He might give us an allowance ... until I was making more money.... But +even then we should have to be economical ... and live in a very small +house." + +She clasped her large, white hands: + +"I'm sick of economy," she said, coarsely, "sick and tired of poverty. +I've never had anything in my life but poverty, decent, genteel poverty. +I would rather be a beggar, simply; I'd rather be a poor girl in the +street than go through decent, genteel poverty again." + +"It wouldn't be so bad as all that." + +"Not so bad, perhaps, but still a small house, with one servant, and +seeing how far a pound of meat will go and watching every half-penny +that the servant spends. No, thank you, it's not good enough." + +"Then, Tilly...." + +"What then?" + +"Then I see no chance ... of moving to the Hague." + +"Well," she said in her dull tone of piqued indifference, "then let's +stay here." + +"But you're not happy here." + +"Oh, what does my happiness matter?" + +"I should like to see you happy." + +"Why, you no longer love me!" + +"I do love you, Tilly, very much." + +"No, you don't love me. How could you love me? Do you think I don't see +it? You love all of them here, all your relations: you don't love me. +You hardly love your children." + +"Tilly!" + +"No, you hardly love your own children." + +"Tilly, you've no right to speak like that. Because I'm fond of Uncle +Gerrit's children, is that any reason why I shouldn't be fond of you ... +and of Stan and little Jet?" + +She had risen, tremulously. She looked into his grave eyes, which gazed +at her long and almost sorrowfully, from under his heavily-knitted, +tawny eyebrows. She had intended to overwhelm him with reproaches; but +on the contrary she threw herself on his breast, with her arms around +his neck: + +"Tell me that you love me!" she cried, with a great sob. + +"I love you, Tilly, you know I love you." + +He kissed her. But she heard it through his voice, she felt it through +his kiss: he no longer loved her. All at once, suddenly, the certainty +of it poured a coldness as of ice into her soul. She held him away from +her for a moment, with her hand against his shoulders. She stared at +him.... He also looked at her, with his sorrowful eyes, and he spoke, +but she did not hear what.... Then she heard him say: + +"Are you coming downstairs, Tilly? They will be wondering what's become +of us!" + +"No," she said, calmly. "I have a headache and I'm going to bed." + +"Won't you come down?" + +"No." + +"Do, Tilly! Please come down with me. I shall be so glad if you will." + +"I'd rather not," she said, softly and calmly. "I really have a headache +... and I'm going to bed." + +She looked at him gravely, for one more moment, and he also looked at +her, very gravely and very sorrowfully. But their souls did not come +into contact. She kissed him first: + +"Good-night," she said, softly. + +He said nothing more, but he returned her kiss, very fondly. Then he +left the room; and she heard his steps creaking softly on the stairs. + +"Dear God," he thought, "how am I to find her! How am I to find her +again!..." + + +[1] Gertrude, Gertie. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +Addie remained in the drawing-room for only a second: + +"I'll go and keep Papa company for a bit," he said. + +And he went and looked up his father in his room, where Van der Welcke +always smoked his three or four cigarettes after dinner, alone. + +"Daddy, am I disturbing you?" + +"Disturbing me, my dear fellow? Do you imagine that you ever disturb me? +No, you never disturb me.... At least, I can count the times when you +have disturbed me." + +"But I've come to disturb you this time...." + +"Well, that's a bit of luck." + +"And have a talk with you." + +"Good. That doesn't happen often." + +Addie knitted his brows, which gave him an expression of sadness: + +"Don't be satirical, Father. How can I help it?" + +"I'm not being satirical, my dear boy. I accept the inevitable. I've +been accepting it now for five days. After dinner I would come up here +quietly and smoke my cigarettes in utter resignation. Of those five +days, two have been windy and three have been stormy. And I sat here +calmly and listened to it all." + +"And ...?" + +"And ... that's all. Life's an insipid business; and the older I grow +the more insipid I find it. I don't philosophize about it very much. I +never did, you know.... But I do sometimes think, nowadays, what a +rotten thing life is, with all its changes. At least, I should have been +glad to let it remain as it was...." + +"How, Daddy?" + +"As it used to be when you were a small boy. I have gradually come to +lose you entirely ... and I have so little, apart from you." + +"Oh, nonsense!" + +"Yes, I have gradually come to lose you entirely.... In the old days, +when you were a schoolboy ... then you belonged to me. Then came your +time at college: that took a bit of you from me. Your eighteen months in +the hospitals at Amsterdam: I never saw you. Your year, after that, in +Vienna: I never saw you. I was lucky if I got a letter now and again. +Then you came back, took your degree. And then ... then you went and got +married." + +"And we have always remained with you." + +"And every year I lost a bit more of you. You no longer belong to me. +There was a time when I used to share you with Mamma; and you remember +that I used to find that pretty hard occasionally. But now I share you +... with all the world." + +"Not with all the world, Daddy." + +"Well, with half the world then. With your wife, with Aunt Adeline and +your nine adopted children, with all your outside interests." + +"Those are my patients." + +"You have a great many of them ... for a young doctor. And...." + +"Well, Daddy?" + +"Nothing, old boy. I only wanted to give you a piece of advice; but who +am _I_ to advise _you_?" + +"Why not, Daddy?" + +"I don't count." + +"Now then!" + +"I never have counted. You used to manage me; and I just did what you +told me to." + +"Give me your advice now. Haven't we always been pals?" + +"Yes, but you were the one with the head." + +"There's not much head about me just now. Give me your advice, Daddy." + +"You won't take it from me." + +"Out with it, all the same!" + +"Well, my boy, listen to me: keep something of your life for yourself." + +"What do you mean?" + +"You're giving it all away. I don't believe it can be done. I believe a +man to stand as much in need of a healthy egoism as of bread and water." + +"I should say that I was egoist enough." + +"No, you're not. You keep nothing for yourself. You'll think it funny of +me that _I_ should talk to you like this; but, you see, the older I grow +and the more cigarettes I smoke the more I notice that...." + +"That what?" + +"That both your parents have never--considering your character--taken +your _own_ happiness into account: Mamma no more than I." + +"I don't agree with you." + +"It is so, all the same. The years which you spent as a child between +your two parents made you an altruist and made your altruism run away +with you." + +Addie smiled and gazed at his father. + +"Well? What are you looking at me for?" + +"I'm looking at you, Father ... because I'm amused to see you so utterly +wide of the mark." + +"Why?" + +"I may have had a touch of altruism in me, but of late years...." + +"What?" + +"I have thought a great deal of myself. When I got married ... I was +seeking my own happiness. I wanted to find happiness for myself in my +wife and children, for my own self ... and hang the rest!" + +"Ah, was that your idea? Well, it was a healthy idea too." + +"A healthy idea, wasn't it? So you were wide of the mark, Daddy. I +wanted a wife who belonged to me, children who belonged to me: all +forming one great happiness for myself." + +Van der Welcke wreathed himself in clouds of smoke. + +"So you see, Daddy, the advice which you gave me I followed of my own +accord." + +"Yes, old boy, I see." + +"That's so, isn't it?" + +"Yes. Well, that's all right, then." + +"I'm glad to have had a talk with you. But now I must talk not about +myself but about something else." + +"Of course. You can never talk for more than two seconds about yourself. +However, you're right, I know now; and you had already followed my +advice ... of your own accord. What else did you want to talk about?" + +"Daddy, I've been to Amsterdam." + +"For Alex. Well, is that settled ... about the Merchants' School?" + +"Yes, he can go up for his examination. But afterwards...." + +"Well?" + +"I went to Haarlem. Near Haarlem." + +"What took you there?" + +"Someone sent for me." + +"A patient?" + +"A dying man." + +"Who?" + +Suddenly, from the look in Addie's face, Van der Welcke understood. He +went very pale, rose from his chair and stared in consternation into his +son's sad eyes: + +"Addie!" he exclaimed, in a hoarse voice. "Addie, tell me what you mean! +I had no idea ... that you knew anyone near Haarlem! I didn't know ... +that you had a patient there!" + +He seemed to be trying to deceive himself with his own words, for he +already understood. And Addie knew by his father's eyes and his father's +voice that he understood; and, speaking slowly, in a gentle voice, Addie +explained, as though the name had already been mentioned between them: + +"Six days ago ... I received a letter ... written in his own hand, a +clear, firm hand.... The letter was quite short: here it is." + +He felt for his pocket-book, took out the letter and handed it to his +father. Van der Welcke read: + + "_Dear Sir_, + + "Though I have not the pleasure of your personal acquaintance, I + should consider it a great privilege if I might see you and speak + to you here at an early date. I hope that you will not refuse the + request of a very old man, whose days are drawing to an end. + + "Yours sincerely, + + "_De Staffelaer_." + +Addie rose, for his father was shaking all over; the letter was +fluttering in his fingers. + +"Daddy, pull yourself together." + +"Addie, Addie, tell me, _did_ you see him?" + +"Yes, I saw him. I was with him twice." + +"And ... and is he dying?" + +"He's dead. He died this morning." + +"He's dead?" + +"Yes, Daddy, he's dead." + +"Did you ... did you speak to him?" + +"Yes ... I spoke to him. He was very clear in his head: a clear-headed +old man, for all his ninety-two years. When I arrived, he pressed my +hand very kindly and nicely, made me sit beside his chair. He was +sitting up, in his chair. That's how he died, in his chair, passing away +very peacefully. He told me that he had wanted to see me ... because I +was the son ... of my mother.... He asked after Mamma and made me +describe how you two had lived ... at Brussels. I told him about my +childhood. I told him of my later life. He took a strange interest in +everything ... and then ... then he asked after you, how you had been, +how you were ... asked if I was attached to my parents ... asked after +my prospects ... asked after my aims in life.... I was afraid of tiring +him and tried to get up, but he put out his hand and made me sit down +again: 'Go on, go on telling me things,' he said. I told him about the +Hague, told him how we were now living at Driebergen. He knew that Uncle +Gerrit's children were here. He seemed to have heard about us.... When I +went away, he said, 'Doctor, may the old man give you something?' And he +handed me three thousand guilders: 'You must have patients, Doctor, who +can't afford things,' he said. 'You won't refuse it, will you?' I +thought it right to accept the money. It was an obvious pleasure to him +to give it me.... Next day--that was this morning, when I went again--he +was much less lucid. He just mentioned Mamma; and, when he spoke of her, +I could see that he imagined that she was still quite young. Still he +understood that I was her son.... Then he gave me his hand and said, 'I +am glad, Doctor, to have seen you.... Give my regards to your mother ... +the old man's regards ... and to your father too.' Then I went away; +and, when I called again in an hour to enquire, the butler told me ... +that he was dead...." + +Van der Welcke sat in his chair, motionless and bent, with his hands +hanging between his knees. He stared in front of him and did not speak. +The past, the times of bygone days rose tempestuously before his eyes. +It was as though that which had once existed never perished, as though +nothing could ever change in what had once begun.... Life slid on +unbrokenly.... His eyes saw Rome, an old palace, a lofty room ... +Constance fleeing down a back stair, himself standing like a thief in +the presence of the old man ... the good old man, who had been like a +father to him.... Now ... now the old man was dead.... And Addie had +been at his death-bed! And Van der Welcke's son was bringing the dying +man's message, his last message, his forgiveness!... + +Van der Welcke stared and continued to stare, motionless; and a sob +welled up in his breast. His eyes, which were like a child's with their +ever youthful glance, filled with great tears. Nevertheless, he +controlled himself, remained calm; and all that he said, quite calmly, +was: + +"Addie, does Mamma.... know?" + +"No, Daddy.... I wanted to tell you first ... and to bring you ... the +old man's message and...." + +"Yes?" + +"His forgiveness...." + +Van der Welcke's head drooped lower still; and the great tears fell to +the floor. Addie now rose and went up to his father: + +"Daddy...." + +"My boy ... my boy!" + +"The old man sent you this message: 'Tell your father ... that I forgive +him ... and tell your mother so ... too....'" + +Addie flung his arm round his father's neck; and Van der Welcke now +sobbed on his son's breast. He could restrain himself no longer. He gave +one great, loud sob, clutching hold of his own son, like a child.... Had +it not always been like that, the child the consoler of his father? The +son now his mother's consoler? + +The emotion lasted but a moment, because of the calmness of older years; +but it was a moment full as the whole soul and the whole life of a small +being. The older man felt all his soul, saw all his small life. Was +_that_ coming for him: forgiveness? Was it coming to him through his +son? Because of his son, perhaps ... mysteriously, for some mysterious +law and mystic reason?... He felt it ... as an enlightening surprise ... +though he merely said, after a pause: + +"I'm glad, Addie ... that you went. And now you must tell ... Mamma." + +"I'll tell her this very evening, Father." + +"This evening?" + +"Yes, I can't wait any longer. Those last words ... are lying like a +weight ... on my heart: I must hand them on...." + +"To Mamma also...." + +"To feel relieved...." + +"Then go to her," said Van der Welcke, very calmly. + +And he remained sitting in his chair. His fingers mechanically rolled a +fresh cigarette. But in his eyes, which had always remained young, +there was seen a faint inflexion, of surprise, as though for the first +time they had looked into the deeper life. His son kissed him, gently, +went away, closed the door. And Van der Welcke's fingers continued to +fumble with a newly-rolled cigarette. He forgot to light it. He stared +in front of him.... + +Outside the house the wind blew moaning along the walls and drew its +tapping fingers along every window, as along a vast keyboard.... + +Forgiveness, the very possibility of it, whirled before his staring +eyes.... + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +When Addie came downstairs he met Constance. A gas-jet was burning with +a small flame in the brown dusk of the oak wainscoting. She was +obviously tired: + +"I am going to my room," she said. + +"I was looking for you, Mummy." + +"Come along with me then." + +"Perhaps you're tired, perhaps you want to rest ... and sleep." + +"I can rest as well when you are with me as when I am alone. Come." + +She put out her hand, took his and drew him gently up the stairs. She +turned up the gas in her sitting-room. She changed quickly into a +tea-gown; and he thought that he would not speak to her that evening, +because she really seemed very weary.... While she was busy in her +dressing-room, he looked round him and felt the years of his boyhood. +The room was so exact a copy of the little drawing-room in the +Kerkhoflaan that the past always came back to him here. And it brought +with it the strange melancholy of all things that had been and no longer +were.... + +"Hark how it's blowing!" she said. "It reminds me...." + +"Of what, Mamma?" + +"Of an evening, more than ten years ago, at the Hague. It was after the +death of Grandmamma van der Welcke. I had returned from here, from the +room which is now Papa's bedroom. I had been to Grandmamma ... and it +was stormy weather, like to-day, and, when I got home, I was fanciful +and frightened: the wind seemed to me so gigantic and I ... I was so +small.... Then you came home ... and I was so frightened ... I crept +into your arms ... I looked into your eyes, Addie.... In those days, it +was very strange, they changed colour, they turned grey.... Now they are +sometimes quite dark-grey, but sometimes I see a gleam of blue in them. +I used to feel so sorry ... that they changed colour.... Do you +remember? It was not long before Uncle Gerrit died.... Oh, how +frightened I felt ... for days and weeks before!..." + +"And why are you thinking of those days, Mammy darling?" + +"I don't know why. Perhaps only because it's blowing.... How small our +country is by the sea!... It's always blowing, always blowing.... One +would think that everything that happens is blown to us, across the sea, +and comes down upon us, in heavy showers of rain...." + +He smiled. + +"Oh, my boy, sometimes I feel so terribly heavy-hearted, without knowing +why!..." + +"Is it the house?" + +"The house? No, no, it's not the house." + +"Don't you like the house even now?" + +"Oh, yes ... I'm pretty used to the house!" + +"Is it the wind, the rain?" + +"Perhaps both.... But haven't I known them for years?" + +"Then what is it that makes you heavy-hearted?" + +"I don't know." + +"Come here, to me...." + +"Where, my boy?" + +"On my knees, in my arms...." + +She sat down on his knees and smiled, sadly: + +"It's an age...." + +"What?" + +"Since I sat on your knee like this.... Do you remember? Do you +remember? When you were quite a boy ... and I felt frightened ... I used +to creep up to your little study and creep into your arms and look into +your blue eyes.... I never do that now." + +He clasped his arms round her: + +"Then do it again. There, you're doing it now.... My lap's bigger +now.... My eyes have changed colour...." + +"Everything, everything has changed!" + +"Has everything changed?" + +"Yes ... I've lost you!" + +"Mamma!" + +"I have lost you.... Hush, dear, it was bound to come!... Does a son +belong to his parents?... Does a son belong to his mother?... A son +belongs to everybody and everything ... but not to his parents, not to +his mother.... It is a cruel law, but it is a law...." + +"You're regretting the past ... and there was not so much peace and +quiet in the past, Mummie.... Do you remember, do you remember ... how +you used to be ... you and poor Father?... Now everything is much calmer +... everything has smoothed down so ... because life has gone on." + +"Yes, life has gone on.... I had you ... and I have lost you!...." + +She was sobbing on his shoulder. + +"Mamma!" + +"Dear, it was bound to be! Didn't I consider ... that it would be so ... +years and years ago?... When you were a little boy, I often used to +think, 'I've got him now ... but one day I shall lose him irrevocably?' +Now it has come. ... I must accept it with resignation...." + +"But am I not living with you all? Have I ever been away ... except to +college ... and sometimes on business?" + +"Dear, it's not that. It's the losing each other, the losing each other +... out of each other's souls...." + +"But it's not that." + +"That's just what it is.... And it's bound to be so, dear.... Only, +because I no longer feel any part of you in my soul, I no longer know +anything about you.... I have known nothing about you for ages.... I see +you going and coming--it's the patients, it's the children, occupying +you ... in turns--but what do I know, what do I know about you?... It +has become like that gradually ... and since ... since you got married, +it has become irrevocable." + +"Mamma...." + +"I oughtn't to talk like this, dear. I mustn't. And I should be able to +overcome this melancholy, if I knew ... that you were happy in +yourself...." + +"Why should you doubt it?" + +"I don't know. There's something about you...." + +"Mother," he said, "how strange it is that you and Father...." + +"Well?" + +"Have never really found each other! You so often think the same +things." + +"Did Papa also think ...?" + +"Just now ... almost the same as you." + +"We have learnt to bear with each other, darling." + +"But you have never found each other," he said, faintly; and his voice +broke. + +She looked at him; she understood that he too had not found his wife. +She saw it: he was not happy in himself. A sword seemed suddenly to cut +through her soul; and she was filled with self-reproach as from a well. +Was it not all her fault, that her son was not happy now?... Was it not +the result of his childhood, the result of his up-bringing?... The +melancholy that had come after the excessive earnestness of his first +youth ... was it not her fault? + +But she merely answered his words mechanically: + +"No," she said, "we have never found each other." + +He would have wished to tell her now ... about his journey, about the +old man, who had died, over there, near Haarlem. But he could not; a +feeling of discouragement prevented him. And they remained sitting +without speaking, close together, with her hand in his. After his +father, after his mother had both, so soon after each other, spoken to +him of his own happiness ... now that feeling of discouragement +prevented him, because he saw life enveloping in clouds of darkness at +his feet ... black darkness out of an abyss ... so that he did not know +whither the first steps would lead him.... Black darkness and emptiness +... because he no longer knew, no longer knew what it would be best to +say and do.... He could no longer speak now of the old man who had died +yonder, who had sent for him to tell him that he forgave the two of +them--his father, his mother--who had once injured him: he could not do +it. Whereas, at the time of his father's words, the black darkness had +only whirled in front of him, now that his mother, so strangely, was +saying the same to him ... it had suddenly become an abyss ... +pitch-dark ... because he no longer knew anything.... He no longer +possessed the instinctive knowledge by which he must tread his path, +which, while still so very young, he thought that he knew how to tread +in clear self-consciousness of a clear soul that felt its own vocation. +Oh, how often of late years had he no longer known! He no longer knew +what was right to do, because, whatever he had done of late years, the +heaviness had sunk within him, as an insufficiency, giving him that +feeling of discouragement.... He had felt that discouragement by the +bedside of his needy patients.... He had felt that discouragement in +between his cares for Uncle Gerrit's children.... He had felt that +discouragement when he was with his wife, with his own children.... + +Oh, world of feeling born just of the emptiness of self-insufficiency, +because self, alas, was never sufficient, because something was always +lacking and he did not know what!... And, when this came over him, this +night of sudden chaos, the word died on his lips, the movement on his +fingers, the deed on his will.... Oh, world of darkness, which then +suddenly spread like the expanse of clouds outside over all the clear +sky of himself!... He knew he wanted what was right; and yet the +insufficiency swelled up.... He know his powers of alleviation and +consolation; and yet it was the night without a smile ... as now, when +he sat with his hand in his mother's, with no words after their first, +save that she shuddered and said: + +"Hark ... hark how the wind is blowing!..." + +He drew her to him, until her head sank on his shoulder, and they +remained like that, in the night. + +The gale outside was like a living immensity, a vast soul raging with +world-suffering, thousand-voiced and thousand-winged, and under its +raging agony, which filled all the air above the land, the house that +contained the life of them all was small as some tiny casket.... + +And that night he was unable to tell her.... + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +Now at last, after days, he was himself again! Alone, all alone, in the +night, in his study, while everyone in the house slept, while only the +night itself was awake: the night and the immense wind tormenting itself +and struggling, raging and tearing round the house. Now at last he was +alone and himself again, after Amsterdam and after Haarlem, after the +troubles and comings and goings, the excitement--needy patients, visited +by stealth; the Merchants' School; the old man, the old man +especially!--and, tired as he was, yet he could not make up his mind for +bed. In the study which was now getting dusky-brown to his eyes in the +light of the lamp, he sat in the low leather chair; and his head wearily +drooped on to his hand. Now that he had no more need for action, waves +of indeterminate darkness surged and floated all around and within him, +bearing on their crests the mood of self-insufficiency. No one else knew +him as he now knew and felt himself: not his parents, not his wife, not +one of Uncle Gerrit's children, not one of his needy patients, who only +saw him composed and steady of nerve, a little sombre-eyed, but so +four-square and firm, so calm and confident in his knowledge, always +sure what would be good for all of them, who were ill and wretched.... +No one knew him as he was now, weighed down with such despondency in his +leather chair; and all who saw him four-square and firm, calm and +confident in his knowledge, would never have believed that he knew +nothing at all ... for himself. Oh, however much he might know for +others, with that almost mystic knowledge which healed as though by a +suggestive force deep down within himself, however much he might know +what was good for their bodies and souls, for himself he knew nothing, +least of all for his soul!... To them his young life seemed to move from +one goal to another, always certain of itself through the windings of +its course; yet that was all on the surface; and he knew nothing of +himself!... His own disease was insufficiency; and of recent years he +had felt it swelling within him fuller and fuller, eating into him +deeper and deeper.... + +He saw himself again as a child--his first recollection--between his two +parents, his father taking him from his mother's lap, his mother taking +him from his father's arms; and amid the unconsciousness of his earliest +childhood he had always felt the jarring and jealousy between them. Very +soon his blood made him speak, that calm unfevered Dutch blood; and his +unfevered Dutch nature could be seen in his serious eyes; from the first +his Dutch seriousness and steadying composure had been able to find, if +not always words, at least sounds of consoling reconciliation, of riper +tenderness for that mother, who hugged him in her arms, for that father, +whom he came to regard so soon as a bigger and older brother. And this +when he was still a little fellow. It had been like that ever since he +could remember; from the time when he was a child in the nursery, +stroking Mother's tearful eyes and bringing a laugh to Father's pouting +mouth; and, as he grew older and bigger, he remembered, it had always +been like that: he knew himself to have been their comfort.... It was +small wonder that, when still quite young, he had begun to think of the +comfort that he was and had then known for certain that he was their +comfort.... He knew it then, as child and boy--no longer in +unconsciousness but in assured, unshakable knowledge--and then it had +become his destiny. So very early it had dawned on his consciousness and +afterwards glittered before his eyes: + +"I must help them, I must be to him and to her what is dear to them and +what comforts them." + +So naturally had he taken that destiny upon his young shoulders that it +never became too heavy for him; and there had grown up with him an +inclination to comfort and alleviate those who were not quite so near to +him. Quite naturally he had spread his wing over all Uncle Gerrit's +children, to care for them, to bring them up. Quite naturally, he sought +what he could find to alleviate and comfort, whom he could cure, whom he +could care for ... and this farther still from him, not close to his +home, but in outlying villages and distant towns.... Thus had his nature +grown and thus did he act, naturally, in obedience to his nature.... But +the conflict between his parents, coming immediately, in the first, +unconscious years of childhood, had made his tender nerves tremble with +an incessant thrill, like a stringed instrument that is never silent.... +And under the calm, earnest glance, under the laugh of comfort or +composure, under the sturdy breadth of his young and manly strength, the +strings had always vibrated and never consented to betray themselves.... +They had betrayed themselves once, once only, when his very earliest +childish pain had given him a violent shock, in a despair too great to +be borne.... But immediately afterwards he had known within himself that +he must be strong to overcome the cruelties of life.... Since then the +cruelties had blown against him, like piercing winds ... without causing +the sensitive strings to vibrate visibly or audibly to others.... Oh, +did he not remember that suffering of his childish soul when he fancied +that all his childish love had been wasted, because his parents in +despite of it were going to separate, each grasping at the happiness +that had smiled to him!... no one had seen that suffering and vibration. +After the first suffering, no one had seen anything. And it was as if +the too-great sensitiveness of the ever-vibrant strings had hardened in +the robust young years of manliness; the god had stood before him so +sharply defined: yonder!... Yonder!... + +He had felt young and robust; and that too-sensitive vibration had only +developed his soul mystically, so that it should heal, wherever it +directed its magic.... It had been very strange to him; but just with +the medical studies, which should have made him a materialist, there had +developed within him a conscious mysticism, enquiring into the essence +of life, which the medical books failed to teach him. When he discussed +it with his student friends, they answered with the scoff of growing +positivism, the barren philosophy which clings to most men from their +medical studies, because they ask only for the visible manifestations of +the life which it is their business to tend and not for the invisible +source, the holy well of life, whence everything flows in a radiance +that grows gradually dim ... until the first radiance is no longer +visible.... + +So it had happened with his student friends; and theirs had become the +common materialistic doctor's career. His eyes had always been set on +the essence of life, the source of the radiant spring.... And, with his +increase in practical science and positive knowledge, the strange, +mystic certainty had increased in him, the certainty that he was able +to heal if he wished ... that he could heal through sheer force of +will.... It was not a matter for discussion, it was in him, a great +instinctive knowledge.... Oh, that glorious certainty, which had shone +out before him so early, sending its rays abroad.... Since he had felt +it, very early, so clear and certain in himself, he no longer spoke +about it; at most there was a very rare word to his mother, an +occasional word to his father; but for the rest he would not touch his +secret power with words: they were breath to dim a mirror's lustre! + +Oh, why had he not this knowledge for himself! Why, of late years, had +he sunk deeper and deeper in the vagueness of that self-insufficiency! +Why was the balance disturbed, why did he feel a consciousness of blame +welling within him! + +He now sat on wearily; and, though everyone in the house was in bed, +though the blowing wind, gigantic and plaintive, moaned up over distant +heaths and slid along the walls and windows with its sombre, swelling +howl, he could not make up his mind to go to bed, as though he knew +that, if he did, he would not sleep. And, as if to know for himself how +the discouragement could have overmastered him, he dived back into his +memories, saw himself a boy again, healthy, strong and composed, loving +his Dutch horizons and Dutch skies, with the deep, growing conviction +that he had within himself the secret power which he could pour forth to +heal all who suffered in body or in nervous soul.... He saw once more +the disappointment of his parents, especially Papa, and of Grandmamma, +because he would not enter the diplomatic service, because he wanted to +become a doctor.... But he had carried his wish, backed up by Mamma, who +seemed to understand him.... His rapid power of study, which allowed him +to attain in feverish haste the aim which he saw so close before his +eyes: matriculating out of the fifth class at school; putting in a short +time at Heidelberg before he went to Leiden: he was so very young, only +seventeen; passing his first examination in a year, his second in +eighteen months, taking three intermediate courses in the next five +years, during which period he also acquired practical experience with a +demonstrator at Vienna; and lastly taking his degree at the age of +twenty-six. His parents rejoiced when, after those nine years at the +university and abroad, he settled down with them at Driebergen, when +they had him back in their house, where, despite the presence of all +Uncle Gerrit's children, he had left a feeling of emptiness.... A short +spell of the tenderness of living with them all again; and his love for +mankind had developed so quickly, making him find his patients +inevitably among the poorest of the rural population, or sometimes in +the villages, or even at Utrecht or Amsterdam.... He never spoke about +them, maintaining an earnest silence about the things which he did, even +as he was silent about the secret force which he so certainly knew +himself to possess.... Never had he spoken to anybody over that poor +little girl, a child of twelve, the daughter of two wretched labourers, +a cripple since the age of five, whom, with the veriest trifle of +material assistance, but more particularly through his sure power of +will, he had gradually helped to raise herself from her bed of straw, +enabled to move herself about, until she could now walk on her frail and +yielding little legs.... He might have been ashamed of a cure so +incredible, for he had never talked about it, not even to his mother, +not even to his father.... + +Oh, it lasted such a short time, the tenderness of that time when he +lived with them all again, with his parents and the others!... When he +reflected upon the strange double projection of his soul, when he was +meeting the girl, who was now his wife, at the Hague: meeting her just +now and again. A strange projection one of them? Perhaps not, after all; +but, because of the stormy night wind, sombrely sending its howl over +the sombre heaths, he was not able ... to read his own thoughts +plainly.... Mathilde! The few meetings, at the Hague; then that feeling, +when he chose her, of having been irresistibly compelled; and, combined +with a vague wonder within himself, the pride also of introducing that +good-looking and healthy young woman into his family.... He was proud +that she did not belong to their class, especially on her mother's side, +because it gave her an opportunity of triumphing over their arbitrary +divisions; proud too that she was healthy, with her complexion of milk +and roses, and above all did not suffer from "nerves," that all too +common complaint among them all.... But they had not shared his pride; +and after his marriage, some hint of antagonism seemed inevitably to +arise between him and his father; his mother, too, for all the +liberalism that had come to her late in life, remained antipathetic to +this girl, whose gait and voice, whose movements and utterance all +suggested a different environment from that to which Constance was +accustomed; it was as if Aunt Adeline, Emilie, Uncle Gerrit's children, +all their big household, had been unable to receive Mathilde in their +midst without a certain supercilious mistrust.... They could none of +them understand why he had married this woman.... And he had not failed +to see how they always stirred themselves to be gentle and amiable +towards her--because, when all was said and done, she _was_ his +wife--stirred themselves especially not to let her see that they all +thought her not _quite_, really not _quite_.... Her footfall was heavy, +her voice not high-pitched enough; in everything that she did or said +they marked that sometimes infinitesimal difference which betrays a +difference of station. He had not failed to see it, but his pride had +lain low and had never allowed them to notice that he saw it, because he +thought it so small of them, so small-souled, that they could not blind +themselves to that infinitesimal difference between Mathilde and +themselves, yes, because he considered even their assiduous amiability +small-souled. They showed it her so graciously sometimes, priding +themselves, all of them, willy-nilly, upon their greater native and +acquired distinction, all thinking themselves finer and better and +higher than his wife, whom nevertheless they did not wish to wound.... +He saw this last even in his mother, in the boys, in Adeletje and in +Gerdy--though Gerdy never succeeded--and he really preferred the +undisguised aversion of little Klaasje, who clearly showed that she +could not bear Mathilde.... + +And he now saw that, in marrying this woman, who was not quite of their +class, he had wanted to display pride in particular against the +arbitrariness of those whom he called his people--his parents, his +family--he had wanted to show that there was no longer any distinction +of class, especially no distinction in those minor shades of class. If +they were going to think about distinctions, she had the distinction of +health ... while his own people were all sick, in body and soul, not, it +might be, suffering severely, but all affected or tainted with those +"nerves" of their time.... Perhaps his pride had just contained a desire +to place his wife, Mathilde, before them as an example: + +"Look here now, here's a woman who is healthy and simple." + +For that was how he looked upon her soul and body. Because he looked +upon her thus, he had felt for her the love that had driven him towards +her, his soul taking that direction of positivism and materialism which, +after his student days, had at that moment mastered the mysticism of his +soul.... For he had known then, those moments in which he--tired of his +text-books or hardened in the operating-room--had felt the mysticism +within him temporarily fading; and it was especially during those +intervals of materialism that the young doctor had experienced +Mathilde's attraction, the attraction of a healthy, pink-and-white woman +who would give him healthy children. At such moments he saw the world, +all mankind, renewed by careful selection; the vigorous life-force of +the future bursting into luxuriant rose-blossoms which would overwhelm +the sickly lilies of these days of "nerves...." When, afterwards, the +secret forces spoke more loudly within him, then he would suddenly feel +himself far removed from his wife, as though he had lost her; and +especially in his dark, vague self-insufficiency he lost her entirely, +feeling himself nerveless and without power even to return her kisses +with any warmth, while his voice in speaking to her remained dull and +his grey glance cold, whatever he said and however hard he tried to +force himself back into his healthy, positive love for the healthy +mother of his two children.... + +Then he would feel guilty towards her. And the inner conviction of his +guilt increased. Was it her fault that he had been able only to give her +one half of his soul, that he had it in his power to love her only with +the positive half of his nature--however sincere it might be--while he +gave her nothing of what worked and moved in him more profoundly and +gloriously, the true web and woof of himself? Was it her fault and was +he really entitled to take her, if he could not give her more than half +of himself, while all that was higher--and he well knew what was higher +in him--escaped her and always would escape her?... But often in his +black insufficiency, even as now in his weary nocturnal mood, his +consciousness of guilt, though it pained him, became suddenly too dreamy +and unreal; and he now comforted himself tranquilly: + +"She is a simple woman. She has never thought of other than simple and +uncomplicated things, has never lived among them; and she will never +miss this, all that I do not give her, she will never know the lack of +it, because she is simple, because she is simple: a healthy, normal +mother, the handsome, healthy mother of my two dear children...." + +Then again, tired and undecided to go to bed, he was pricked by his +consciousness of guilt, he thought of her unhappy in the house that was +dear to him, and he knew that he was incapable to-day--and so often, so +often!--of giving her that love, that positive half, that one half of +himself.... Sinking and sinking in his self-insufficiency, he now +listened to the wind howling round the house, the storm that had lasted +for days, and he seemed to hear voices that came moaning up over the +wide heath, as though the wind were alive, as though the storm were a +soul, as though it concealed weeping souls, complaining souls, and were +their one manifestation: souls blowing up again and again, souls which +now, in the night, tapped with soul-fingers at the trembling panes.... +Round about this house, in which his grand-parents had lived so long and +in such loneliness, until now life had come to fill all the empty rooms, +it suddenly seemed to him as though he heard something of their voices, +moaning plaintively through the storm ... accusing him first and then +pitying him: the old man's voice, the old woman's voice. But what they +moaned he did not understand in the ever shriller howl upon howl that +floated despairingly along the swishing trees ... until suddenly the +window, fastened only by the latch, blew open with a fierce tug, the +Venetian shutter flapped to and slung open again, banging against the +wall of the house.... The wind entered and with one breath blew out the +lamp. The room now dark, the night luridly visible outside, the window +so desperately pulled open took on new outlines.... Adriaan, groping, +knocking against the chairs, moved towards the window, seized the +flapping, banging shutter, closed it, closed the window, firmly this +time, turning the old latch that was stiff with rust. + +The rain poured in torrents; the wind moaned and sobbed with sorrowfully +entreating voices and tapped its fingers against the trembling panes. + +That night he did not sleep, tired as he was. And he kept thinking: + +"Am I at fault?" + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +The old lady was sitting silently at the window--in the grey morning, +which seemed spent and weary with the wind out of doors--and her +thoughts were following a far course of their own in misty days of long +ago. Klaasje came up to her. The child had two heavy books under her +arm, bound volumes of _The Graphic_ and _L'Illustration_, and walked +bent under them; then she dropped them, clumsily.... Cross with the +weight of the books, she beat them angrily, but the hard boards hurt her +little hand; and so she decided to drag them to Granny, the naughty +books which refused to come: she dragged them by the open bindings which +had hurt her so; she tore them a bit, but that was their own fault, +because they wouldn't be carried.... Satisfied with her revenge in +tearing the books, she closed the bindings contentedly; the books lay at +Granny's feet, against her foot-warmer; and now Klaasje dragged up a +hassock too, pushed it against Granny's dress and, kneeling on the +hassock, asked Granny, in a motherly fashion: + +"Granny!... Granny!... Granny like to look at pictures?" + +The old woman, with a vague, misty glance, slowly turned her head +towards the child, whose fair hair fell loosely round the rather thin, +sharp little face, from which the over-bright eyes shone strangely, hard +and staring. The voice--"Granny look at pictures?"--rang strangely kind, +but too childish for a big girl of twelve, with a maturing figure. It +was too maternal towards the old woman: + +"Granny!... Granny like to look at pictures?" + +The old woman, vaguely, fancied herself at Buitenzorg, in a large white +palace among mountains, which stood out against a blue sky, and +coco-trees, which waved gently like ostrich-feathers; and she thought +that her little daughter Gertrude was kneeling by her and wanting to +look at the books with her. Her old mouth wore a little puckered smile; +and she put out her hands for the book, which Klaasje held up clumsily. +But the old woman was too weak to pull the heavy book on to her lap and +it slipped obstinately down her dress to the floor, against the +foot-warmer. Klaasje grew angry: + +"Naughty books, naughty books!..." + +She flew into a temper and struck the books again; but her little hand +was hurt and she suddenly began to cry. + +"Ssh!... Ssh!..." said Granny, soothingly. + +She bent painfully in her big chair and laboriously pulled up the heavy, +obstinate book; and Klaasje, with her eyes still wet, pushed up from +below, till at last it lay in Grandmamma's lap. Then Klaasje sighed, +after the final victory: + +"Turn over," she said. + +She turned over the heavy, clumsy binding and said: + +"Klaasje will explain...." + +But the black pictures, the dark portraits held no story for her; and, +pointing her finger at the picture or the portrait, she could not make +one up, could not find her tongue: + +"Turn over, turn over," she repeated. + +She was longing for colours, yellow, blue and red; but the pictures +contained black, all black stripes and black patches, and she thought +them ugly. + +"Turn over, turn over, turn over," she kept repeating, excitedly +yearning for them to become yellow, blue and red. + +The old woman, with her puckered smile, patiently turned over the +pictures. For her too they held no story, because they were black and +sombre; and she was already seeing colours for herself, the dead-white +and deep-blue, the bright, lacquered green of houses, sky and trees in +Java. Here, under the sombre oppression of the skies, here, in the +sombre pictures, the old woman and the child found nothing to charm +them. + +Then Klaasje became very angry and dragged the heavy book from Granny's +lap and beat it, heedless of the pain, and scolded: + +"Ugly books ... ugly, black books!" + +"Ssh!... Ssh!" said the old woman soothingly, laying her veined hand on +the girl's fair head. + +"Build a tower!" said Klaasje, with a gurgle of laughter suddenly +beholding a beautiful vision. + +She sprang up quickly. On a table in a corner of the room she found a +box of dominoes. She brought the box, beaming with delight, but the +smooth lid slid out of the box and the dominoes rattled on the floor. +Klaasje stamped her foot, but the beautiful vision still shone before +her and hurriedly and passionately she scrabbled them into her little +pinafore. Then she brought them to Granny, like a harvest, like so much +booty, and rattled them down at her feet. With a great effort she again +pushed one of the heavy books on to Granny's lap; and the old woman +helped her, pulling while Klaasje pushed. + +"Build tower!" cried the child. + +Granny held the book, held it straight, while Klaasje placed two, +three, four pieces on their narrow edges. Upon these she went on +building the rickety black-and-white tower. + +"A door and two windows," the child explained, lost in her game. + +But the tower fell in with a crash. + +"Granny mustn't move!" she whimpered. + +Balancing the heavy book on Granny's knees, she went on building, +hurriedly, so as to get very high. + +"Granny mustn't move again.... Tower ... with a wall round it.... Higher +... the tower ... one more stone on the wall ... one more stone on the +wall...." + +But the wall and the tower came down with a crash. + +"Naughty Granny!... Naughty Granny!" + +"Ssh!" said the old woman, soothingly. + +Addie had entered; and the child, dropping the book and the dominoes, +crowed with delight and ran up to him. She called him uncle, not +realizing that he was her cousin: + +"Uncle Addie!" she cooed. + +He opened his arms wide, lifted her a few inches from the floor: + +"Look in Uncle Addie's pockets," he said. + +"What have you got? What have you got?" + +She fumbled in his pockets. + +"No, that's Uncle's pocket-book.... No, that's his watch.... Here, look, +what's this?" + +He now helped her find the little parcel. She tugged hurriedly at the +paper and string; and he opened the parcel for her. It was a little +kaleidoscope. + +"Look through it...." + +"Lovely!" said the child, gleefully. "Lovely ... blue, red, yellow!..." + +"Now shake it...." + +She shook the kaleidoscope: the colours, from a square, changed their +figure into a star. + +"Green, blue, red!" the child cried. + +"Now shake again...." + +"Blue and yellow." + +"There, what do you say to that?" + +"Lovely!... Lovely!..." + +She sat down on the floor, suddenly quiet and good, peered and shook the +little cylinder, peered and shook it again. In the gaudy star she +suddenly beheld a paradise: + +"Green, yellow, blue." + +Addie relieved Grandmamma of the book, put it down and began to arrange +the dominoes in the box. + +"It's been blowing," said the old woman, pointing through the window. +"There are great branches lying in the garden." + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +Then Adeline came in, looking for Addie. He was so tired yesterday that +she had not cared to ask him the result of his visit to Amsterdam, but +now, while he was still playing with Klaasje, she glanced at him with +questioning eyes. She was still a young woman, no more than forty, for +she had married Gerrit early and then borne him a child every year; but, +despite her gentle, round, fair face, she was no longer young in +appearance. Her lines had become matronly; and, especially after the +great sorrow, after her husband's suicide, which had plunged her and the +children into perpetual shadow like an indelible twilight, she had +become so spiritless in all her simple energies that she came like a +child to Constance or Addie about anything that concerned any one of +them: mostly to Addie, whom she had taken to regarding as her inevitable +protector. She looked up at him with respectful confidence; she always +did literally what he told her to; it was he who controlled their whole +little fortune, investing it as profitably as possible for the children; +notwithstanding his youth, she turned to him in all that concerned her +boys; and the boys themselves accepted it, inevitably, that their +cousin, who was only six or seven years older than they, should look +after their interests with paternal earnestness. But Adeline was well +aware that Addie was very angry that Alex had had to leave Alkmaar. At +first, things had gone fairly well in the secondary school at the Hague; +after the third form--he was seventeen by this time--he had just +succeeded in passing his matriculation; but, when he took two years +over his first examination and failed in the second, Addie himself had +considered that Alex had better look out for something different, +however much his mother, with her mind full of Gerrit, would have liked +to see her eldest son an officer.... + +By this time, he was nearly twenty; and it was so late for him to go to +the Merchants' School at Amsterdam that Addie had decided first to +obtain all the details for himself and therefore had gone to Amsterdam, +to see the head-master.... That was why, this morning, Adeline came to +talk to Addie, a little nervously, rather frightened of what he might +say, because he had been exceedingly dissatisfied about Alex, +discouraged, not knowing what to do with him next.... He would like to +have a talk with Alex, he said; and Adeline, sad about her son and +rather frightened of Addie, went to fetch Alex and brought him back with +her. He was tall, slender, pale, fair-haired: he did not look strong, +although he had resembled his father, especially as a child; every year +his features seemed to become more and more fixed and his face became +like a spectral mask of pallor, with the look in the eyes a little shy +under the lashes, as with a timorous, bashful and at the same time deep +inner concealment of invisible, silent things.... Now that his mother +had come to fetch him from the room where he sat reading, he came in +with her, evidently nervous about the coming talk with Addie. But Addie +said: + +"I ought really to be going out, Aunt.... Alex, can you go with me part +of the way? Then we can talk things over as we walk. The roads are too +wet for cycling." + +Addie's eyes and voice set Adeline's mind at ease, as though he were +telling her that it would be all right at the Merchants' School.... + +The cousins left the house together. The trees dripped with water; and +the swift and angry wind chased the great clouds farther in one +direction; but the sky remained grey and lowering. The far-stretching, +straight country-roads vanished at last in a melancholy drab mist; and +the two young men at first walked along without a word. + +"Well, I went and enquired for you yesterday," said Addie, at last. "You +can go in for your exam, Alex ... and you can go on working there for +some time yet.... I hope things will go better this time, old chap.... +You're nearly twenty now.... If they don't...." + +He made a vague gesture; and Alex took his arm: + +"It's awfully good of you, Addie, to take so much trouble about me. I +too hope ... that things will go right ... this time...." + +"Mamma would have liked to see you in the army." + +"Still, I'm really not cut out for a soldier.... It's a pity I didn't +think of it before I went to Alkmaar.... But, when I was there I felt it +at once: there's nothing of the soldier about me." + +"And in that way years were lost.... Well, I do hope that now, when +you're at the Merchants' School, you won't suddenly discover ... that +you're not cut out for a business-man ... that you're not fit for +'trade.'.... You can become a consul, you know." + +"Yes ... perhaps...." + +"It's a pity, Alex, that you don't know things for certain in your own +mind ... that you have no settled ideas...." + +"Yes ... that's just it!..." + +"But you must become something, mustn't you? You have no money, you +fellows; and, even if you had ... a man must be something ... in order +to do any or get any happiness out of life ... for himself and those +about him...." + +"Yes, Addie...." + +"Promise me now, old chap, to do your best.... You see, I'm playing the +father to all of you, even though I'm only six years older than you are. +I feel a sort of father to you ... and I should like to see you all +happy ... and prosperous.... But you must help me, Alex. Show a little +energy. If you hadn't thrown up the sponge at once at Alkmaar, you'd +almost have had your commission by now...." + +"Yes...." + +"Like your father. Mamma would have liked that. But we won't talk about +it any more and we'll hope that things will go better at Amsterdam...." + +"Addie ... do you remember Papa well?" + +"Of course I do." + +"So do I.... I was eight years old, when he died.... I even +remember...." + +"What?" + +"That evening ... though I didn't understand at the time ... why Mamma +cried and screamed like that ... or why Aunt Constance and Uncle Henri +were there.... It was not until later, oh, years later, that I +understood!... But I saw.... I _saw_ Papa lying ... with blood all round +him; and that's a thing which always ... always ... hovers before my +eyes. _I'm always seeing it, Addie_!... Tell me, Addie, do you know why +Papa did it?... There was nothing, surely, to make him so unhappy as all +that?" + +"He was very ill." + +"He thought himself incurable." + +"Still, he was strong?" + +"Physically." + +"He was like Guy, wasn't he?" + +"Yes, Guy is very like him, to look at.... He was tall, broad, +fair-haired...." + +"Yes, that's how I remember him. I was eight years old then." + +"You were a jolly little tribe." + +"And now we're nothing but a burden ... to you...." + +"Nonsense, it's not as bad as that!" + +"I hope things'll go better ... Addie ... at Amsterdam...." + +"Why aren't you more talkative, Alex?... You haven't been for a long +time." + +"Haven't I?" + +"You never talk, at home ... to the others. Only once in a way to me ... +when we are alone. It was after Alkmaar that you became so silent. It +wasn't surely because I was angry at the time?" + +"Perhaps, partly...." + +"Well?" + +"I daren't tell you." + +"Tell me, Alex, if there is anything I can do for you." + +"You do so much as it is, Addie.... You do everything." + +"But speak quite openly. Perhaps there is something more that I can do +for you." + +"No, what could there be?" + +"Something's upsetting you." + +"No...." + +"You're unhappy." + +"No...." + +"You're so reserved." + +"I ... never talk much." + +"Try and trust me, Alex." + +"I do trust you." + +"Well, then, talk to me." + +"But I ... I've nothing to tell you, Addie." + +"I know, Alex, that you must have something to tell me...." + +"No...." + +"I know it, Alex." + +"No, Addie, really.... I've nothing to tell you...." + +The lad tried to release his arm from Addie's, but Addie held him tight: + +"Walk a bit more with me." + +"Where are you going?" + +"I have a couple of patients to see.... Take me there, Alex ... and +speak, speak openly...." + +"I can't speak." + +"Then try and find your words. I'll help you." + +"Not to-day ... not to-day, Addie, out here, in the roads.... Perhaps +another time ... indoors." + +"Very well, then, another time, indoors. I'll keep you to your word. And +now let's talk of nothing but the Merchants' School...." + +And, with Alex still hanging on his arm, he told him about the +head-master, the staff, the lessons there ... making a point of holding +out hopes to Alex that everything would go easily and smoothly. Did +Addie not know, did he not diagnose that the boy was so terribly afraid +of life, of the days to come, because a twilight had always continued to +press down upon him, the twilight of his father's suicide?... It had +given the child a fit of shuddering in so far as he had realized it at +the time; and things had suddenly grown dark, about his child-soul; and, +when the power of thought had developed in him later, there had always +remained the fear in that darkness, because the unconscious life went on +daily ... and because his father--why, why?--had torn himself out of the +unconscious life and committed suicide.... That--though Alex had not +spoken--was how Addie diagnosed him, that was how he really diagnosed +his state, with that strange look of penetration, with that strange +vision.... And, when he looked into another in this way, he no longer +thought of himself, his self-insufficiency fell away from him and he +seemed to know on the other's behalf, to know surely and positively, to +know with instinctive knowledge ... as he never knew things for +himself.... + +While they walked on, arm in arm, he thought that the boy's heavy step +was becoming more rhythmical and even, that his answers--now that they +went on talking about Amsterdam and the master in whose house he would +be--were becoming firmer, as though he were taking greater interest.... +There was no note of doubt in Addie's voice: his voice made the two +years' schooling at Amsterdam, the whole subsequent life as a busy, +hard-working man, stand out clear in the mist that hung under the trees +and over the roads, made it all take on bright colours as a life +spreading open, with unclouded horizons of human destiny, as though all +the unconscious life would run easily along ordered lines.... He himself +had never known that fear of the days to come, because he had seen his +goal before him in the future. Yet why, then, that morbid sense of +insufficiency?... + +He refused to think of it; and at once it passed from him like a ghost. +Even after his sleepless night, he now felt the energy circulating +strongly within him, felt the magic pouring out of him as vital warmth. +He must make that boy by his side realize the life before him, he must +take away his fear of the future. An unknown force inside him ordained +that he should make the future shine with hope and promise for this boy, +ordained that he should purge the days to come of their sombre terror. + +And, when he had taken leave of Alex, because he did not wish him to +know where his patients lived, the lad went back easier in his mind, +with his fears pressing less heavily upon him, with the sullen sky +growing gradually brighter ... however much he might have to think +always of his father, however much he had to see his father's +blood-stained corpse daily more and more clearly before his eyes.... + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +The household took its everyday course of a morning: the everyday life, +driven indoors by the merciless winter, the grey skies and blustering +wind, rolled on softly and evenly in the rooms and passages of the big +house. Not much came from outside, where the great trees in the garden +dripped with chill rain; nothing to stir the big house, which stood +there like a great lonely block on the villa-road, amid the sombre +mystery of its wind-blown trees. For the occupants of the big, gloomy +house had made as few acquaintances as possible among their neighbours, +though in the spring and summer Gerdy would take her racket daily to the +tennis-club.... In the winter, it was a quiet life indoors, varied only +by a walk, or a visit to a sick or poor neighbour, a quiet life between +the walls of the big rooms, with the wind tapping at the +window-panes.... + +The old grandmother sat mostly in the conservatory and looked out into +the garden, sagely nodding her silver-grey head. She no longer +recognized all the children and as a rule thought herself back at +Buitenzorg, in the midst of her own family; even when Klaasje sat +playing at her feet, she would think that it was little Gertrude, +Gertrude who had died, as a child, at Buitenzorg.... Constance, a +zealous housewife, active despite her fifty-five years, moved about the +house incessantly during the morning, with Marietje or Adeletje to help +her. Twenty-two and twenty-one respectively, they were always with +Constance: Marietje already full of unselfish consideration and +Adeletje delicate, not speaking much, sitting with her needlework +upstairs in their room; and, because of Alex' strange melancholy, it was +only Guy and Gerdy that represented joyous, healthy youth in the house, +that rich health and radiance which reminded Constance of their father, +of her brother Gerrit, who had been so noisy, broad and strong until he +fell ill, too ill to go on living.... + +Klaasje was very troublesome in the mornings, very restless, full of +freaks and cranks, always bothering the others to play with her or at +least to make a fuss over her; and Constance was so sorry that Klaasje +could not be upstairs in the nursery with Jetje and Constant, but +Mathilde would not have her there. And the poor, innocent child, twelve +years old by now, was jealous of Constant and Jetje and hated Mathilde, +as though, unconsciously, she felt in the children a childishness that +was natural and as though she knew that, after all, she herself was much +too big to play about like that and build houses with cards and +dominoes.... + +Above the great sombre house, against the great sombre skies and inside +the house itself there was always a strange melancholy of things that +had been.... It floated through the passages and creaked in the +furniture; it could be felt in the old grandmother's sitting at the +conservatory-window, in the pale, unchangingly sad face of Adeline, who +was so helpless; it appeared in the silent sorrow of Emilie, who was +spiritless and never spoke much these days. In the sombre house they sat +or moved in an atmosphere of bygone things which mingled with the +atmosphere of the house itself, as though they were small, pale souls, +broken by life and sheltering in the safe house, now that the winter +seemed endless and the heavy clouds were so oppressive.... A cloud of +recollection hung over the old woman, as she sat silently staring, as +she played with Klaasje, who would never grow up; a last reflexion of +sombre tragedy lingered around the simple mother of so many children, as +though her husband's suicide still struck her with tragic wonder that +life could strike so suddenly and fiercely and cruelly; it was as though +a strange psychological secret slumbered in the sad eyes of Emilie, who +was still a young woman; a secret which she would never speak.... + +Sombre was the house and sombre the everlasting wind that blew around +it; full of strange voices, of things of long ago; and they did not +brighten the house, those three sad, silent women, so different in age, +so sombre in their equal melancholy. They did not brighten the morning +which they spent there together, in the house on the long, rain-swept +road; and it was Constance herself, followed quietly by Marietje or +Adeletje, who woke the house, stairs and passages to life with her +active footfall and the shrill rattle of her keys.... The sound of a +piano came harshly from Mathilde's sitting-room upstairs; and it had +only to be heard to make the other piano in the drawing-room downstairs +cry out in pain under Gerdy's furious little fingers, until Constance +was startled at so much noise and hurriedly whispered to Marietje: + +"Do tell Gerdy not to play when Mathilde is playing upstairs!..." + +Marietje would then rush to the drawing-room and rebuke Gerdy; and, +because it was Aunt Constance' request, Gerdy's piano suddenly fell +silenced, leaving Mathilde's runs and flourishes to triumph overhead. + +The children drove out daily with their nurse in the governess-court, +whatever the weather: it was Addie's principle and they throve on it; +and their youthfulness, stammering its first words, was like a bright, +rosy dawn of the future, as they went along the sombre stairs and dark +passages and rooms, casting a sudden golden radiance in that atmosphere +of the past, as though they were suddenly powdering through the brown of +the shadows, as though they were sprinkling the sound of children's +voices through the brown air, which had not caught a childish sound for +so many years.... + +When Addie was out, visiting his patients, Van der Welcke remained in +his room, reading and smoking, Uncle Jupiter, as Gerdy called him, +because he usually sat enveloped in the blue clouds of his cigarette; +and Guy did a little work, for his examination as a clerk in the postal +service, except when he went to Utrecht, where he was receiving private +tuition in geography. But when he was working at home, in his little +room, up on the third floor, his young, healthy restlessness constantly +made him get up and run downstairs, to borrow an atlas of Van der +Welcke, hang round Uncle Henri for a bit, smoke a cigarette with him, +then go back upstairs. He would look at his books and maps for three +minutes and then jump up again, stretch himself, take up his dumb-bells, +feeling stiff from the long sitting, and go downstairs once more. + +Constance met him in the hall: + +"Aren't you working, Guy?" + +"Yes, I am, Auntie. Where are you off to?" + +"To the store-cupboard." + +He went with her and Marietje to the store-cupboard, conducted a raid +among the almonds and raisins, talked a lot of nonsense and made +Constance laugh, until she said: + +"Come on, Guy ... run along upstairs." + +But, because Adeletje looked after the flowers in the conservatory and +he saw her carrying a watering-can, he assisted her and even sponged the +leaves of an aralia, while Klaasje played at Grandmamma's feet, building +houses with cards, which she loved for the shrill colours of the +court-cards, and aces[1] and for the pretty figures of hearts and +diamonds, clubs and spades. He built a house for her; he teased Gerdy, +who was back at her piano, now that Mathilde had left off overhead, +until Truitje came to lay the table for lunch and he raced up three +flights of stairs, terrified, to work at all costs ... hang it all, yes, +to work!... He sat with his hands to his ears, so as not to hear, and +his eyes fixed on the maps; and, when the luncheon-bell rang, he +deliberately waited a few minutes, pretended to himself to be annoyed +because a morning passed so quickly and never came down to lunch less +than five minutes late, making the excuse that he had been working so +hard.... + +Now, in the winter, the short days passed in peaceful, sombre +domesticity: in the afternoon, Constance went for a walk or to see a +poor person, generally with Adeletje; paying or receiving a visit was +quite an event, which happened only three or four times during the +winter; only Gerdy sometimes entertained her tennis-club and gave the +members tea, upstairs in the girls' sitting-room, as though striving for +a little sociability from the outside.... And, in the yellow circle of +light shed by the lamps, the evening drowsed on gently after dinner, +with the wind whistling round the house, with Gerdy's bustle amid the +chink of her tea-things, with Guy and Adeletje rattling the dice: + +"Two and five...." + +"Double six.... Once more.... Imperial.... Once more.... Three and +five...." + +And Mathilde sat with a book in her hands, her eyes expressing a weight +of silent boredom, while the room seemed full of things of the past, and +the voice of the wind outside and the mourning women--Granny, Adeline, +Emilie--like three generations of dreaming melancholy depressed her +until Addie came in, for a brief hour, before going upstairs again to +his reading.... + + +[1] The aces in Dutch packs of cards are set in brightly-coloured +pictures, usually town-views. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +It was raining on the morning when Adolphine alighted at +Zeist-Driebergen and hurried to the tram which was on the point of +leaving. She looked very weary and lean, with bitter lines round her +thin, spiteful lips and a reproach in her sharp eyes; and suddenly she +reflected that she was sorry that she had not put on a better cloak. + +"Conductor, will you stop at Baron van der Welcke's villa, please?" + +"We don't pass the villa, ma'am, but it's quite close to the road." + +"Then will you tell me where to get out?" + +The conductor promised; and Adolphine suddenly became very uncertain of +herself. All those years, all the years that Constance had been living +at Driebergen, she had never been once to look them up: really out of +anger, because they had stolen Mamma, because Mamma had gone to live +with them. In all those years, she had never seen her mother, had seen +Constance only once and again, at Baarn, after Bertha's death; at the +Hague, casually, exchanging a few words with her when they met, by +accident, at Aunt Lot's; and Addie also she had seen but very seldom. +She was sorry for it now, it looked so strange, to arrive like this, all +of a sudden; and then she had not announced her coming, because she +disliked writing the letter.... If only Constance wasn't out, or away, +or perhaps gone to Utrecht or Amsterdam for a day's shopping ... which +was possible.... She was coming quite like a stranger; and her heart +was thumping; and she was almost sorry now that she had taken this step. +There were plenty of other doctors besides Addie, who was still such an +inexperienced boy, and yet ... and yet ... In her unstrung condition, +the tears came to her eyes and she felt overcome with her sorrow, with +all the bitterness of the last few melancholy years. It was all very sad +at home: Van Saetzema, retired on a pension and now ailing ... with +cancer in the stomach; the boys--Jaap in the Indian Civil, Chris in the +army, Piet a midshipman--never writing home, now that they no longer +needed the paternal house; Caroline soured by not marrying; and the +youngest, Marietje, so weak lately, so queer, that Adolphine did not +know what to do with her! Added to all this, because, notwithstanding +her economy, they had lived on too lavish a scale in her striving after +Hague grandeur, they had run into debt and were now living in a small +house, really vegetating, without seeing a spark of grandeur gleaming +before their eyes. It was all over, there was nothing left for them: it +was all loneliness and dying off ... relations and friends; there was no +family circle left at the Hague and it seemed as though such +family-circle as had survived was now united--how strange!--in Van der +Welcke and Constance' house at Driebergen.... Adolphine had long +cherished a wonderful jealousy at this, as though, after Van Naghel's +death and Bertha's, it ought to be her house which the family, however +greatly dispersed, would look upon as the family-house.... It was not +that she was hospitable by nature, but her vanity was injured; and to +satisfy this she would not have objected even to taking Mamma to live +with her, however doting and tiresome Mamma might have become. But there +had never been any question of that. No, Mamma had at once gone to +Constance; and Adolphine could feel, by the way in which Paul, Dorine, +the Ruyvenaers and even Karel and Cateau spoke, that they all, with +varying degrees of affection, looked upon Van der Welcke's house at +Driebergen as still remaining the family-centre! A nice state of +affairs! Adolphine was angry now, because she never succeeded in +anything, because she never _had_ succeeded.... And now she had actually +set out for Driebergen, with the very object of asking those two, +Constance and Van der Welcke, to do her a favour, though she refused as +yet to picture it so clearly as such.... + +She was very nervous when the conductor, at a halt, told her to get +down, showed her a road, pointed to a house distantly visible between +the bare, dripping trees. The great block loomed massive-grey through +the black boughs; the outline of the long, straight roof stood out harsh +and unwelcoming against the grey winter sky. It was only the fancy of +overstrung nerves; but in the windows of the front, with their +reflecting panes and blinds half down, Adolphine seemed to feel reserve, +repellence, pride, grudge, refusal.... It all shot very quickly through +her, made her hesitate to go on ... and yet, now that she had come so +far, now that she was approaching the gate of the front-garden, she +realized that it was too late, that she must go on, round the beds with +the straw-wrapped roses; and she rang at the great gloomy front-door. +She rang shyly, too softly; the bell did not sound; and she stood +waiting under her dripping umbrella. Her heart was beating as she pulled +a second time, rather harder, in spite of herself.... Truitje now opened +the door and she recognized her as the maid, the same maid, for whom +Constance had rung, years and years ago, in the Kerkhoflaan, to show +her the door, after their last private interview. She was surprised to +see the girl, looking older, but still recognizable; and, because her +thoughts were carried back to so many years ago, the sight gave her such +a sense of hesitation that she could hardly speak, especially as +Truitje, equally surprised, was also staring her in the eyes. Adolphine +felt that she was going to stammer, now that she had to open her lips; +but there was no way out of it; the question must be put: + +"Is ... is me-mevrouw ... is mevrouw at home?" + +"Yes, ma'am ... mevrouw's at home." + +Adolphine had entered trembling; and the maid closed the door behind her +and took her wet umbrella from her. Standing on the mat, she saw the +long hall before her, with the brown doors, the antique cabinet, the +portraits and engravings. It gave her the impression of a very sober and +serious Dutch house, but an impression, too, of reserve, repellence, +pride, grudge and refusal.... And, with her eyes anxiously fixed on the +open oak door at the end of the hall, she stammered once more almost +imploringly, with an irresolution in her voice which she could not +overcome: + +"I'm not ... I'm not disturbing her?" + +"Not at all, ma'am: pray come in." + +Then the door of the drawing-room opened and Constance herself stood +before her: + +"Adolphine!" + +There was surprise in her voice, if not gladness: surprise at finding +Adolphine there, Adolphine whom she had never seen at Driebergen, whom +she had never seen lately, for the matter of that, except once or twice, +casually, at the Hague or Baarn ... when poor Bertha had died. + +"Adolphine!" + +"I've come to see how you are getting on, Constance ... you and ... and +Mamma...." + +Adolphine's voice wavered, jerkily, beseechingly, uncertain of itself; +and it was so strange for Constance to see Adolphine, to hear her +uttering such words, in so hesitating a voice, that she was put out for +a moment and could not frame a phrase of welcome, could not even make a +show of cordiality. But she saw that the door at the end of the hall +stood ajar; and she said to Truitje, almost angrily: + +"Truitje, why is that door open again? You know I want it shut." + +"It opens sometimes with the draught, ma'am," replied the maid. + +Truitje closed the door and went back to the kitchen; and the two +sisters were left alone. + +"Come in, Adolphine." + +"I'm not disturbing you?" + +"Of course not. I'm glad to see you again." + +She forced a note of geniality into her voice. + +"We haven't met for years," said Adolphine, in hesitating excuse. + +"Not for ever so long. I go to the Hague so seldom. Here's Mamma." + +The old woman was in the conservatory, gazing out of the window. + +"Mamma!" said Adolphine, with emotion. "Mamma!" + +She went nearer: + +"Good-morning, Mamma...." + +The old woman looked at her vacantly: + +"It's windy," she said. "The garden is full of big branches...." + +"Mamma," said Constance, "here's Adolphine come to see you." + +The old woman did not recognize her daughter. She looked at Adolphine +vacantly and indifferently. Then she said: + +"It's not right for Gertrude to run about in the garden when it's so +windy.... There are big branches falling from the trees." + +"No, Mamma, I'll go and fetch her in." + +"Gertrude?" asked Adolphine. + +"She means our poor Klaasje," whispered Constance. + +"But doesn't Mamma know me?" + +"Not ... just now. She'll recognize you presently.... Mamma, don't you +know Phine?" + +"Phine?" repeated the old lady. + +"Adolphine, Mamma. Look, she's come to give you a kiss." + +"She's dead," said the old woman ... + +"Mamma! Adolphine _dead_? Look, she's _here_!" + +The old lady shook her head: + +"She's dead," she said, unshakably. "She died ... years ago." + +Adolphine turned her head away and began to sob. + +"She'll recognize you presently," said Constance, gently, consoling her. +"She's sure to know you presently. Adolphine, I'm so glad to see you." + +But Adolphine was sobbing violently: "Mamma doesn't ... _know me!"_ + +"My dear, she hasn't seen you for so long. I know she'll recognize you +later on.... You're staying to lunch, of course...." + +"I ... should like to.... Constance, I've come to...." + +"Yes?" + +"To ask something.... But presently, not now ... I'm too much upset...." + +"Let me help you off with your things." + +"I'm dreadfully wet ... it's raining so...." + +"You've chosen a bad day." + +"I didn't want to wait any longer." + +"Tell me, what is it, what can I do for you?" + +"I can't tell you yet." + +Gerdy peeped round the open door: + +"Is that Aunt Adolphine?" + +"Yes," said Constance. + +Marietje and Adeletje followed: + +"Is that ... Aunt Adolphine?" + +They came in and shook hands. + +"Is Klaasje out in the garden?" asked Constance. + +"I saw her running about just now." + +"You have a busy household ... Constance," said Adolphine, waveringly. + +"Yes," said Constance, smiling, "and yet I should miss them if they +weren't there. All my daughters ... and my boys." + +The girls stood round her: Gerdy, looking very handsome; Adeletje, weak +and pale; and Marietje, tall, lank and plain. + +"And then you've got ... Emilie ... and Adeline," said Adolphine, +counting them shyly. + +"Yes," said Constance. "We all keep together now.... Children, Aunt +Adolphine's staying to lunch." + +Something in her words seemed to ask the girls to leave her alone with +Adolphine. In the conservatory, the old woman sat gazing up at the +clouds, which came sailing along big and grey, and she heard nothing, +paid no attention. + +"Adolphine," said Constance, when they were alone once more, "we have a +moment before lunch. Come upstairs to my room, then we sha'n't be +disturbed." + +She put out her hand. Adolphine took it; and Constance led her sister +almost mechanically through the passages and up the stairs. + +"It's a gloomy house," said Adolphine, with a shiver at the sight of the +oak doors. + +"Yes, it is rather gloomy.... Fortunately, it's large; there's plenty of +space." + +"Really?" asked Adolphine, growing interested. "Have you many rooms?" + +"Oh, a great many!... When the old man was alive, they were all empty. +Now they are nearly all full." + +"Nearly all?" + +"Very nearly.... This is my own sitting-room." + +They went in. + +"It's the furniture from your drawing-room at the Hague," said +Adolphine. + +"Yes. I can imagine myself at the Hague here." + +"Do you like the Hague?" + +"I'd rather live there than here. But Henri and Addie are attached to +the house: it's their family house." + +"They are fine, big rooms," said Adolphine, in humble praise. "I'm +living in a _very_ small house now." + +"Ah, but there are so few of you!" + +"That's true." + +"How's your husband?" + +"He's not very grand ... Marietje neither." + +"Isn't she well?" + +"No. She's very full of nerves. I consulted Dr. Berens, to ease my +mind." + +"What does he say?" + +"He ... he suggested that...." + +"That what, Adolphine?" + +"He said ... that Addie was beginning to make such a name ... as a +nerve-specialist. He advised me to go to Addie ... and talk to him +about Marietje. Perhaps one day, when he comes to the Hague, he might +see Marietje.... Do you think he could be persuaded to, Constance?" + +"Certainly, Adolphine. Of course he will, gladly." + +"I hear such good accounts of him ... as a doctor." + +"Yes, he is getting a very big practice." + +"And making a lot of money...." + +"Well, not so very much, I believe." + +"Ah, perhaps he's right, as a young doctor, to be reasonable in his +charges!... You see, Constance, that ... that's really why I came down." + +"You were quite right, Adolphine. Addie will be home presently and then +you can talk to him yourself.... Poor Marietje: I'm sorry she's so ill. +How old is she now?" + +"Twenty-six." + +"I remember: she's a year younger than Addie." + +"Who would have thought, Constance, that you would come and live here +... with Mamma ... and Adeline ... and the children?... But Mamma always +liked you best. _I_ should have been glad to have Mamma with me ... but +it's better as it is; our house is so tiny.... Does Addie come to the +Hague often? Would he be able to treat Marietje regularly?" + +"He would go specially." + +"He hypnotizes, doesn't he?" + +"Very often, I believe." + +"Do you like that?" + +"Addie often gets very remarkable results." + +"I don't very much fancy it. I shouldn't like him to hypnotize Marietje. +But, if it's essential...." + +The gong sounded. + +"Is that for lunch?" + +"Yes. Will you come?" + +Van der Welcke and Addie were downstairs. They had just come in, but had +heard from the girls that Aunt Adolphine was there; and Van der Welcke +welcomed her conventionally. Oh, what fights they had had in the old +days! But so many years had passed since those bygone times; and what +did a pressure of the hand and a kind word cost? He had acquired a +certain genial earnestness in his big house, filled with his wife's +family. He would have missed them, all those big children ... even +though Guy and Gerdy were the only cheerful ones.... But those two were +the sunshine of the house; and the others still clung to him with +sympathy: their gratitude created a sympathetic atmosphere round Uncle +Henri.... + +At the long luncheon-table, Marietje cut the bread-and-butter. Granny +did not sit at the table; and Mathilde came down very late. No one had +told her that Aunt Adolphine was there and she stood amazed in the +doorway before bringing herself to offer a non-committal greeting. She +was aloof in her manner, thought Adolphine, middle-class, put on airs as +she sat down. It was striking how her personality failed to blend with +that of the others, as though she remained a stranger among them. In the +grey winter morning, hovering sullenly along the dark walls of the +dining-room, she was a fresh, handsome woman; her full face was the +colour of milk and roses; her lines swelled with health. Gerdy, beside +her, was nothing more than a pretty little smiling thing; Marietje and +Adeletje were very plain: Marietje so lank and yellow; Adeletje looking +quite old with her sickly face. Klaasje was very tiresome, ate uncouthly +and sat beside Constance, who kept on gently reproving her and cut up +her bread-and-butter for her as though she were a baby. Guy carved the +cold beef. All of them were silently wondering what Aunt Adolphine had +come down for and their conversation sounded constrained; but Van der +Welcke talked nonsense calmly with Guy and Gerdy. Adolphine, to keep the +pot boiling, talked about the Hague: Uncle and Aunt Ruyvenaer and the +girls had returned to India ever so long ago and were not coming back to +Holland, now that Uncle and Aunt were older and preferred to live in +Java; Louise was living with Otto and Frances; Frances always had +something or other the matter with her; and Louise looked after the +house and Hugo and Ottelientje, who were now thirteen and fourteen. Then +there were Karel and Cateau, Ernst, Dorine, Paul.... + +"We don't see much of one another nowadays," said Adolphine, sadly. "Ah, +Mamma's Sunday evenings! They were very pleasant, say what you like. We +didn't always agree, perhaps, but still...." + +She started, became confused, pecked awkwardly at her food. She felt +that the illusion of an united family--Mamma's great illusion in the old +days--was quite dispelled; and, older, more melancholy and still bitter +as she was, she felt sad about it, sad about something which possibly +she had never valued but which she now missed. And she could not help +feeling acute envy that Constance was living in so big a house and +harbouring so many relations; and suddenly she asked, sharply: + +"Your house is rather damp, isn't it, Van der Welcke?" + +"Well, it's mostly on the ground-floor," said Van der Welcke, +good-humouredly. "And we've had a lot of rain." + +"One's feet get so chilly." + +"Guy, give Auntie a footstool." + +Guy fetched a stool; Adolphine let him push it under her feet. + +"There are so many trees round the house," she said. "_That's_ what +makes it gloomy and chilly. You should have them thinned out.... It must +be very lonely, living here." + +"Don't you see the others regularly?" asked Constance, trying to change +the subject. + +"No. Karel and Cateau pay me a visit now and again. It's not much of a +pleasure to anyone: it's never more than a visit!" said Adolphine, +criticizing her brother and sister-in-law and forgetting that, in the +old days, she herself never honoured Constance and Van der Welcke with +more than a "visit." And she went on, "Paul one never sees; nor Dorine; +and Ernst ... you know he has not been very well lately?" + +Constance gave a start: + +"No, I didn't know. I saw him only three weeks ago.... I wish he would +come and live here, at Driebergen, say in a nice, bright room at a good +boarding-house. I really think the country life would do him good and he +probably feels rather lonely at the Hague.... But he wouldn't do it.... +He's been living all these years in the same room and seems so much +attached to that room that he simply can't leave it ... and yet he is +never satisfied with the landlady and her brother. That brother is his +constant bugbear.... And yet I thought that he was living quietly +enough.... Is he still always calm, however self-absorbed he may be? You +say he hasn't been well lately?" + +"Well, he's not as bad as he was--how long ago is it?--ten or eleven +years ago." + +"Eleven years." + +"He's not like that. But he looks very queer at times ... and...." + +"I'll go to the Hague to-morrow and look him up," said Constance, with +decision. + +"My dear!" said Adolphine, in an aggrieved tone. "I assure you that he's +nothing out of the way. Besides, _we_ are there ... if anything should +happen." + +"He's living by himself too much. I've thought it for a long time. And I +reproach myself...." + +"I've seen Uncle Ernst once or twice lately, Mamma," said Addie, to calm +her. "He was just as usual; no worse. I pressed him then to come and +live at Driebergen. He refused ... but he was quite calm about it." + +"He has _not_ been calm the last few days," said Adolphine. + +"I shall go to the Hague to-morrow," Constance repeated, tremulously. + +"Would you like me to go?" asked Addie. + +"Really, Constance," Adolphine resumed, in a superior tone of mock +moderation, "you needn't get into such a fluster. If there should be +anything wrong ... we're there ... and Karel ... and Dorine and Paul. +You can leave Ernst to us quite safely. It's just as though we didn't +count!" + +"It's not that, Adolphine ... but...." + +"But what?" + +"You don't trouble about him ... and I feel remorseful that I myself, +lately.... But I am very busy ... and...." + +"Busy?" echoed Adolphine, in amazement. "Here, at Driebergen?" + +The atmosphere of the room was filled with a sudden tremor of nerves +becoming too highly strung; the girls looked anxiously at Aunt +Constance. She felt, she realized that she was losing control of herself +and made an effort to keep calm. But her eyes and lips trembled. She +saw, however, the concern overcasting the features of all of +them--except Mathilde--and she now mastered herself entirely, though the +tremor remained, very deep down within her. + +"Yes," she replied, in a gentler voice, "we are really rather busy here +... all sorts of things, you know. Of course, Adolphine, it is +comforting to feel that you are all there ... at the Hague ... in case +anything should happen to Ernst." + +The tension was relaxed, the luncheon ended quietly; only Adolphine +said: + +"Is this home-made jelly?... Why do you have it made so sweet, +Constance?" + +In her secret heart she thought the sweet jelly delicious. + +"Aunt Adolphine wants to talk to you, Addie," said Constance, when the +meal was over. + +Adolphine now felt very humble. Yes, she would like to talk to Addie; +and she went out with him alone. + +"She's come about Marietje," said Constance, when Adolphine and Addie +had left the room. + +"But why didn't she write," asked Van der Welcke, "instead of coming +down?" + +Suddenly the sound of Adolphine's sobbing reached their ears from the +next room. + +"Is Marietje really bad, Auntie?" asked the girls. + +And they sat expectantly. The voices of Adolphine and Addie sounded one +against the other from behind the folding-doors. They listened in spite +of themselves. + +"She must certainly change her present environment," said Addie. + +Adolphine sobbed: + +"That's what our doctor said ... and ... and Dr. Berens of the +hospital," she hiccoughed through her tears. + +Constance did not want to listen any more; but, though she had +controlled herself just now, her nerves were still on edge. Pretending +that she was waiting for Adolphine, she went through the drawing-room +and sat down beside the old lady in the conservatory. + +"Yes, yes," mumbled Mrs. van Lowe. "If it goes on raining like this ... +we shall have floods again ... just as we did last year." + +Before her staring eyes she saw the tropical floods of Java. + +Half an hour later, Adolphine and Addie came to look for Constance. +Adolphine was suffering under the influence of great emotion, with red +eyes which she kept on wiping. Constance went up to her: + +"Adolphine, dear," she said, "you must have confidence in Addie." + +Motherly pride mingled with the pity in her voice. + +"I have, Constance," said Adolphine. "Only...." + +"Only what?" + +"What am I to do with the child? Change of environment, our doctor said. +So did Dr. Berens, of the hospital. And yet we're very nice to her.... +Why this change of environment? And where's she to go to?... I haven't +the money to ... to take her to the country for any length of time.... +In this season too ... in the autumn!... What ... what am I to do with +the child?" + +"I was thinking...." said Addie. + +He looked at his mother. + +"Well?" + +"If you and Papa approved ... I could observe and treat her best +_here_." + +Constance suddenly stiffened. + +"I don't know, Addie," she said. "I don't know that Papa would agree to +that." + +How tactless it was of him to say this in Adolphine's presence! She +regretted that she had not told Adolphine, before lunch, in her +sitting-room, that the house was full, quite full. But he continued, +quietly: + +"I should like to ask Papa. Marietje could have Guy's room and Guy the +little room next to it." + +"That's too small for Guy. You must remember, he's got work to do." + +He was conscious of the reluctance in her words. Nevertheless he said: + +"Guy could do his work in my study. I am never there in the mornings." + +"No, no," said Adolphine, joining in. "No, Addie, it wouldn't do. Your +mother's busy enough as it is...." + +"It's not that I'm so busy," said Constance, "but...." + +"Well, Mamma?" + +"Our weekly books, you know...." + +He had never known his mother so hard or so cruel. And he now said: + +"Of course, Mamma, if you think it can't be done ... I'll see what I can +do for Aunt Adolphine ... somewhere in the neighbourhood. Perhaps +Marietje could go and live in a family at Zeist." + +"Do you think you know some one there?" asked Adolphine, mournfully. + +But suddenly Constance felt very yielding. She became so yielding +because Addie had said this; all her hardness and cruelty melted away in +remorse at her last words; and she said: + +"Addie ... go upstairs and ... and ask Papa...." + +Adolphine looked up with wonder in her red eyes. She was struck that +Constance was altering so suddenly in tone, from reluctance to assent; +and she was also struck that Constance did not apparently wish to decide +and that she was leaving the decision to Van der Welcke. + +Addie went upstairs at once. The sisters remained silent and alone; the +old lady was sitting in the conservatory. + +"Oh, Constance!" said Adolphine. "_Do_ you think that Van der Welcke +...?" She did not complete her question, but went on, "Yes, I suppose +your weekly books are very expensive?" + +"They _are_ heavy," said Constance. "You understand it's...." + +"What?" + +"It's my husband's money ... spent on _my_ relations." + +"But Gerrit's children have something." + +Constance shrugged her shoulders: + +"You know exactly how much they have. A couple of thousand guilders +apiece." + +"Well, that's something." + +"We keep it for them ... and don't touch it." + +"Really?" said Adolphine, in surprise. "But then there's Mamma." + +"Mamma?" + +"Yes, you have her money too," said Adolphine, looking Constance in the +eyes. + +Constance returned the look: "My dear Adolphine," she said, gently, "as +Mamma is not fit to attend to her affairs, her money is in the hands of +our solicitor at the Hague; and he controls it for her." + +"And the income ...?" + +"It's invested. We get none of Mamma's money. Surely you knew that?" + +"No, I didn't." + +"The books can be seen at the solicitor's by any of the brothers and +sisters." + +"Why do you do that?" + +"Because we don't want to touch Mamma's money." + +"But why not? She's living with you!" + +"We want to avoid unpleasantness with any of the brothers or sisters." + +"But which of us would create any unpleasantness?" asked Adolphine, very +humbly. + +"By _our_ way ... there's no question of any unpleasantness." + +"Yes," said Adolphine. "Still, I thought...." + +"That we received all the interest on Mamma's money?" + +"Yes. The money's lying there quite useless." + +"There will be all the more for her grandchildren later on." + +"Yes," said Adolphine, greatly surprised, remembering her long +conversations during those many years with Saetzema, Karel and Cateau +... because Van der Welcke and Constance at Driebergen were quietly +taking Mamma's money for themselves. "I wonder the solicitor never told +us!" + +"I thought you knew all about it." + +"No," said Adolphine, humbly, and did not add that the solicitor had +once told Karel, but that they had all refused to believe it. "So Mamma +... is really living at your expense!" + +Constance smiled: + +"Her needs are so small ... poor Mamma!" + +"But you keep a special maid for her?" + +"Yes, that's the only thing." + +"Still, it makes everything dearer, in food ... and taxes."[1] + +"Yes," said Constance, calmly. + +She heard Van der Welcke and Addie come down the stairs; they entered +the room. And it was strange to see the father and son together: Van der +Welcke with his irrepressibly young, bright face and his boyish eyes, +though his hair was turning grey and he was becoming a little stout from +his sedentary life; and Addie beside him, with his serious directness of +mind, like a very elderly young man, his grey eyes filled with thought +and care. + +"Addie tells me Marietje's not at all well," said Van der Welcke, by way +of preamble. + +Adolphine gave a great sob that shook her whole body; she nodded and +began to cry. + +"Well," said Van der Welcke, who was always moved by tears, "if Addie +would like to have her here ... to keep her under better observation, +you know ... let her come, Adolphine, by all means. We'll find a bed for +her somewhere. It's the family hospital, after all!..." + +And, when Adolphine began to sob violently, he added, with a little pat +on the shoulder: + +"Come, cheer up and hope for the best.... Addie's sure to make her all +right again." + + +[1] There is a tax on all servants in Holland. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +Ernst was still living in his rooms in the Nieuwe Uitleg, surrounded by +his collections, surrounded by his hobbies. A man of fifty now, he led a +silent, solitary life amid his books, his china, his curiosities; and +the landlady looked after him and cooked his meals, because he paid +well, paid too much indeed. He saw little of the family because the +others really lived as secluded as he did, Paul in his rooms, Dorine at +her boarding-house, though she was never satisfied and was constantly +changing her boarding-house; and no family-tie drew him to Van +Saetzema's house or Karel's. In this way a separation and estrangement +had grown up among all of them; the bond between them had perished, now +that Mamma was no longer at the Hague to gather them all around her on +Sunday evenings in her big house in the Alexander Straat; and Constance, +of late years, had often pressed him to come and live at Driebergen. But +he obstinately refused; and yet, on the rare occasions when he saw her +at the Hague, he would take her hand and sit knee to knee with her, +unbosoming himself of all his stored-up discontent with the rooms, the +meals, the landlady, that brother of hers: the brother especially, whom +he could never stand, the vulgar bounder, as he called him. Constance +then felt him to be an aging, always lonely man, who never uttered his +thoughts and who, because of this continual silence, bottled up within +himself the thousands of words which he now poured forth to her all in +one torrent with a timid look, as if he were afraid that the landlady +and her brother were standing behind the door, listening. When +Constance, at such times, tried to persuade him to move to Driebergen, +he shook his head obstinately, as though some part of him had grown fast +to that room of his, as though he could not tear himself out of it; and +his eyes would glance at his books and his china, as though to say that +it was impossible to remove all that. And, because he was calm and no +trouble and quiet in his behaviour, she let him alone, because this was +what he preferred: to live within himself, among his hobbies, solitary, +shy and eccentric. Five years ago, it was true, he had been ill again, +had talked to himself for days on end, had wandered about in the Wood. +Paul wrote to Constance and she had come over; but Ernst had soon grown +quiet again, afraid no doubt that he would have to go back to Nunspeet, +afraid of a change of residence, afraid of keepers, of nurses, of the +things which he had never been able to forgive any of them, not even +Constance. That was years ago, five years ago; and lately Constance and +Addie too had never seen Ernst other than calm and peaceful, though a +good deal of strange and silent brooding seemed to lurk behind the +silent cunning of his dark, staring eyes. But then, months and months +would again pass without their seeing him, without their hearing of him; +they were all accustomed to his strangeness; and the months would drag +past without the threatened crisis coming. No, nothing came, even though +the man was strange, though he did talk to himself, though he was full +of bottled-up grievances; and, when they saw him again after a lapse of +months, they were struck by a certain artistic method in his rooms with +their beautiful warm colouring, struck by some new arrangement of the +furniture, by some new purchase; and he, as though conscious that he was +on trial, would talk almost normally, terrified lest they should drag +him from his rooms, to which he was attached even though the landlady +and her brother always stood spying behind the door.... + +Constance, feeling suddenly upset and filled with self-reproach at +neglecting Ernst, went to the Hague with Addie the day after Adolphine's +visit; and the two of them arrived unexpected in the Nieuwe Uitleg. + +"Meneer is out," said the landlady. + +"In this rain?" asked Constance. + +"Yes, ma'am, he went out early this morning." + +"How has he been lately?" + +"Pretty well, ma'am. As usual. Meneer is always odd, you know, but he is +not troublesome. He is fairly well." + +"Not like ...?" + +"Some years ago? No, ma'am. Meneer has been talking to himself rather +more of late, but that's all. Will you wait for him?" + +"Yes." + +"He is sure to be back by twelve o'clock or so. He is very regular in +his habits. Won't you come upstairs?" + +Constance and Addie went upstairs and waited in Ernst's room. + +"Poor fellow, poor fellow!" said Constance, with emotion. + +She did not know what was the matter with her, but she felt full of +self-reproach. Oh, were they not leaving him too much alone, sunk in his +solitude? How she wished that she could coax him to go back with her to +Driebergen and to live there, not far from them, in a little villa, with +some people who were in the habit of looking after invalids! Oh, not in +their own house, not in their own house! She would never have dared +suggest that to Van der Welcke; nor had Addie ever proposed it. No, not +at home, not at home, but somewhere near, so that she could see him at +any moment and not worry herself with the idea of his suddenly having a +nervous breakdown with no one by him to take his piteous soul-sickness +to heart. + +And, as she sat thinking, she looked around her and was struck by the +manner in which the eerie lines of the old porcelain and new pottery +curved against the sombre hangings and furniture. It was very strange, +stranger than she had ever noticed. The setting enhanced the eeriness of +it all. As the years passed, the vases had become more and more of a +disease, blossoming in eerie lines and glowing glaze like some vicious +orchid, high against the walls, rising to the ceiling, in a riot of +exotic forms, like a vegetation reaching up, stretching up, stretching +up necks and hands with the necks and handles of the vases, as though +trying to rise higher and higher beyond the grasp of profane mortals. + +"Why does Ernst put his vases so high up?" Constance wondered, as she +looked round the room. + +Suddenly he entered. The landlady below must have told him that his +sister and his nephew, the young doctor, were upstairs, for the movement +with which he turned the door-handle was abrupt, his glance as he stood +and looked from the one to the other was laden with suspicion and his +voice trembled violently as he asked: + +"What are you here for?" + +He stood before them an old, trembling man. His neglected clothes hung +in old, slack folds about his angular limbs; his hair already almost +entirely grey, hung long and lank around his lean, trembling features +and dark, staring eyes, which looked with a martyred glance from the one +to the other. And yet, however neglected and soul-sick this trembling +man might be, who looked an old, old man though he was not more than +fifty, a gleam of intelligence shone deep down in his suspicious glance; +and his long, lean fingers were those of an artist: impotent to paint or +model, in lime, colour, wood or sound, the fluttering, ever-present +dream of a beauty only just divined. + +They both strove to reassure him, said that they happened to be at the +Hague and so had come to look him up; and, after the first shock, he +really did not strike them as strange or more ill than usual. Suddenly +even a ray of sympathy seemed to shoot through him and he sat down +between them, took their hands and delivered himself of his complaint: + +"Hush! They're always listening behind the door, the brutes!" he +whispered, timidly. "The landlady and her brother! I can't call my soul +my own; they're always spying.... When I'm undressing, when I go to bed, +when I have my meals ... they're always spying. I can hear them +grinning.... They're standing there now, to hear if we're talking about +them.... And, when I open the door, they're gone in a moment ... so +quickly, just like ghosts.... The other day, he lay under my bed all +night. I'm getting used to it, I no longer mind.... But, properly +speaking, I can't call my soul my own. Any one with less steady nerves +than mine simply could not stand it, could never stand it...." + +"But, Ernst, why don't you move?" + +He knew the question well, he recognized the motive. He gave a kind and +condescending little smile, because they did not know, because they were +so coarse of fibre. + +"I can't very well move," he said. "You see ... I have everything here +... everything here...." + +His glance and his gestures became very vague, as though he did not wish +to say more. And Addie saw how it was: Uncle Ernst still believed, had +always, all those years, believed in the souls that swarmed around him, +the souls that had been conjured like spirits out of books, curiosities +and old vases. But he never spoke of the souls now, because he +remembered only too well how stupid and wicked his people had been in +the old days. After that attack twelve years ago, he had gone on +believing in these brain-and soul-phantoms of his, but he had learnt to +keep silent about them, to talk as the stupid people talked. Or by +preference he did not talk at all.... But this very silence had caused +his mistrust to develop into a mania that he was being persecuted, a +mania that made him constantly look round, timidly.... He would open the +door, look into the passage.... And Constance knew that, in the street, +he was for ever looking round, attracting the attention of the +passers-by with this frightened, suspicious trick of his. + +Addie saw it: Ernst believed in the souls which lay crowding around him, +which linked themselves with chains to his soul, which he dragged with +him through the mud of the streets and the wretchedness of life, the +souls that thronged in agony around him, until they weighed down his +chest and stifled him so that he longed to run half-naked into the +street to cool himself in rain and air, to gulp down the wind. And very +deeply bedded in the sick soul Addie saw hypersensitiveness hiding as an +adorable tenderness which, instead of turning to a disease, might have +developed into the profoundest qualities of sympathetic feeling, not +only to feel, but also to know and understand, because of the slumbering +spark of intelligence, because of the knowledge so eagerly gleaned.... +And now these were wasted gifts, morbid qualities, now it was all +useless and sick and had become more sick and more useless as the sick +years of shadow drearily dragged on their misty-melancholy introspection +and increasing distrustfulness. It was all, all lost. And, in his pity +at this fatal waste, at this tenderness which had soured almost into +madness and was devoted to shadows while the poor world stood in such +real need of tenderness and feeling, Addie remembered how once, years +ago, he had felt conscious of a longing with a single word to cure the +sick man: but which, which word? It was as though he knew that one word +to be hovering in the air around him, while he was still too young and +ignorant to catch it as he might have caught a butterfly with his hat! +And now, now he knew for certain--after all those years of +misty-melancholy introspection and increasing distrustfulness--that it +was too late and that the man could not recover and that he would die as +he had lived in the almost proud hallucination which brought around him +for protection the numberless oppressed, persecuted and martyred souls, +suffocating him in the cloud of their frail tortured and complaining +bodies. And it was not only the souls: the living who sought him out +were also included in his proud illusion; they also needed his support, +because he alone was strong and all of them were weak. + +It was too late for a cure; but still Addie longed, though he knew for +certain that no cure could ever take place, to free that lost and +impaired quality of noble feeling from everything that could shock or +offend the silent, suffering man; and he swore to himself to get Uncle +Ernst out of the Hague, out of these rooms, where he was taking root and +at the same time being tortured. He happened that day to feel very +restful, very calm, even though, deep down in the subsoil of his soul, +black self-insufficiency lowered as usual. He would not know what to do +for himself; for this sick man he did know what to do! For himself, he +groped around in a dark labyrinth; for the man of stricken brain and +soul he knew it all suddenly, with a bright ray of clearest perception, +knew with a sacred, instinctive knowledge! And yet there was not a touch +of joy, not a touch of ecstasy or fervour in his sombre, melancholy +glance, in his deep, sombre voice, when, with his customary earnestness +of words and manner, he said to his mother: + +"Mamma, you must leave me alone with Uncle Ernst." + +She looked at him. And, despite his quietness, his earnestness, his calm +and sombreness, she knew her son too well not to feel, suddenly, that he +knew. + +"Very well," she said, "you stay with Uncle Ernst. I'll go round to Aunt +Adolphine and see Marietje. When and where shall I see you? This +evening, at the hotel?" + +He shook his head: + +"No," he said. "You had better go back by yourself to Driebergen, with +Marietje. As for me...." + +He paused, as though reflecting, passed his hand across his forehead: + +"As for me, you'll see me to-morrow," he said, "or the next day...." + +"At Driebergen? At home?" + +"Yes." + +"And ... your uncle?" + +He made a sign with his eyelids; and she understood him, partly, and +asked no more. She took leave of Ernst and moved to go; but Ernst kept +her for a moment at the door: + +"Constance...." + +"What is it, Ernst?" + +"If there's anything ... that I can do for you, you'll tell me, won't +you? Tell me frankly.... It's very difficult for me, I know ... to look +after all of you ... but, if I don't, nobody else will.... So tell me +plainly if I can help you in any way...." + +"There's nothing at the moment, Ernst...." + +"But later on?..." + +"Perhaps." + +"Then I shall be very glad to help. You must ask me straight out." + +"I will." + +"Look here ... you must be careful...." + +"Of what?" + +"Of the brother.... The fellow's a scoundrel. Take care, don't speak too +loud: he's standing behind the door. You see, he can't reach so high." + +"What do you mean?" + +"He can't reach up to my poor vases. He would have to take the steps ... +and he won't do that in a hurry." + +"What used he to do to the vases, Ernst?" + +"Take them in his hands." + +"I dare say he admired them." + +"No, he used to break them ... on purpose. He ... he...." + +"What, Ernst?" + +"He used to throttle them. Hush! He used to wring their necks with his +vile fingers." + +Then he realized at length that he was saying too much and he gave a +loud, kindly laugh: + +"You don't believe that he used to throttle them. Well, at any rate, +they're safer up there." + +"At least, he can't break them." + +"No. What's the matter with Addie? He's not looking well." + +"Nothing. He's staying on to talk to you." + +"Is there anything I can do for him?" + +"Perhaps there is, Ernst. Have a talk with him." + +"You people are a heavy burden on me...." + +"I must go now, dear." + +She kissed him good-bye. + +"Be careful," he whispered. + +Suddenly, he swung open the door: + +"There!" he cried, triumphantly. "Did you see? The scoundrel slips away +so quickly. Just like a ghost. No, more like a devil." + +She gave a last glance at Addie; her eyelids flickered at him and she +went away. Ernst closed the door very carefully. + +"He simply can't go on living by himself," thought Constance, as she +hurried to the Van Saetzemas'. + +It was a very small house in a side-street at Duinoord; and she found +Van Saetzema sick and ailing in a stuffy little sitting-room; she saw +Caroline, too, bitter-eyed and bitter-mouthed, generally embittered by +her dull existence as spinster of nearly thirty, with no prospect of +marrying. Meanwhile, Adolphine kept her sister waiting. She had +obviously run upstairs to put on a clean tea-gown. At the back of the +little house, under the grey sky, which sent down a false, morning light +through the heavy rain-clouds, the atmosphere seemed full of bitterness +... bitterness because they were ill and poor and disappointed; and all +this dreariness was scantily and narrowly housed between the father, +mother and daughter, in the little room where they kept getting in one +another's way. A melancholy born of pity welled up in Constance; and +she tried to talk cheerfully, while Van Saetzema coughed and complained, +Caroline, bitter-mouthed and bitter-eyed, sat silent and Adolphine +suddenly, with no attempt at preamble, observed to Constance: + +"It's splendid air here, at Duinoord.... And the house is +extraordinarily convenient...." + +But her boasting voice choked as she completed her sentence more humbly: + +"For the four of us." + +"And where is Marietje?" asked Constance. + +"Upstairs. She likes being upstairs, in her own little room...." + +"How is she to-day?" + +"Just the same." + +"May I see her?" + +Adolphine rose with some hesitation. But she took Constance upstairs and +opened a door: + +"Marietje, here's Aunt Constance." + +The girl rose from her chair in the grey light of the little room. She +was tall and pale and, in that light, seemed suddenly to blossom up like +a lily of sorrow, with the white head drooping at the neck, a little on +one side. The very fair hair hung limply about the temples. It was +heavy--her only attraction--and was wrung into a heavy knot which she +wore low at her neck. The movements of her long arms, of her long, thin +hands betrayed a listless, lingering anaemia; and her blouse hung in +folds over her flat bosom. She was twenty-six, but looked younger; her +lacklustre eyes were innocent of all passion, as though she were +incapable of ever becoming a woman, as though her senses were dying away +like some fading lily on its bending stalk. + +"Good-morning, Auntie." + +The little room was grey and white as a nun's cell, with the cloistered +simplicity of a hermitage. + +"I'm so glad to see you, Marietje." + +"Auntie, Mamma said that you and Uncle...." + +"Yes, Marietje, we'll be glad to have you with us. Mamma has told you, +hasn't she?... Then Addie can...." + +"It's very kind of you, Auntie. But ... but I would rather not come." + +"What do you mean, dear?" + +"I would rather stay here.... There's not much about me to cure; and I'm +not anxious to be cured. And in your house...." + +"Well?" + +"I should be so gloomy. I am never bright or cheerful, you know. And I +hardly ever come downstairs." + +Adolphine's eyes filled with tears. + +"It's true," she said, softly. "She lives up here." + +"You would be cheerful enough with us, Marietje." + +"No, Auntie, I should feel uncomfortable with you ... because I am not +cheerful. I should depress you all." + +"We are not so easily depressed. And the chief thing is that Addie could +treat you regularly." + +Marietje gave a pale smile. + +"Why won't you go, dear?" asked Adolphine. + +The girl retained her pale smile. She seemed to be wrestling with a +temptation that opened up soft and peaceful visions in her pale life as +a constant invalid; but she did not wish to yield. + +"Come," said Constance, "you had much better, really." + +Suddenly Marietje felt herself grow very weak. She saw death, saw the +end so very close before her eyes; and the soft, peaceful visions would +never be more than a very brief hallucination, which after all she might +as well accept. And, because she suddenly felt as though in a dream, +she had no strength to resist the gently persuasive voices of her mother +and her aunt, which were luring and luring her, like voices from very +far away, voices which she seemed to hear through the haze of vague and +enticing distance. Yet her own wan voice did not reveal what she felt, +as she continued feebly objecting: + +"I should be too much trouble. An invalid is so depressing." + +"It would be very difficult for Addie to look after you here." + +"Besides, you have Grandmamma...." + +"She's no trouble." + +"And little Klaasje." + +"Yes, but that's different." + +"How are Marietje and Adele?" + +"Quite well, very well indeed. We'll go on calling her Marietje and, if +you come down, we'll call you ... let's say Mary, to avoid confusion." + +"Mary...." + +"Will that do?" + +"But your house is so full as it is." + +"Guy is giving you his room." + +The girl uttered more faint words and phrases, but they were like little +waves which carried her softly and tenderly towards the gentle vision +and the dream. + +"Very well, Auntie," she said, at last. "You are very good to me." + +"It's only natural, as far as I'm concerned. But, when you're at +Driebergen, you'll thank your uncle, won't you?" + +"Of course. It's his house." + +"Yes." + +"Won't it be rather damp ... for Marietje?" asked Adolphine, +hesitatingly. + +"I don't think so," said Constance. + +"Constance," said Adolphine, taking her hand, "it is so kind of you ... +and I am so grateful...." + +Her voice trembled as she spoke. + +"My dear, what a fuss you make!" said Constance. "I'm your sister and +Marietje is my niece. But...." + +"But what?" + +"It certainly is kind ... of Henri." + +"Yes, it's very nice of your husband." + +"You see, it's his house." + +"Yes ... and he had so many calls on him," said Adolphine, humbly. +"Constance, won't you let me pay something ... for Marietje's keep? So +much a month, I mean ... until she's a little better...." + +"You'd better not bother to do that, Adolphine." + +"You have so many expenses." + +"Yes, but you've plenty of use for your money too." + +"What I mean is ... it's your husband's money." + +"I know. But Henri would rather you didn't pay anything ... really." + +"Really?" + +"I'm sure of it. If you or Van Saetzema wrote him a line ... he'd like +that." + +"Of course I shall. I shall thank him myself." + +"And you'll come and see the child whenever you like, won't you, +Adolphine?" + +"Yes, Constance, I will.... What a pity it is that you don't live in the +Hague!" + +"Why?" + +"Oh, the Hague is so much _our_ town, our family town; and your house, +now that Mamma is so old, is certainly _the_ house ... of the family, +the centre, so to speak...." + +"It's Henri's house." + +"Yes, that's what I mean." + +Constance stood up to go: + +"Then will Marietje come down with me to-morrow?" + +"Yes, we'll pack her trunk." + +Marietje rose suddenly, threw her arm round Constance and sobbed +excitedly: + +"Auntie ... Auntie ... I do think it so...." + +"So what, dear?" + +The rapture died out of her voice; and she concluded: + +"I think it so kind ... of Uncle ... of Uncle and you ... to have me ... +to live with you, to live with you...." + +Van Saetzema downstairs had a violent attack of coughing; and Adolphine +rushed anxiously out of the door. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +Days had come of endless flaking snow; and the hard frost kept the snow +tight-packed in the garden, alongside the house, the silent, massive +building whose thick white lines stood out against the low-hanging +snow-laden skies: one great greyness from out of which the grey of the +snow fell with a sleepy whirl until it was caught in the grip of the +frost and turned white, describing the outlines of villa-houses and the +branching silhouettes of black and dreary trees with round soft strokes +of white. The road in front of the house soon soiled its whiteness with +cart-tracks and footprints; and with the snow there fell from the sky, +like so much grey wool, the pale melancholy of a winter in the country, +all white decay and white loneliness: days so short that it seemed as +though the slow hours slept and, when awake, but dragged their whiter +veils from grey dawn to grey twilight, so that dawn might once again be +turned to night. And the short days were like white nights, sunless, as +though the light were shining through velvet, as though life were +breathing through velvet, velvet cold as the breath of death, the breath +of death itself, striking down and embracing all things in its chill +velvet.... + +In the big house reigned the silent warmth of domesticity in big heated +rooms and passages, with the rich browns of the heavy old carpets and +curtains which had lived long and were beginning to grow worn in weary +attitudes and folds of chamber contemplation, as though the dead stuffs +looked down and dreamed and breathed in sympathy with all that lived +among them, while in the snowy light reflected from outside the mahogany +furniture also gleamed with its own life or cast back things of long +ago, past sufferings of small people and past sentiments. The silent +moods of old and lonely people seemed to rise up from the old, solemn +furniture, which smiled good-humouredly because so much new life had +come into the midst of it from the outside: the chair-springs moaned, +the cupboard-doors creaked, the looking-glasses grew dull and bright in +turns, the china became chipped, the silver became scratched, full of +the serviceable humility of those very old, wearing things of daily +life, which had long been used and were dying off slowly, while all +around and about them blossomed the new movement of the new life from +without. And yet, despite that new movement and that new life, a soul of +the past seemed to hover through the long passages, up the brown stairs, +to skim along the dark doors, even though these, when opened, gave +admission to the rooms of the new life. Even in the rooms themselves, +something still hovered of that soul of the past; and the furniture +reflected that soul, as though it were vaguely clinging to material +things, a soul catching at earthly things when itself had not yet died +out entirely.... + +In among these reflections of the soul-things of the past there lingered +a remnant of biblical piety, because of the titles of certain books in +the book-cases, because of certain old-fashioned engravings in the dark +rooms; and at certain hours of silent twilight there passed through the +house a sort of hover of prayer, which Constance sometimes felt so +intently that, on Sunday mornings, she always insisted that the girls at +least should go to church, as though they were almost bound to do so out +of reverence for the old people who used to live and pray here ... and +especially for the old man. And the thought that she herself did not go +troubled her so greatly that, very occasionally, she accompanied the +girls, though she continued insensible to any impression derived from +liturgical religion. And the things of the past that flickered and +hovered and formed the intangible atmosphere of the dark passages and +the rich-brown rooms, in which the only gay note was struck by the +blue-and-white of the Delft pots and jars: those things of the past all +unconsciously harmonized with the mood only of Van der Welcke, because +something of his childhood was wafted and reflected in them, and of +Addie, because of his vague sense of inheriting not only the material +but also the immaterial things with which the big house remained filled. +Though he felt a stranger to the old man, he felt related to the old +woman, with a strange retrospect of what he knew of her and remembered +of her later, silent, mystic years, when liturgical piety was not enough +to satisfy her. + +But for the rest the house remained as it were one great hospitality, +though alien in blood to so many who had found a shelter in it and a +sanctuary: the old, doting woman at the window, peering out at the +snow-grey garden-vistas; the mourning and still young mother, with her +grown-up children; and Emilie, full of silent mystery. And, the other +day, in a drifting blizzard, Constance had brought home Marietje van +Saetzema--Mary, as they decided to call her--and they had given her +Guy's room, now that Guy worked in a corner of Addie's study, where he +heaped up his books on a little table. The house gradually became very +full. The daughter-in-law also remained alien to the big house; but the +children, Constance and Jetje, were always like golden sunbeams, +sometimes whirling in a sound of yet stammering voices of early +springtime, as they went along the stairs and passages with their +nurse--one already toddling on foot, the other still carried--to go for +a drive in the governess-cart or to play in the conservatory, where the +old great-grandmother, at the window, looked on with vague smiles at +their playfulness, which was that of very small children. + +And, the day after Constance' arrival with Marietje in the grey-white +blizzard, how surprised they all were when Addie telegraphed that he was +coming, next day, with Uncle Ernst! Two or three words only in the +telegram, with no explanation: how astounded they were that Addie had +managed to get that done! Constance and Guy went at once to the little +villa where they took in patients: yes, the doctor had already wired for +the two rooms, they were told, and everything was being got ready, that +was to say, the bedroom; for the gentleman would furnish the +sitting-room himself. And on the next day Addie and Uncle Ernst actually +arrived. Ernst's furniture was being sent on from the Hague; his china +had been packed up under his own and Addie's supervision; and, though +Ernst at first looked at the bare sitting-room with great suspicion, +tapping at the walls, listening at the partition and declaring that the +people--the man of the house, himself a male nurse, and the trained +nurse, his wife--were spying behind the door, just like the landlady and +her cad of a brother at the Hague, nevertheless he was pleased, +surprised to find the room so large, though he missed the sombre canal +in the Nieuwe Uitleg, which he loved for the gloom of its colouring and +atmosphere. As he passed through the garden with Addie, leaning on +Addie's arm, he thought it strange that he saw walking through the white +snow, accompanied by the nurse, an old lady, the only patient at the +moment, though there were several in the summer, and he looked at her +with suspicion; but he was pleased again and surprised when Addie +explained to him how very near he would be living to all of them; and, +when Addie brought him to the house, Ernst stood by the garden-gate +gazing at it and looked up at the snow-corniced gable, at the soft snow +on the straight lines of the windows and above the door. The great house +seemed to look down upon him benignly with all the eyes of its +window-panes; and he went on, leaning on Addie's arm, through the garden +and inside. He had never been there before. He took an immediate +interest in the antique cabinet in the hall, the engravings, the Delft +jars and nodded his head approvingly, admitting that this was beautiful. +Constance welcomed him cordially; and, though he had not seen Mamma for +years, he greeted her in all simplicity, as if he had parted from her +only yesterday. She held his hand, looked him in the face, recognized +him for a son of hers but did not know his name, imagined that he had +come from Java, asked after things and mentioned names.... They did not +understand each other; and Constance felt very sad, especially because +of little Klaasje, playing at Mamma's feet with lovely coloured +picture-books which "Uncle" Addie had given her: + +"Look ... a blue man ... yellow woman ... red! And outside ... +everything white ... everything white.... everything white!..." + +And suddenly so heavy a melancholy arose in Constance that she could +have burst out sobbing because of her mother, her brother, because of +that child of her poor brother Gerrit! But she made a violent effort of +self-control, put her arm round Ernst's shoulder and led him away from +Mamma; and Adeline and Emilie came to speak to him. Oh, the things of +the past--not the past things of which the atoms still hovered about +this house, those of the old people, but the things of their own past, +of the bygone dead years of all of them, years of a youth not so long +ago--how they crowded in amongst them all, how they filled the +atmosphere of the faintly sombre room, while the snow reflected its +gleams indoors to water away brightly in the old mirrors!... How did +they all come to be here like this, how did they all come to be here +like this, as in a refuge, as in a sanctuary, a silent haven of simple +love?... How nerveless she became, how nerveless, when she saw her +husband and her son come in, those two who ...! She _could_ not pursue +her thoughts of nervelessness and sadness any further. Alex also now +entered; and in him, so young, so young, she also saw all the past, +flashing at her suddenly out of his eyes, with the vision of his +father's death.... But now the girls came in too, and, when Guy and +Gerdy came, both laughing, she also laughed, because of their gaiety, +their flaxen-haired joy in living, young and strong and healthy and +simple, both of them.... How happy, how happy those two were! Oh, the +more the past heaped itself up, the more the present was overcast with +shadow; but those two, Gerdy and Guy, were young and strong and healthy +and simple!... Happy, happy! And, with a laugh almost of happiness, +however intensely she might feel all the things of the past, she asked +Addie: + +"Isn't it too much for Uncle Ernst, now?" + +"Yes, I shall take him home," said Addie. + +"Can't he stay and dine one day?" + +"Perhaps later on; he must get used to it first. The great thing is not +to force him." + +And he suggested to Ernst that they should go back. + +But Ernst said: + +"When will my packing-cases come?" + +"To-morrow, Uncle." + +"You see, if I'm to get everything in order...." + +"I'll help you." + +"Will you help me unpack?" + +"I'll help you too, Uncle," said Guy. + +"Yes," said Ernst, "that's right.... You see," he whispered to Addie ... + +"What, Uncle?" + +"It's not good ... for the vases to remain in the cases so long.... You +don't believe it, of course, but...." + +He did not complete his sentence, would not say that the vases were +suffocating in their cases, with all that paper and straw; he would not +say it, because Addie was so kind, a kind-hearted fellow, really, but +devoid of understanding, stupid, just as stupid as all the rest of +them.... + +"We shall unpack as quickly as we can, Uncle, and make the room +comfortable for you." + +"Yes. I have only the bedroom at present." + +"The bedroom's all right, isn't it?" + +"Yes. Am I to have my dinner there to-night?" + +"If you don't mind ... as your sitting-room isn't ready...." + +"Yes. I don't care for dining in my bedroom. Can't I stay and dine +here?" + +"Certainly, Uncle. We should like that above all things. Aren't the +troop of us too noisy for you?" + +"They are a bit noisy, but ... no, they're very good. Tell me, Addie, +they're all children of Uncle Gerrit, aren't they?" + +"Of Uncle Gerrit, yes." + +"Yes, yes, I remember. I should like to stay and dine, if I may. It's +because the sitting-room isn't ready, you see." + +"Very well, Uncle. Then come upstairs now, to my study. Then you can +rest a bit and read, or sleep if you like, on the sofa." + +"No, I never sleep by day." + +"It'll be quiet for you there." + +"Yes, it's quiet where you are." + +"Come with me." + +He took Ernst upstairs. + +"This is a nice, quiet room," said Ernst. + +"Then I'll leave you by yourself. You'll find books and papers.... Can +you manage to occupy yourself alone?" + +"Yes, my dear boy; I want to be alone. You're kind, you're very kind. +You understand me. I shall be glad to stay and dine." + +"Would you like your dinner up here?" + +"No, downstairs, with all of you. They're Uncle Gerrit's children, +aren't they? You see, it's all family. I'd rather dine downstairs." + +"All right, I'll come and fetch you." + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +A few days' skating produced a sudden, unexpected lightness of heart; +and Mathilde grew more animated. The members of Gerdy's tennis-club met +again on the ice; Guy did nothing but skate these days, excusing himself +to Constance and Addie for his idleness by saying that one had to make +the most of the ice, which never lasted long; and even Van der Welcke +was persuaded by Guy to fasten on his skates, remaining young as ever in +his quiet way. It was indeed a sudden, unexpected lightness of heart +after so many rainy days: the cold wind whipped up their blood; the snow +crackled like powdered crystal under their eager, hurrying feet; young +men and girls of Gerdy's little circle came to fetch her in the morning +and again after lunch; and, when the skating was over, they would all +meet round the tea-table, in the big drawing-room. And Addie taught +Klaasje to skate on the pond in the garden; and, under the jovial +influence of the frosty snow, he romped about the garden with his +children, with little Jetje and Constant. And yet perhaps none of them +sniffed up the healthy outdoor life of those cold days of east-wind and +ice so greedily as Mathilde, suddenly quickened in her rich blood, her +somewhat coarse build, her heavy tread and her loud, full, womanly +voice. It had been no life for her, with the silent, dripping rain, in +the noisy but yet sombre big house. She and the children had kept +upstairs as much as possible in her own rooms, because she felt out of +tune with the whole pack below, unable to coalesce with the big +household: those sad women and all those children of Uncle Gerrit's, +who daily monopolized Addie more and more, until he had hardly a moment +to give to his own children and her. What was he to her now, always +busy, always occupied, always away, always attending to the pack below +or to poor people outside, poor people about whom she knew nothing? What +was her life to her, the life in which she pined away in that musty +atmosphere, in which she always remained a stranger, for lack of any +sort of sympathy, because she did not--any more than any of them--wish +for the establishment of any harmonious intimacy? Was it not really a +terrible existence, for a young and spirited woman, in the country, in +the winter, at Driebergen, with no friends, in a house with rooms so +dark and gloomy that the servants declared that it was haunted; then +downstairs, always at the window, the doting grandmother; Klaasje, half +an imbecile; Adeline and Emilie, never cheerful, always melancholy; and +those who were cheerful, Guy and Gerdy, never nice to her; her +father-in-law much fonder of Guy and Gerdy than of herself, whom, as she +well knew, he actually disliked; her mother-in-law, kind at times, it +was true--had she not given Mathilde the beautiful brilliant which now +sparkled on her finger?--but still cold, she thought, cold even to the +children, just forcing herself to be kind because Mathilde happened to +be her son's wife. No, she couldn't say who or what was to blame, but a +stranger she remained, a constant stranger, half-forgotten, together +with her two children, the children who alone, besides Papa and Addie, +bore the name of the house, of Van der Welcke--Baron and Baroness van +der Welcke--the children neglected, because the whole troop of Van Lowes +made themselves masters of the house; of the affection of her +father-in-law and mother-in-law, of every minute that Addie had to +spare! Oh, it was just a hospital! Adeletje was always ailing; and now +Marietje van Saetzema, really very seriously ill, had been added to the +rest. Or wasn't it rather, with their exaggerated clinging to that +family of semilunatics, a mad-house, now that, over and above doting +Grandmamma and half-witted Klaasje, this Uncle Ernst, who was quite out +of his mind, had appeared upon the scene? True, he did not live in the +house, but he was there a great deal and would come in to meals +unexpectedly, without a word of warning. She was frightened when she met +him suddenly in the passages, always carrying on about the Delft jars; +and then he didn't recognize her, didn't know who she was, what she was +doing there, until he remembered: Addie's wife. Perhaps he only behaved +like that from craftiness, from wickedness. + +A haunted house, a sick-house, a mad-house: that's what it was; and this +was where she had to spend her life, for Addie's suggestion, that they +should live by themselves, economically, at the Hague, did not attract +her: she had had enough of economy, she had not married him for economy! +She had not married him for his money or for his title either: she had +really and truly married him because she loved him, loved his quiet, +charming, serious face, his eyes, his mouth, loved having him in her +arms, because she loved his voice, loved, strange though it might seem, +his rather elderly, restful manliness, calmness and strength suggested +by that rather short, sturdy, blond frame. She had looked upon him with +love, had felt love for him; and no one could blame her for being +sensible and for not being prepared to marry him if he had been quite +without money. Of course she thought it nice to have a title: well, +there may have been a little vanity in that; but weren't there hundreds +like her? And did that make her bad and so contemptible that they just +left her to her own devices, Addie himself just as much as the whole +pack of them? + +All the little grievances accumulated within her breast, weighing her +down and almost stifling her: the tea, which Gerdy purposely made not +fit to drink; the half-witted child, which pushed against her chair; the +imbecile man, who did not recognize her; the coolness of Papa, who +_never_ spoke a kind word to her, not even when he was playing with his +grandchildren, Jetje and Constant, who were just as much her children as +Addie's.... The grievances accumulated within her: grievances against +Papa, Mamma, the sick people and the mad people they had to live with +them--all because they were relations--against the servants, against +Truitje, against everything and everybody.... Oh, how gloomy that rainy +winter had been, ever and ever raining, with the great wind blustering +round the house, drawing such strange, moaning sounds from the creaking +windows and shutters and bellowing down the chimney, till all the old +wood of the house and the furniture came to life, took soul unto itself +and squeaked and groaned, until the whole place was one eerie horror of +inexplicable noises!... Those noises, oh, those noises! They all knew of +them and not one of them spoke of them, because, in spite of it all, +they clung to the old, creepy haunted house; they even denied their +existence to her; and the best thing that Mathilde could do was not to +speak about them, because they refused to hear them! But she was +frightened, she had gradually become frightened, with that long keeping +indoors: where could she go, with the rain, the wind, the storm, lashing +for days and days? She had become frightened, frightened; and they, all +of them, had one another, whereas she had nobody, with her husband +generally out, visiting his patients: she had only her two little +children; and she was frightened on their account too! And now, when she +suddenly came upon Ernst on the stairs, she became frightened again; and +she could see that the children also were frightened. No, she was not +happy and she was angry with herself at not being pluckier and choosing +poverty and economy--oh, how sick of it she was!--at the Hague rather +than the so-called luxury of this haunted house. And such luxury: the +furniture old, the carpets worn, the table very simple; really, a +simple, middle-class life and one that cost thousands and thousands, as +Addie would assure her on the first of the month, when handing her her +allowance for herself and the children! With those thousands and +thousands they could surely have had a more genuine luxury, if Papa and +Mamma and Addie hadn't been such soft-hearted fools as to take in that +pack of Uncle Gerrit's: you could do good and still think of +yourself.... With those thousands--but without the pack--they could +start and furnish the house in a better, less stuffy and more modern +style; paint all those brown, gloomy doors a cheerful white and gold; +have cheerful new carpets, curtains and furniture, with flowers and +Japanese fans in the conservatory; make a summer-residence of the house +and in the winter live at the Hague, keep their carriage, have their +opera-box, go out and entertain.... They could have lived like that, +Papa, Mamma and Addie, if they had wished, for the thousands were there +to do it with; at the Hague, Addie, as Baron van der Welcke, could have +acquired a smart practice, the good-looking, pleasant fellow that he +was!... That was how they might have lived, deriving some enjoyment +from their money; and even then they could very well have helped Aunt +Adeline with the up-bringing of her children; and everyone would have +thought it very handsome of them and no one would have thought that they +were living or acting unreasonably or selfishly or inexplicably, whereas +now!... Whereas now!... Locking themselves up in the dark haunted house, +all through the long, long winter, with nothing but sick people, all +through the long, long winter, with nothing but sick people, nothing but +mad people about them!... + +Fortunately it had begun to freeze. It was as though this glorious ice +had brought about a friendlier feeling: Gerdy was not so very horrid; +Guy skated with Mathilde because she was a good, finished skater, fond +of good, finished, unwearied skating; and the crisp crystal cold, after +all the days of rain and storm, made everybody cheerful and indulgent. +Oh, those skating-trips! First a short journey by train; and then along +the waterways, endlessly, endlessly! And she was so grateful when Addie, +one single morning, was able to escape going to all those sick, poor +people, whom he had to visit daily--she hated the sight and the feel of +him when he returned--and went with her, for half a day's skating! And +she took possession of her husband, glad to have him with her, with +crossed hands, swaying evenly and rhythmically with him, in the rhythm +of hip to hip, in the swing of firmly-shod feet, while she cut through +the broad blast of the wind with her swift, powerful movement, till her +eyes and face shone and she was drunk with swallowing the ice-cold +distance, shooting far ahead in canal-vistas between the snow-clad +meadows, under the low-hanging skies, swept clean as with giant besoms +of wind, while the horizons of skeleton trees dwindled and faded away, +and the windmills, with the broad, black, silent gestures of their +sails, loomed up and disappeared as she shot past. + +Fortunately it had begun to freeze. It seemed to her as if, suddenly, in +these days of winter pastime, she had found her husband again, as if she +half felt that he was finding her again! He did love her then? He was +not quite indifferent to her? Through her glove, she felt his hand +glowing in hers; she felt the swift rhythm of their hips as a +voluptuousness; and she could have hung round his neck because he took +her with him like that, rushing, rushing over the straight streaks of +endless smooth ice! + +"Addie, Addie, you do love me, don't you?" + +Amid the swift movement she looked at him and laughed; and his eyes +turned, with a little laugh, to her. Oh, how they knew how to laugh, +those great, earnest eyes of his, with the often strange blue spark, +like a flash of secret fire, which she sometimes did not understand but +which she understood now! For what else did it mean, that flash, than +that he loved her too, that he thought her pretty? And was he not +telling her with his eyes as he had often told her in words that he +loved her because she was so attractive, so palpably healthy and pretty +and that it was this that attracted him in her: her pink-and-white +complexion, her rounded form, her young and vigorous limbs? Then she +felt him akin to herself, a young man, a man made young again, a man +with a clear, materialistic soul; and in this man she read the young +doctor, who loved her healthy body, her rich, healthy blood, weary as he +must be of the morbid nerves of his mother's family! Oh, those Van +Lowe's: she hated them all, she felt herself to belong to another race! +And was Addie himself, like his father, not healthy, simply healthy and +manly, a good-looking young fellow, a man, even though he was almost +prematurely old? Was he, in the very smallest degree, a Van Lowe, with +all their nerves, the morbidity, their semilunacy, so sickly in +constitution one and all, that she could not stand any one of them? Bah, +they turned her stomach: Adeletje, always ailing; Marietje, really very +ill; Alex, so weak; Emilie, so crushed and melancholy: a Van Naghel, +she, but still with Van Lowe blood in her: and Guy was a nice-looking +boy, but so dull and sleepy; and Gerdy was a nice-looking girl, but full +of eccentric ways, of course because she was a Van Lowe! Bah, they +turned her stomach, that always ailing, half-mad family of her +mother-in-law's, who had ensconced themselves in _their_ house; and it +was lucky that in Addie she found simply a Van der Welcke, Baron van der +Welcke, a healthy fellow belonging to a healthy, normal family. That was +how she looked at it: normal. That was how she looked at it while she +let her husband swing her along the endless, endless streaks of ice; the +snow-fields flew past; the horizons of leafless trees approached, +changed their aspect, disappeared; the spreading sails of the windmills +loomed up, disappeared, loomed up, with the silent tragedy of their +despairing gestures outlined against the sky. That was how she looked at +it: normal. True, Addie employed hypnotism from time to time, but that +was the fashion nowadays: he could not lag behind when medicine was +making progress in all directions.... And, utterly blind to the really +duplicate soul that was her husband's, she saw him merely single, simple +and normal, because she remembered now, in the joy of their sport on the +ice, the vigorous embrace of his arms, the hunger and thirst of his +unsated kisses.... Normal, quite normal; and oh, she felt herself so +strong now to win him, to bind him to herself, because she herself was +comely and healthy and normal: his delight, when he was tired of every +sort of ailment; his luxury, which already had given him two pretty +children.... People were skating in front of her, behind her, like the +pair of them; and she was proud that she was skating with her husband; +she would not let him go; he was hers; he was hers.... + +It was fortunate that it had begun to freeze. They had had three fine +days and this was the fourth; and already--alas!--a touch of thaw seemed +to slacken the crystal-clear firmness of the sky which had been so +transparent at first. But still the ice was in no way impaired; a trip +was planned and Mathilde felt sure that Addie would come. And great was +her disappointment when he said: + +"Not to-day, Tilly. I must go to my patients this morning." + +"You managed with the afternoon yesterday." + +"I can't wait so long this time: there's an old woman who expects me. +And Marietje isn't so well to-day: Mary, I mean, as Mamma calls her." + +"Then I sha'n't go either," she said, crossly. + +"Why shouldn't you go?" he persisted, gently. "You enjoy it so." + +"With you." + +"I can't come this morning." + +"Yes, you can ... to please me." + +"No, I can't come this morning, Tilly. But you would please me by +going." + +"I like skating with you." + +His eyes laughed. + +"And do you imagine that I don't enjoy it?" + +"You don't love me." + +"You know better." + +"Then come." + +"Not this morning." + +"You're always so self-willed." + +"Because I mustn't go this morning.... Be sensible now and go without +me." + +She shrugged her shoulders: + +"All right, I'll go, I'll go." + +It was just after breakfast; and the children were still downstairs. He +played with them: Constant toddled to him on shaky legs; Addie held +Jetje on his arm and rubbed his moustache against her milk-white little +face, to make her laugh and crow. A soft feeling of bliss welled within +him, because he was pressing against him a life that was his life, a +small shrine of frail and tender child body in which flashed an atom of +soul that laughed and crowed and lived. And the baby was so ordinary, a +baby just like other babies, when he looked at it as a doctor; and the +baby was so mystic when, as a father, he pressed it to himself. What was +more mystic than a little child? What was more mysterious and higher in +divine incomprehensibility than a little child, a little child born just +ordinarily a few months ago? What was more divinely mysterious and +mystic than birth and the dawn of life? Where did it come from, the baby +with its tiny atom of soul, the baby which his wife had borne him? As a +doctor, he laughed at his own naive question; as a father and man, he +grew grave in awe of it.... He felt two beings within himself, more and +more clearly every day; two beings long maintained in a strange +equilibrium, but now trembling, as at a test. He felt two within +himself: the ordinary, normal, practical, almost prematurely old, +earnest young scientist and doctor; and within that soul his second +soul: a soul of mystery, of divine incomprehensibility; a soul full of +mysticism; a soul full of unfathomable force, a force which unloosed a +magic that was salutary to many.... And, when that magic passed out of +him, salutary to many, he would feel himself normal, practical and +serious, but suddenly blind for himself, as though he knew nothing for +himself, because he was two souls, too much two souls to know things for +himself.... Oh, what was more incomprehensible than the essence of life, +what more incomprehensible than himself, what more incomprehensible than +this little baby and that little toddling boy!... And it was born so +simply, in the womb of a healthy woman, and it grew up so ordinarily; +and that very ordinary growth was as great a riddle as anything or +everything.... Oh, who knew, what did anyone know?... And the strangest +thing of all was that he knew, with a strange consciousness for others, +what to do, what to say, how to act; that he had known, unconsciously, +as a child, when he had spoken words of consolation to his father, to +his mother; later, consciously, with a salutary and sacred knowledge, +not alone for father and mother but for others, for so many, for so +many! + +Now he handed her back to the nurse, his little Jetje, his little riddle +of birth and the dawn of life, his little atom of soul; now he stroked +the silky curls of Constant, who was clinging to his legs, and went +upstairs, knowing. How strange that was in him, that calm, quiet +knowledge, that certainty of his will, which would shine forth in a +setting of calm speech!... He went up the stairs, to the top floor, to +what used to be Guy's room, where Guy had generally sat in the morning +bending over his books and maps, until, in an impulse of youthful +restlessness, he would wander through the house, looking for his sisters +or aunt. Marietje now occupied the room, or Mary, as she was usually +called.... Addie knocked and she asked who was there, kept him waiting +for a moment in her modesty as she nervously tidied something in her +room and put away her clothes. When he entered, she was sitting in a big +arm-chair, looking very pale.... + +But Mathilde, angry that Addie had refused to come skating, suddenly +felt a violent jealousy, a violent, dagger-sharp jealousy in her soul, +because Addie had spoken of patients who expected him and because he had +spoken of Marietje. And, in her room, undecided whether to go or not, +whether to stay indoors and sulk or to seek her amusement without her +husband, she suddenly felt an irresistible impulse to follow her husband +upstairs. She went; and, in order to keep in countenance should she meet +anybody, she resolved that she would pretend to be fetching a coat +hanging in a wardrobe-closet next to Marietje's room. The wardrobes were +used for clothes that were not worn every day. Entering the closet, she +softly closed the door and held her keys in her hand: if she were +surprised, she would quietly open the big wardrobe. Meanwhile she +listened at the partition. And she heard the voices of her husband and +Marietje as though they were sounding across a distance and an obstacle: + +"How did you sleep, Marietje?" + +"I haven't slept at all." + +"What was the matter?" + +"All night long I had a buzzing in my ears.... It was a roaring and +roaring like the sea.... I wanted to get up and come downstairs ... to +Auntie, but I was afraid to ... and I didn't want to disturb the +house.... It was just like waves.... I didn't sleep at all.... And then +I dream, I dream while I lie awake.... All sorts of things flash out +before me, like visions.... And it makes the night so long, so +endless.... And I feel so tired now and above all so hopeless. I shall +never get well." + +"Yes, you will." + +"No, Addie. I have always been ill." + +"You must have a quiet sleep now." + +"I sha'n't be able to." + +"Yes. Come and lie here on the sofa. I'll draw the blinds." + +"Addie!" + +"What is it, Marietje?" + +"Do you know what I should like?" + +"What?" + +"I should like, when you have put me to sleep, as you did yesterday and +the day before, I should like never to wake again, to remain asleep +always. I should like your voice to lull me to sleep for ever and ever." + +"And why don't you want to go on living? You're young and you will get +better." + +"Tell me what's the matter with me." + +"Don't think about that." + +"My body is ill, but isn't my soul ill too?" + +"Don't think about that; and lie down ... keep very still ... give me +your hand.... Hush, sleep is coming, peaceful sleep.... The eyelids are +closing.... The eyelids feel heavier and heavier.... The eyelids are +closing.... Heavier and heavier the eyelids.... You can't lift them, you +can't lift them.... The hand grows heavier and heavier; you can't lift +the hand.... The whole body is growing heavy, heavy, heavier and heavier +with sleep, peaceful sleep, coming, coming...." + +Mathilde listened breathlessly at the partition. All was silent now in +Marietje's room; Mathilde no longer heard Addie's soothing voice +summoning sleep, the magic of peaceful sleep. And suddenly, as she +listened, she grew frightened, she, Mathilde, grew frightened of things +which she did not understand, grew frightened as she was frightened +when; in the evening, late, she went along the dark passages and the +dark staircases. And yet it was morning now and the wintry reflexion of +the snow, a little faded by the first touch of the thaw, fell shrill +into the narrow closet, without any shade of mystery.... + +She trembled where she knelt, frightened of what she did not understand. +She trembled and in her trembling became conscious of a fierce jealousy +not only of Marietje but of all Addie's patients, those outside, whom +she had never seen, living in their poor little houses, which she did +not know. But she was most jealous of Marietje. Was the girl asleep +now?... She heard Addie's footstep, heard his hand on the handle of the +door, heard him go out. He was going out ... Marietje was no doubt +asleep.... She waited a few seconds longer, heard the stairs creak +lightly under his feet as he went down; and now, after her fears and +jealousy, she was seized with curiosity. She left the wardrobe-closet, +listened in the passage outside Marietje's door. And suddenly, grasping +the handle firmly and carefully, she opened the door and saw Marietje +slumbering peacefully in the darkened room, her face white and relaxed +on the sofa-cushions. Then she closed the door again and went +downstairs. She was no longer frightened, no longer curious; only her +jealousy burnt fiercely within her, like an angry fever. She had just +time to put on her things and pick up her skates: Guy, Gerdy and their +friends were waiting for her downstairs.... + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +That evening Gerdy said to Constance: + +"Auntie, Mathilde carried on like a lunatic to-day." + +But Constance refused to listen. She well knew that there was no love +lost between Mathilde and the rest of them; and it always upset her +that, on the one hand, Mathilde always remained a stranger and that, on +the other, one of the children always had some remark to make about +Mathilde. She, on the contrary was always glossing over Mathilde's +shortcomings and nearly always took her side. + +"Honestly, Auntie, Mathilde carried on like a lunatic this +afternoon...." + +Gerdy was in a great state of excitement and she determined to tell her +story. It was after dinner, tea had not yet been served and Mathilde was +upstairs, putting the children to bed. The others in the room were +Adeline, Emilie and Guy; Granny was sitting in her corner. And Constance +refused to listen: + +"You mustn't always be so intolerant ... about Mathilde," said +Constance, by way of reprimand. + +"Intolerant? Intolerant?" echoed Gerdy, excitedly. "But you didn't see +her, the insane way she behaved.... We were on the ice ... and...." She +lowered her voice to a whisper, though Granny was not likely to +understand. "We were on the ice ... and there were others: the Erzeeles +from Utrecht and Johan Erzeele from the Hague, you know, the one who's +in the grenadiers.... Yes, I know, Mathilde and he are old +acquaintances, she used often to dance with him ... but that's no reason +for carrying on with him as she did." + +"I say, it wasn't as bad as all that," said Guy, in a tone of +palliation. + +"Not as bad as all that, not as bad as all that?" repeated Gerdy, very +angrily, because Guy, Constance and everybody were making excuses for +Mathilde. "Not as bad as all that? Well, if I was married, or even +unmarried, I should be ashamed to carry on like that with any man, +though I'd met him at a hundred dances!" + +"Do let Mathilde enjoy herself," said Constance. "Really, she has so +little...." + +"So little what?" said Gerdy, almost impertinently. "She has everything, +she has everything she could wish for! She has a darling of a husband, +she has the sweetest of children ... she has everything...." + +"But she sometimes feels ... a little neglected and strange ... among +all of us," said Constance, still taking Mathilde's part. "So, if she's +a little irresponsible once in a way, I don't grudge it her for a +moment." + +"But it was more than being irresponsible, it was much worse: she was +simply carrying on!" + +"For shame, Gerdy! You mustn't be so spiteful." + +Gerdy shrugged her shoulders angrily. She simply doted on Aunt +Constance; nothing on earth would induce her to quarrel with Aunt +Constance: Aunt Constance, who was so kind to all of them; and so she +preferred to say nothing. But her dear, eager little soul was up in +arms; she was very angry indeed; she pitied Addie. She was so angry, she +felt such pity for Addie that really she did not quite understand her +own feelings. After all, this was not the first time that Mathilde had +annoyed her; she had never liked Mathilde; it was enough to make her +spill the tea or the milk if Mathilde entered the room unexpectedly; and +so she really could not quite understand why she was so very angry and +thinking so much of Addie, simply because Mathilde had carried on so +with Johan Erzeele, why it should irritate her so that Constance--on +principle, she could understand that much--was taking Mathilde's part, +why it should irritate her that Mamma and Emilie were sitting so sad and +silent, that Granny was sitting so feeble and silently trembling in her +far corner, why it should irritate her that Adeletje and Guy should keep +on playing backgammon: + +"Three and four...." + +"Two and five.... Imperial.... Once more...." + +She was very much overwrought; and, when Mathilde came in for tea--the +children were now asleep--Gerdy's little face quivered; she could hardly +contain herself; but she made the effort, because Constance was looking +at her in such surprise. And, to keep herself in countenance, she went +in search of Uncle Henri, found Van der Welcke in the passage, on the +point of coming in, and asked him: + +"Uncle, are you coming to play a rubber?" + +"If you like, dear. Who's going to make up?" + +"Marietje, I dare say, and Alex." + +"Is the other Marietje, Mary, downstairs?" + +"No, Uncle, she's up in her room." + +"This house of ours is a regular hospital, eh?" + +"Oh, it's not as bad as that, Uncle!... I think it's a very nice house." + +"You do, do you?" + +Gerdy, usually so cheerful, suddenly became very nervous, cross and +angry, very limp; and she didn't understand herself, couldn't understand +herself.... + +"Well, come and have a rubber." + +"Yes, yes, I'm coming.... Don't hustle your uncle: he's getting old." + +But Gerdy laughed, shrilly, though she had to keep back her tears: + +"You'll never be old." + +"You think that?" + +"No, never." + +"Ah! Then I shall remain a scapegrace to my dying day?" + +"No, a dear, kind uncle.... But come and have a rubber now." + +She dragged him into the room. Constance grumbled mildly: + +"Gerdy, you're just like a naughty child. Every time you run out of the +room, you leave the door open." + +And Gerdy, from being limp, became filled with poignant self-pity. +Aunt Constance had ceased to care for her, cared more for her +daughter-in-law, Mathilde.... Everybody, everybody cared more for +Mathilde.... Addie, Johan Erzeele: they all cared more for Mathilde.... +She, Gerdy, was misjudged by everybody ... everybody except Uncle Henri, +who was nice and kind.... + +She made a great effort, mastered herself, mastered her volatile +emotions. Alex had come over that Saturday from Amsterdam, where he was +now boarding with a tutor at the Merchants' School; and he and Marietje +soon got the bridge-table ready. And it became quite a serious rubber, +in the still, pale-yellow atmosphere of the big living-room, where the +lamps shone sleepily through their yellow-silk shades, just bright +enough to light the books or crochet-work in the hands of the silent +women, Constance, Adeline, Emilie.... At about nine o'clock there was a +certain movement in those intimate, silent, almost melancholy indoor +lines and colours, when Adeline took Klaasje to bed and Constance and +Adeletje helped Grandmamma upstairs: the child and the old woman at the +same hour, the one never outgrowing her first childhood, the other +relapsing into her second, after so well knowing the many sad things +that were to come, that had come, that had already faded away, even as +all life, that comes and goes, fades away in the faded pallor of the +past.... And, when Constance and Adeline returned downstairs together, +they seemed to hear the wind getting up around the house; and Adeline +said, on the stairs: + +"Listen, the wind's getting up." + +"There's a change in the weather," said Constance. + +"That means thaw; it's a westerly wind and we shall have rain." + +On entering the room, they found Ernst there. He often came round in the +evenings. He watched Gerdy's cards and sat very still, never spoke much, +feeling that they never understood what he said and that it was better +to talk to them as little as possible, even though there was some good +about them, even though they were not utterly depraved, even though they +meant the suffering souls no harm, although once in a way, all of them, +they would trample on them unconsciously, because they did not see and +understand and because they were so stupid and so innately rough.... +Nevertheless, rough and stupid as they were, they were his relations and +he came and looked them up, feeling at home in the house of his sister +Constance and her husband, in the house also of Addie, who was the +cleverest of them all and who, he felt certain, did hear and see the +souls, for he often spared them.... He now stared at the cards and +thought of the rubbers at Mamma's in the Alexanderstraat, when he used +to go there on Sundays in the old days.... Strange, that everything +changed, that nothing remained, he thought.... It was no longer the +Hague now: it was Driebergen; it was Van der Welcke's house and Gerrit's +children: Gerrit, how rough, how very rough he used to be, but even so +not exactly wicked and depraved! And the cards as they were played one +after the other fell from the fingers of Van der Welcke, Gerdy, Alex and +Marietje. The same game; only life changed; the game did not change nor +did the souls, the poor souls, ever and ever suffering around him, +linking themselves to his soul with dragging chains.... He sat in +silence and followed the play of the hand, understood it, nodded his +approval of Van der Welcke's careful game.... + +Mathilde had come in; so had Addie, for a moment, before going upstairs +to work; and they met as husband and wife who, after dinner, in a +bustling house, seek each other out for a moment to exchange a word or +two. Mathilde's eyes were red, Addie looked serious; and they all +noticed it; it struck them, it saddened them, while they heard the wind +flapping like a sagging sail and the panes lightly creaking and the +windows lightly rattling in their frames.... Constance wondered what had +happened and thought that it must be Mathilde, always urging him to move +to the Hague; and Addie would be quite willing, for his wife's sake, but +then the money-question would crop up and remain insoluble, because +Mathilde would not be economical.... And that indeed was how it was; +and they had lost each other, Addie and Mathilde; and they would find +each other again in a rebirth of desire, when Addie reflected: + +"What a beautiful, healthy woman she is! And we have to be healthy in +our bodies and normal in our longings if we would be healthy of soul, in +the life of our bodies and our physical being." + +On the evening after the excursion on the ice, they found each other +again. The wind had lashed their blood to a warm glow, the exercise had +sent it coursing through their veins. Love was reborn of their embrace +until drowsiness overtook them. And Mathilde thought that she had found +him again and Addie thought that he had found her again, because their +kisses had sealed one to the other, because their arms had clasped one +to the other, but they lost each other again at once, as ever and +always, because Mathilde just did not know him in his two-sided soul and +he never knew things for himself, whatever he might know for others, in +the clarity of his knowledge; in any of the manifestations of the +instinctive knowledge which he knew silently and blissfully in his +soul's soul: the hidden spark, from which treasure shone. + +Mathilde sat down quietly in a corner, sitting a little way from the +others, to catch the light of a lamp on her book; and Addie remained for +only a moment, saying that he had work to do. And, as he went out of the +door, there was a sudden draught, so that the lamps flickered and smoked +and nearly went out. + +"There's something open," said Constance. "Where can that wind come +from?" + +"I'll look," said Addie, closing the door. + +"You see," said Gerdy, pursing up her mouth and turning to Aunt +Constance, "you see it's not always _my_ fault when there's a draught." + +Silence fell; there was not a sound but the hard tap of the dice on the +backgammon-board and the rustle of the cards as they were played, while +Constance, Adeline, Emilie and Mathilde read or worked, and the evening +hours in the soft light of the sitting-room dozed away as with +soft-trailing minutes and quarters, dull reflexions in the mirrors, +faint lamplight on the furniture and the rhythmical ticking of the clock +in the almost entire silence, broken only now and again by an occasional +word, at the card-table, or when Guy said: + +"It's blowing ... and thawing.... There'll be no skating to-morrow...." + +A piercing scream rang through the house; and the scream so suddenly and +unexpectedly penetrated the silence of the stairs and passages of the +great house, outside the room in which they were sitting, that all of +them started, suddenly: + +"What's that?... What's that?..." + +They all sprang up; the cards, thanks to Gerdy's fright, fell on the +floor, and lay flat with their gaudy pictures. When Van der Welcke +opened the door, there was no longer any draught; the maids were running +into the hall, anxiously, through the open door of the kitchen. +Everybody asked questions at once. They heard Addie come down a +staircase; and the hurried creaking of his firm step on the stairs +reassured the women. They called out to him, he to them; and, amid their +confusion, they at last heard his voice, clearly: + +"Help me!... Here!..." + +"Where?..." + +"On the stairs." + +They ran up the stairs. + +"On the back-staircase!" they heard him call. + +And Constance saw that the partition door was standing ajar at the end +of the long passage. She gave a cold shiver and she heard Mathilde +suddenly say: + +"Oh, nothing ... nothing will induce me to go up that staircase!" + +But she forced herself and went; and the others followed her. + +They found Addie on the small, narrow back-staircase; and he was +carrying Marietje, Mary, in his arms. She hung against him unconscious, +like a white bundle of clothes, with her nerveless arms hanging slack +and limp. + +"What happened?" + +"I heard her call out.... The staircase-door above was open.... I expect +she meant to go downstairs ... to fetch something ... and was taken ill +on the stairs.... Help me, can't you?" he said, almost impatiently. + +The women helped him carry Marietje upstairs. They all went up now, to +their rooms; the maids, still pale and trembling, put out the lamps in +the sitting-room; and silence and darkness fell over the house, as they +went creaking up the stairs, with candles in their hands. + +The wind outside increased in violence; and the dripping thaw pattered +against the panes. + +The three sisters were together in their bedrooms: Marietje and Gerdy in +their room, Adeletje in her own room, with the door open between them. +And they spoke very low, in whispering voices: + +"I'm getting used to it," said Marietje, sensibly; "I'm no longer +frightened." + +"I heard it quite lately," said Gerdy. + +And Adeletje answered: + +"Yes, I hear it nearly every evening." + +"Uncle and Aunt don't speak about it." + +"No, it's better not to." + +"It's always the same sound: like the dragging of heavy footsteps, in +the garret, under the roof...." + +"And then it goes downstairs." + +"Yes ... then it goes downstairs." + +"Uncle had the garret examined." + +"Addie has been up there, with Guy." + +"They found nothing." + +"It can't be a rat." + +"It's quite unaccountable." + +"I'm getting so used to it," said Marietje. + +"It sometimes comes down the little staircase." + +"Aunt Constance is afraid of the little staircase." + +"She doesn't like the house at all." + +"But Uncle does and Addie does." + +"Mathilde was so frightened!" + +"Uncle and Addie wouldn't like to leave the house." + +"And it's a nice house," said Gerdy. "I ... I'm frightened myself lately +... and yet I'm fond of the house." + +"I love the house too," said Adeletje. "It's so brown, so dark ... like +something safe and something very dear ... around us all. I should be +very sorry to leave the house. I shall never marry--shall I?--because +I'm ugly and delicate ... and I shall always remain with Uncle and +Aunt...." + +Gerdy took her in her arms. + +"_You_ won't," Adeletje went on. "You'll marry one day, Gerdy ... and so +will Marietje." + +"Oh, stop!" said Gerdy. "Do stop, Adeletje!... What are you talking +about marriage!... I'm ugly as well; nobody likes me!" + +"Listen!" said Marietje. + +"What did you hear?" + +"The sound ... I thought." + +"I hear nothing." + +"Listen!" + +"Yes, listen!" + +"It's trailing up the stairs." + +"Oh, I'm frightened, I'm frightened!" said Gerdy. + +The sisters all crept together. + +"I'm not frightened," said Marietje. "I often hear it, like that." + +"What is it?" + +"The maids say...." + +"What?" + +"That it's...." + +"Who?" + +"The old man...." + +"Hush!" + +"Listen, listen!" + +"They say the house is haunted." + +"It may be nothing at all," said Marietje. "It may be the wind, making a +draught." + +"But everything's shut." + +"Old houses have queer draughts sometimes, for all that." + +"The furniture's old too." + +"Listen, it's trailing!" + +"That's the wind." + +"There's the same trailing sound in the wind sometimes, blowing round +the house. I'm getting used to it," said Marietje. + +"Yes," said Adeletje, "one gets used, one gets used to everything.... I +shall always remain in this house, with Uncle and Aunt. I love them." + +"They never talk about it." + +"That's by far the best way." + +"Mathilde, how frightened _she_ is!" + +"Listen, listen! It's going upstairs!" + +"It's the wind ... taking the draught upstairs." + +"In an old house ... it's as though the old wood were alive." + +"And the furniture." + +"What can have been the matter with Mary?" + +"Can she ... have seen anything?" + +"No." + +"No, no." + +"She wanted to fetch something.... She fainted.... She's very ill, I +believe, very weak." + +"Addie says that she's not so very ill." + +"Listen!" + +"Could it really be ... the old man?" + +"And, if it were the old man ... what then?" said Adeletje. "I ... I +shall remain in the house. I shall die, here, I think, at Uncle and +Aunt's." + +"Oh, do hush, Adeletje!" said Gerdy, limply, nestling in her sister's +arms. + +"I'm not afraid of dying." + +"Oh, Adeletje, do hush, do hush! You mustn't talk of dying." + +"Listen! I hear it again!" + +"But now it's trailing away." + +"Like a draught sucking in the air." + +"Yes," said Adeletje, "I expect it's the old man." + +"Why should it be he?" + +"He can't tear himself away from the house." + +"He was always implacable...." + +"To poor Aunt Constance." + +"The old woman was different." + +"Yes, she was different." + +"No, it's the draught, it's only the draught.... And the house, +creaking." + +"It's nothing." + +"It's nothing." + +"But perhaps we imagine ... because we hear...." + +"We all feel ... a sort of fear ... because we hear." + +"Mary saw something, I expect." + +"Come, girls, let's go to bed." + +"Do you dare sleep alone in your room, Adeletje?" + +"Yes, Gerdy ... but leave the door open between us." + +"Yes, that's nicer." + +"Good-night then, darlings." + +"Adeletje ... you won't think any more of dying, will you?" said Gerdy, +moist-eyed. "Perhaps I shall be dead before you are." + +"Hush, darling! How can you talk like that?... I'm delicate and ugly.... +You're strong, you're pretty." + +"I may be dead first, for all that!" said Gerdy, sobbing. + +"Gerdy, don't excite yourself so," said Marietje. "That's because we've +been talking about it. Now you won't sleep all night." + +"I dare say I shall be frightened to-night," said Gerdy. "If so, I'll +wake you, Marietje, and creep into bed beside you." + +"Very well, do.... And don't worry...." + +"Good-night, then...." + +"Good-night...." + +"Good-night...." + +Round the house the thaw wept; and in the night the sinewed grain of the +ice broke and melted in weeping melancholy, with the added melancholy of +the west wind blowing up heavy clouds, the west wind which came from +very far and moaned softly along the walls and over the roof, rattling +the tight-closed windows of the night.... + +Inside the house reigned the darkness of repose and the shadow of +silence; and the inmates slept. Only Gerdy could not fall sleep: she lay +thinking with wide-open eyes, as she listened vaguely to the wind +blowing and the thaw pattering, thinking that she hated ... and loved +... that she hated Mathilde ... and loved ... him ... Johan.... + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +"Yes," said Paul, as he followed Constance out of her own sitting-room, +while she, with her key-basket over her arm, went down the stairs with +Marietje and Gerdy, "yes, I'm not ashamed to confess it: I've come to +see how the country suits me. The Hague is becoming so dirty that I +can't stand it any longer. What a dirty place a town is! It's much +cleaner in the country.... You're fortunate, you people. But I daresay I +should have stayed on at the Hague--I'm not really a man for the +country--if my landlady wasn't getting so old, if she wasn't always +changing the servants, if those servants weren't so unspeakably slovenly +and dirty.... She produced such specimens lately that I gave her +notice.... I'd had those rooms fourteen years.... It'll be a great +change for me.... But I couldn't stand it any longer. I had to see to +everything myself; and I'm getting too old for that.... Yes, I still do +my wash-hand-stand myself.... But look here, Constance, when it came to +making my bed--because the servant's hands were dirty and my sheets one +night smelt of onions--you know, that was really too much to expect. I'm +no longer a young man: I'm forty-six. Yes, that's right, you young +baggages, laugh at your old uncle! I'm forty-six, forty-six. Lord, what +a lot of dirt I've seen in those years!... As the years go by, filth +heaps itself around you like a mountain: there's no getting through it. +Politics, people, servants, bedclothes, everything you eat, everything +you touch, everything you do, say, think or feel: it's a beastly +business, just one sickening mass of filth.... The only pure, unsullied +thing that I have found in the world is music. Ah, what a pure thing +music is!..." + +"Paul, I must just go down to the store-room and have a talk with my +cook about the filth which I'm to give you this evening," said +Constance; and the girls laughed. + +"All right, I'll come with you ... I sha'n't be in the way. Ah, what a +pure thing music is!" he continued, in the store-room, while the cook +opened wide eyes. "Look at painting, for instance, how dirty: +oil-colours, turpentine, a palette, paint-brushes, water, all equally +messy. Sculpture: clay and damp cloths; literature: what's more +loathsomely dirty than ink, the oceans of ink which an author pours +forth?... But music: that's tone, that's purity, that's sheer +Platonism.... Oh, no, since they've taken to building public +conveniences at the street-corners in the Hague, I can't go on living +there!" + +"_Paul_!" said Constance, warningly; but he was too much worked up to +understand that she was rebuking him. "Run away now, with the girls and +leave me with Keetje.[1] Look at her, staring at you and not minding a +word I say.... Keetje, listen to me, I want to order the dinner; and +you, Paul, ajo,[2] be off!" + +"Come away, Uncle!" said Marietje, "Keetje, at Driebergen, isn't +accustomed to hear everything called so dirty." + +"Keetje's proud of her kitchen, aren't you, Keetje?" said Gerdy. + +"Oh, well," said Keetje, "I expect meneer doesn't mean all he says." + +"Not mean all I say!" Paul shouted at the servant, who stood calmly +with her arms akimbo. "Not mean all I say!" + +"One can do a lot with scrubbing, sir, to keep things nice and clean." + +"And I tell you," Paul blazed out, "that everything's dirty, except +music...." + +"And except my kitchen!" said Keetje, greatly offended. "I don't know +what sort of servants meneer's had. But we're good cleaners here, aren't +we, ma'am?... Yes, I know, old Mie[3] is very old and mevrouw only keeps +her on out of kindness ... and we've got young help besides.... But +dirty!" shaking her head energetically. "There's no dirt here ... though +it is an old house ... and a big family...." + +"Girls! Paul!" cried Constance, in despair. "I've no time to stand in my +store-room arguing about what's dirty and what not in the world or in +Keetje's kitchen.... Get out of this!... And you, Keetje, listen to _me_ +and answer _me_." + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"Uncle, come along!" said Gerdy. "We'll show you Keetje's kitchen." + +"Well, meneer can inspect that with pleasure!" said Keetje, by way of a +last shot. + +The girls dragged Paul off to the kitchen, where they were joined by +Adeletje and even by Marietje van Saetzema; and they screamed with +merriment when Paul examined the pans one after the other: + +"But look, Uncle ... they're shining like silver and gold!" + +"Well, we _can_ have our dinner out of them to-night.... Still, +children, music, music is the only pure thing in the world!" + +"Provided it's not false." + +"Of course it mustn't be false.... Have you a good piano here?" + +"Yes, Uncle, Mathilde has hers upstairs and here's mine, in the +conservatory," said Gerdy. "I'm the only one who plays." + +Paul sat down at the piano, struck a few chords: + +"The tone is fairly good.... Ah, music, music!..." + +And he played. He played _Wotan's Farewell,_ followed by the _Fire +Magic_.... He played very well, by heart: his pale, narrow features +became animated, his long fingers quivered, his eyes lit up. In the +conservatory the old mother listened, heard merely a flow of soothing +sound. At her feet, Klaasje listened, playing with her toys. Mathilde +came from upstairs; after her came Guy, deserting his books. Paul +played, went on playing ... he had forgotten all about them. Suddenly he +stopped: + +"You mustn't think," he said abruptly, "that I am an unconditional +Wagner-worshipper. His music is delightful; his poetry is crude, +childish and thin; his philosophy is very faulty and horribly German and +vague.... Proofs? You ask for proofs?... Take the Rheingold: did you +ever see such gods? With no real strength, no real marrow in their +coarse thieves' souls, their burglars' souls full of filth.... Is that +the beginning of a world? No, a world begins in a purer fashion.... And +so childishly and crudely: the world's treasure, the gold, the pure gold +guarded by three dirty Lorelei, with their hair full of sea-weed, who, +the moment they set eyes upon a dwarf, start giggling and making fun.... +Are those the pure guardians of the pure gold? But the music in itself, +the purity of tone: oh, in that purity of tone he is a master!..." + +And he played the prelude to the Rheingold, played it twice +consecutively. Suddenly he stopped once more: + +"Oh, Gerdy, how dusty your piano is!... Does no one ever wipe the +keys?... Where can I wash my hands?" + +"Uncle dear, do go on playing!" + +"And my fingers black with dust? No, look here, Keetje's pans may shine +like silver and gold, but your piano is a sounding-board of dirt. Where +can I wash my hands?" + +"Here, at the tap." + +She led him to the hall. + +"Well, first find me a clean towel." + +"The towel is clean, sir," said Truitje, who happened to be passing. + +"No, I want a towel fresh from the wash, folded in nice, clean folds." + +And it was great fun: Marietje ran hunting for Constance, to get the +keys of the linen-press. + +"So you've come to live here?" said Van der Welcke, who came down while +Paul was washing his hands. + +"Yes, I had a sudden, irresistible impulse to move to Driebergen. I was +feeling a little lonely at the Hague," he confessed. "I am growing old +and lonely. And it's cleaner in the country; the air is less foul, +though I'm not lucky with this thaw. The road outside was one great +puddle. But I have found two airy rooms, in a villa.... It's strange, I +should never have believed that I could ever come and live at Driebergen +... and in the winter too!..." + +He inspected his hands, which were now clean: + +"Imagine," he said, "if there were no water left! I should be dead next +day!" + +Paul really brightened up. He was a great deal at the house, very soon +got into the habit of dining there every evening and, because he felt +scruples at always taking his meals at Van der Welcke's expense, he made +handsome presents, as a set-off for his sponging, he said, so that in +the end it cost him more than if he had dined every day at home. He +ordered fine flowers and fruit from the Hague; on Van der Welcke's +birthday, he gave him a case of champagne; on Constance' birthday, a +parcel of caravan tea, because he came and had tea with them every +afternoon. In this way he contributed generously to the house-keeping +and relieved his scruples. He brightened up considerably, after his +recent years of loneliness, talked away lustily, broached his +philosophies, played Wagner; and even Mathilde accepted him as a +pleasant change, with a touch of the Hague about him. + +Constance would rebuke him at times and say: + +"Paul, I won't have you constantly ordering that expensive fruit for me +from the Hague." + +"My dear Constance," he would answer, "I'm saving the cost of it on my +ties; for my dandyism is gradually wearing away." + +In the evening, in the great sitting-room--while the wind blew round the +house and the dice fell hard on the backgammon-board and the gaudy +colour of the cards flickered in the hands of the bridge-players--Paul's +music came as a new sound, driving away the grey melancholy, tinkling in +drops of silver harmony. He played everything by heart; and the only +thing that his attentive audience couldn't stand was his habit of +suddenly breaking off in the most delightful passages to defend some +philosophical thesis which no one at that instant was thinking of +attacking, with which everyone agreed at the time. Nevertheless, despite +his playing and his new-found cheerfulness, he felt old, lonely and +aimless. Whenever he had an opportunity of talking quietly to Constance +for a moment, without having to run after her downstairs, to the +store-room, he would say, sadly: + +"I? I'm an old bachelor, an old boy. I'm a typical old bachelor." + +"You ought to get married, Paul," she said, one day. + +He gave a violent start: + +"Constance," he said, "if ever you try to lay a trap for me, I swear +I'll run away and you shall never set eyes on me again!... Where should +I find a wife who would be as tidy as I? And then I'm so difficult to +please that the poor child would have a terrible life of it.... +Sometimes, yes, sometimes I do cherish the illusion ... of marriage with +a very young girl, one whom I could train according to my ideas, my +philosophy, my ideas and philosophy of purity ... of which the loftiest +is the idea of purity in soul and life...." + +"That's a regular old bachelor's idea, Paul: getting married to a very +young girl, training her in your ideas. A fine woman of thirty or over: +that's better." + +"As old as that!" exclaimed Paul. + +"A woman of thirty is not old for a man of forty-six." + +"No, Constance, don't trouble your head. Marriage is a desperate affair. +No, it's a good thing that I never got married.... But I do feel lonely +sometimes. I'm glad I came to live here.... It's you who are providing, +the family-picture now.... Poor Mamma! She still knows me quite well. +But she thinks that I am still very, very young.... Yes, the +family-picture is with you now, not on Sunday evenings, but every day of +the week.... Now that I'm growing old, I feel myself becoming more +pastoral than I used to be. Do you remember how I used to abuse the +family and deny family-affection and how angry poor Gerrit used to get? +Now I'm growing very idyllic and I'm throwing back and longing for the +family in the desert.... I'm glad that your house has become a centre +for the family, Constance. But for that, there would be nothing to keep +us together. Oh, it's a melancholy thing to grow so old, lonely as I am! +What have I to live for? Nothing.... Well, with you, I am still at least +a sort of rich uncle, one from whom the children may have expectations: +I dare say I shall leave each of my nephews and nieces a trifle. I must +have a talk with my solicitor one day. It won't be much for them, but +I'll leave them enough to buy a clock, or some other ornament for their +mantelpiece..... And your old friend Brauws is back at the Hague, you +know.... Oh, didn't you know? Hasn't he written? He's sure to soon.... I +met him the other day: the fellow's grown old. He always had an old +face: wrinkles are things that need looking after; they want massage.... +I used to massage mine, but I've given it up: my personal vanity has +gone. As you see, I wear the same tie always. I'm fond of this tie. I +have it steamed from time to time: that keeps it fresh. It's a nice tie; +but I no longer have such a collection as I used to.... Yes, the family +no longer cling together at the Hague. Karel and Cateau still do nothing +but eat good dinners by themselves. For years and years they have done +nothing but eat good meals together. Lord, Lord, what a disgusting pair +to find their pleasure in that!... Saetzema and Adolphine: that's a sad +case; you people have been very kind to Marietje.... Otto and Frances +have a heap of children now and that good Louise looks after them, while +Frances makes a scene one day and embraces her the next with a great +display of emotion and loads of tears. And that has lasted for years +too.... Yes, the years pass. I simply couldn't bear it any longer, +especially with those sluts of servants whom my landlady started +engaging lately. I yearned for cleanliness and ... for my family. It's a +sign that I'm growing very old, Constance. _My_ dotage is always marked +by that idyllic longing.... That's why I take so much pleasure in +immersing myself amid you all in family-affection. It's a great thing +that none of you quarrel; even you and your husband don't quarrel any +more. It's become the golden age." + + +[1] Kate, Kittie. + +[2] Malay: clear out! + +[3] Mary. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +And the hard-braced north-east winds, which had brought the nipping +frost with them, came no more; they had passed; and it was no longer the +strong, boisterous winds, but the angry winds, the winds that brought +with them the clouds of grey melancholy, in eternal steady-blowing +sadness, as though in the west, yonder, there were a dark realm of +mysterious sorrow, whence blew huge howling cohorts of gigantic woes, +titanic griefs, overshadowing the small country and the small people. +The sky and the clouds now seemed bigger and mightier than the small +country and the small people; the sky now seemed to be the universe; and +houses, roads, trees and people, horizons of woods and moors, lastly, +human souls all seemed to shrink under the great woes that drowned the +small country and the small people from horizon to horizon. Curtains of +streaming water cloaked the vistas and a damp fog blurred the distant +wavering line of trees; a rainy mist washed out the almost spectral +gestures, the silent, despairing movements of the windmill-sails; and +the low-lying world, feeble, small, sombre and bowed down, endured the +crushing, oppressive force of rain and wind lasting night and day and +all day long. + +Constance and Brauws were sitting once more in her own sitting-room, +which was a replica of the little boudoir in the Kerkhoflaan at the +Hague. Along the curving folds of the curtains, through the grey, +clouded panes, they watched the grey rain falling, now in vertical +streaks, now aslant, driven by the raging wind. + +"I so well remember this weather," he said, "in the old days, when I +used to sit chatting with you at the Hague, in your room which was so +like this room." + +"Yes," she said. + +"I would come late in the afternoon, find you sitting in the dark and +scold you because you had not been out; and we used to talk about all +sorts of things...." + +"It's a long time ago." + +"The years fly past. Do you remember, we used to fight a little, both of +us, against the years that were overtaking us, against the years that +would make us old?" + +She laughed: + +"Yes," she said. "We no longer fight against them now. We are old now. +We have grown old." + +"We are growing old. And yet what an amount of youth a human being +possesses! As we grow older, we always think, 'Now we are growing old.' +And, when we are older than when we thought that, we feel ... that we +have always remained the same as we were from a child." + +"Yes ... a person doesn't change." + +"Only all his joys and all his sorrows change and become blurred; but we +ourselves do not." + +"No, we don't change. Then why should there be joy and sorrow ... when, +after many years, we have remained the same as we were from childhood?" + +"Because we remain the same ... and yet do not remain the same." + +"Yes," she said, smiling. "I understand what you mean. We remain the +same from childhood ... and yet ... yet we change. It is like a game of +riddles. I ... I am the same ... and I am changed." + +"I too. My soul still recognizes in itself my former child's soul ... +and yet ... yet I am changed.... Tell me: I believe things are running +smoothly with you...." + +"Sometimes." + +"Not always?" + +"No." + +"I am so glad to see ... that things are going well as between you and +Henri." + +"We are growing so old ... Everything gets blunted." + +"No, it's not only that." + +"No, not only." + +"You have grown used to each other...." + +"Without talking about it." + +"You set store by each other by now...." + +"Perhaps.... Gradually...." + +"Hans is a good sort." + +"Yes, he's just simply that." + +"And you appreciate this now." + +"I think I do." + +"You both have full lives." + +"Yes. Who would ever have thought it?" + +"You have so much to make you happy: Addie always with you...." + +"My poor boy!" + +"Why do you say that?" + +"I am frightened...." + +"What of?" + +"I don't know. On days like the last few days, I am sensitive to every +sort of fear, I always have been." + +"Have the fears been justified?" + +"Sometimes." + +"What are you afraid of?" + +"I have sad thoughts." + +"That is sheer melancholy." + +"A melancholy which is a presentiment ... on days like these...." + +"And everything is well." + +"Only the material things." + +"Be happy in that your life is so richly filled, both yours and +Hans'.... It's a life of the richest security ... with all that you do." + +"With all that we do? We do nothing!" + +"You do a great deal ... for people who are small!" he smiled. + +"For small souls!... Do we do enough?" + +"You do a great deal." + +She shook her head: + +"I don't.... Hans does: he is good." + +"Just simply good.... Tell me, is it merely because of the weather that +things don't seem to run smoothly?" + +"No, material things aren't everything." + +"Is it because of Addie?" + +"Perhaps. I can't say. I feel an oppression, here." She put both her +hands to her heart. "It's always liable to come, a day...." + +"Yes." + +"A day of sorrow, illness, wretchedness ... of misfortune ... of +disaster." + +"Why should you think that?" + +"I often think it: now there's a misfortune coming, a disaster.... I sit +and wait for it.... Oh, I've been waiting for it for months!... The +children look at me, ask me what's the matter, whether anything has +happened ... with Mathilde.... No, nothing ever happens.... There is no +sympathy between us ... but I, I am calm and I wish her every good ... +my son's wife...." + +"You must get over that oppression." + +"It can't be argued away." + +"You must be happy. I have been here for some days now. I see nothing +but love all around you." + +"From her side?" + +"Well, perhaps not from hers." + +"She always remains a stranger." + +"Then win her to you." + +"It's very difficult, when there is no sympathy." + +"But, apart from that, there is nothing but love around you. Really, you +are wrapped about with silent happiness." + +She shook her head: + +"They are fond of me ... but there are things slumbering...." + +"There are always slumbering things. Happiness without shadow doesn't +exist. And one even doubts whether it ought to." + +"No, perhaps not ... for later, for later. But ... there are things that +slumber, silent, sorrowful things." + +"I see you can't overcome it." + +"No. I am glad to see you again." + +"After so many years. And I too am glad to see that things are going so +well with you ... even though there are sorrowful things that slumber." + +"There are many good things." + +"There is much love ... and much living for others." + +She laughed softly: + +"So simply ... with no great effort!" + +"When we are not great ... why should we act as though we were? We are +small; and we act accordingly. If we do good in a small way ... isn't +that a beginning?" + +"A striving...." + +"For later." + +"Yes, for later." + +"I, I can't even say ... that I am doing good in a small way." + +"Tell me about yourself." + +"There is nothing to tell. Thinking, living, seeking ... always +seeking.... There has been nothing besides." + +"Then do as we do," she laughed, softly. "Do good in a small way ... as +you say that we do." + +"I shall try.... But I am disheartened. I admire you and I envy you." + +"I ... I am disheartened. I am sometimes quite dejected. I should like +to live quietly, with a heap of books around me. I ... I'm giving it +up." + +"The struggle?" + +"Yes, the struggle to seek and find. Little by little, it has conquered +me. Can you understand me? You ... you have conquered it." + +"What have I conquered?" + +"You understand." + +"You rank that conquest too high.... And you, why are you conquered?" + +"Because ... because I have never achieved anything.... I may sometimes +have found, but never, never achieved.... And now I want to rest ... +with a heap of books around me ... and, if I can, follow your example +... and do good in a small way." + +"I will help you," she said, jesting, very sadly. + +They were silent; and between her and him the room was full of bygone +things. The furniture was the same, certain lines and tones were the +same as years ago.... Out of doors, the unsparing night of the +clattering rain and raging wind was the same as years ago. Life went on +weaving its long woof of years, like so many grey shrouds. They both +smiled at it; but their hearts were very sad. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +And the melancholy of bygone things seemed to swell on the loud moaning +of the wind during the following days, when the rain poured down; the +house these days seemed full of the melancholy of bygone things. They +were days of shadow and half-light reflected around the old, doting +woman in the conservatory; Adeline, the silent, mournful mother; Emilie, +a young woman, but broken ... like all the greyness exuding from human +souls that are always living in the past and in the melancholy of that +past; and now that Brauws also saw it as a thing of shadows and twilight +round Alex--because the boy could never forget the horror of his +father's death--he also understood within himself that bygone things are +never to be cast off and that they perhaps hang closer in clouds of +melancholy, around people under grey skies--the small people under the +great skies--than in bright countries of mountains and sunshine and blue +sky. And that there were sorrowful things of the soul that slumbered: +did he not see it in Addie's knitted brows, in ailing Marietje's dreamy +stare, in Mathilde's glances brooding with envy and secret bitterness +and malice? Did he not see it in the sudden melancholy moods of Gerdy, +usually so cheerful? And did he not understand that in between their +young lives there was weaving a woof of feelings that were most human +but exceedingly intense, perhaps so intense because the feelings of +small souls under big skies can be deeply sorrowful between the brown +walls of a house, between the dark curtains of a room, which the grey +daylight enters as a tarnish of pain, mingling its tarnish with the +reflexion which lingers from former years in dull mirrors, as though all +feeling and all life were quiveringly mirrored in the atmosphere amid +which life has lived and palpitated? + +Brauws was now living at Zeist and he had collected his heap of books +around him and lived there quietly, conquered, as he said. But he was +with them a great deal and was hardly surprised when, one morning, +intending to come for lunch, he heard unknown children's voices in the +hall, saw in the hall a young woman whom he did not know at first, heard +her say in a very soft voice of melancholy, with a sound in it like a +little cracked bell of silvery laughter: + +"Don't you recognize me, Mr. Brauws?" + +She put out her hand to him: + +"Do you mean to say you really don't know me? Aunt Constance, Mr. Brauws +doesn't know me; and yet we used to have so many disputes, in the old +days!" + +"Freule ... Freule van Naghel ... Freule Marianne!" Brauws stammered. + +"Mrs. van Vreeswijk," said Marianne, correcting him, gently. "And here +are my children." + +And she showed him a little girl of eight and two boys of seven and six; +and he was hardly surprised, but he felt the melancholy of the past +rising in the big house when Van der Welcke came down the stairs and +said: + +"Ah, Marianne! Is that you and the children?" + +"Yes, Uncle, we have been to Utrecht to look up Uncle and Aunt van +Vreeswijk: they are so fond of the children.... Charles may come on +this afternoon ... but he wasn't quite sure." + +And, turning to Brauws, she continued, very, easily: + +"We are living near Arnhem. Won't you come and see us in the summer? +Vreeswijk would be very glad, I know." + +She spoke quite easily and it was all very prosaic and ordinary when +they all sat down round the big table in the dining-room and Marianne +quietly chatted on: + +"And Marietje--Lord, what a lot of Marietjes we have in the +family--_our_ Marietje is soon coming to introduce her young soldier to +you." + +"Is it settled then?" asked Constance. "I thought Uncle van Naghel +didn't approve." + +"He's given in," said Marianne, shrugging her shoulders. "But the dear +boy hasn't a cent; and we none of us know how they're going to live on +his subaltern's pay. And Marietje who always used to swear that she +would only marry a rich man! ... And we have good news from India: Karel +is really doing well...." + +How prosaic life was! How prosaically it rolled along its steady drab +course, thought Brauws, silently to himself, as he looked on while Guy +carved the beef in straight, even slices.... And, prosaically though it +rolled, what a very different life it always became from what any man +imagined that his life would be, from the future which he had pictured, +from the illusion, high or small, which he had gilded for himself, with +his pettily human fancy ever gilding the future according to its pettily +human yearning after illusions.... Oh, if the illusion had come about +which, in the later life reborn out of themselves, he and Constance had +conceived, without a word to each other, in a single, brightly +glittering moment, oh, if Henri's illusion had come about and that of +this young woman, now the little mother of three children, would it all +have been better than it now was? Who could tell? Who could tell?... +And, though the dreamy reflecting upon all this brought back all the +melancholy of the past, yet this melancholy contained an assurance that +life, as it went on, knew everything better than the people who pictured +the future to themselves.... There they all were, sitting so simply +round the big table at the simple meal for which Constance apologized, +saying that Marianne had taken her unawares; and Brauws was but mildly +astonished to find that Marianne was married to Van Vreeswijk: he had +not heard of it and it was a surprise to him to see her suddenly +surrounded by children; he was but mildly astonished to see her and Hans +talking together so simply, as uncle and niece, as though there had +never been a shred of tenderness between them; he was but mildly +astonished when he himself talked to Constance so simply, while he felt +depressed about Addie, whose eyes looked so dark and sombre. When Addie +was still a child, he had conceived an enthusiasm for him, perceiving in +him a certain future which he himself would never achieve. And he had +also suffered, because he felt Addie's jealousy for his father's sake, +when he, Brauws, used to sit for hours with his mother in the half-dark +room, whispering intimate words so quickly understood, so +sympathetically felt.... + +Now the years had passed; sorrow had faded away and sorrow was being +born again perhaps, for life cannot exist without sorrow, laid up as an +inheritance for one and all; and yet sorrow was so very little and +became so small in the measureless life entire. There was nothing for it +but to smile, later, much later, at all the disappointment, even that +of seeking and not finding and not achieving.... + +It was very noisy because of the children: the three little Vreeswijks +after lunch playing with Jetje and Constant; and, as the girls were +staying with the children, Constance, with her arm round Marianne's +waist, went upstairs to her own room: + +"Let's sit here quietly for a bit," she said. + +Marianne smiled: + +"You've always got your hands full, Auntie." + +"I don't know why, dear.... We live so quietly here, at Driebergen ... +and yet ... yet my hands are always full. I do sometimes crave to be +quite alone.... But the craving never lasts long ... and it seems +impossible.... However, it's all right as it is...." + +"What awful weather, Auntie!... I remember how often it used to rain +like this when I came to see you in the Kerkhoflaan.... How long ago it +is, years and years ago!... Here, among all your old knicknacks it looks +to me suddenly and strangely as though everything had remained the same +... and yet changed. Auntie ... Auntie...." + +Obeying a sudden impulse, she dropped on her knees beside Constance and +seized her hand: + +"Do you remember, do you remember?... I used to come and see you in this +sort of rain and stay on ... and I could not bear that you should be +unhappy with Uncle..... And, you know, I talked about it ... I said +tactless things ... I asked you to try and be happy with Uncle ... Do +you remember, do you remember?... And now, Auntie, it appears to me as +if a great deal has been changed, though much has remained the same, and +as if things had become much better ... between you and Uncle ... +between you and Uncle Henri...." + +"Dear, we have grown older; and everything has become more mellow; and +Uncle ... Uncle _is_ very good." + +"Yes, he is good." + +"He is just simply good." + +"You see that now." + +"Yes, I see it now, I admit it." + +"Oh, I am so glad!... Yes, we have grown old." + +"Not you." + +"Yes, I too," she said, laughing softly. "I am young, but I am older +than my years.... And, Auntie, tell me, do you remember before we went +to Baarn, you came and called one day--we were just busy moving--and you +sent for me and asked me ... you told me ... that Charles was fond of me +... and I refused him ... do you remember, do you remember?" + +"I should think I did remember, darling!... And now you've got him after +all; and it's all for the best, isn't it?" + +"Yes, Auntie, we get on very well indeed.. and I have my children.... Do +you remember, do you remember how you came to Baarn one day? I was very +low-spirited; and you took me in your arms and pressed me to you and +told me ... a fairy-tale, about the small souls ... which passed through +vanity ... to ecstasy. Do you remember?... And, when the ecstasy died +out ... then the little soul found a grain ... a mere grain ... which +was big enough, however, because the soul itself was so small. Do you +remember, Auntie, do you remember?" + +"Yes, dear, I remember.... It was just a few tiny words to console and +cheer you a little ... And now the little soul has found the grain, +hasn't it?" + +"I think so, Auntie ... but under ... under all these small, everyday +things ... a great deal of melancholy remains.... Perhaps it's wrong; +perhaps it oughtn't to be so...." + +"But, if there are things in one's past, if we have lived before, dear, +then there is always a certain melancholy and we all have our share of +it ... just because we feel deeply, very deeply perhaps, under our dark +skies ... and because our feeling always remains ... and our melancholy +too...." + +"Perhaps so, Auntie.... And so it goes on and we drift on.... You see, +there are good things in life.... Tell me, doesn't it occur to you that +you have found...." + +"What?" + +"What you came to look for, years ago, in Holland ... after you had been +abroad so long, Auntie, and felt so home-sick for your own country and +for warmth ... the warmth of family-affection.... Tell me, Auntie, +doesn't it occur to you that you have found it _now_: the country, our +grey, dark country ... and everything that you used to long for?... Are +we not all round you: even we, though we live some way off?... Are we +not all, nearly all of us around you?" + +"Yes, dear." + +"And are you happy now?" + +"Yes, dear." + +"I hear something in your voice that contradicts your words. Tell me, +what is it?" + +"I'm frightened ... I'm frightened." + +"And you have found so much, you have found everything! What ... what +are you frightened of?" + +"I'm frightened ... I feel so anxious...." + +"What about?" + +"About things ... that may happen." + +"Where?" + +"In our house." + +"What can happen?" + +"Things, sad things." + +"Auntie, this is nonsense!" + +"I can't help it, dear.... I'm frightened ... I'm frightened...." + +"Tell me, Auntie, you don't like the house, do you?" + +"It's not that." + +"But the house oppresses you." + +"No, it's not that, child.... Uncle and Addie like the house.... And I'm +getting used to it...." + +"Tell me, Auntie: they say...." + +"What?" + +"That the house is...." + +She looked at Constance meaningly. + +"Darling, darling, it's not that.... It's an old house.... We never talk +of that...." + +"But it may be just that that depresses you." + +"It did at first ... but I'm getting used to it.... Addie is so very +calm and communicates all his calmness to us.... What appears +inexplicable ... is perhaps quite simple.... But that's not it.... I'm +frightened ... frightened of...." + +"Of what?" + +"Of what I fear ... will happen." + +"And what do you fear?" + +"Things that I can't put into words ... some great sorrow." + +"Why, Auntie? Why should it happen?... And then, if sorrow comes, won't +you be strong?" + +Constance suddenly gave a sob: + +"I shall be weak!" + +"Auntie, Auntie, why are you so overwrought?" + +"I shall be weak!" + +"No, Auntie, you won't. And you mustn't be so frightened. There is +nothing but love all around you ... and they will all of them, all of +them help you." + +"I am frightened ... and I shall be very weak...." + +"No, Auntie.... Oh, Auntie, do stop crying! ... What are you afraid of? +And what could happen now?... For whom are you afraid?" + +"For Addie ... for my boy ... for Mathilde." + +"But why, Auntie, why?... Oh, don't be so frightened!... Everything's +all right between them ... and Addie ... Addie is so calm, so practical, +so simple in his way of acting and thinking...." + +"Perhaps.... Oh, if he is only strong!" + +"Isn't he always?" + +"Perhaps he is.... Oh, my dear child, I am so frightened!..." + +"Hush, Auntie, hush!... Don't cry any more.... Lie still, now; lie still +in my arms.... Even if we have sorrow to go through, even if we have sad +things to experience, even then you should remember that everything ... +that everything comes right again ... in the end.... If we all have our +share, why shouldn't they have theirs?... And perhaps--who knows?--your +anxiety is exaggerated, Auntie ... because you have been a little +overwrought ... lately." + +"It may be that." + +"Is it all ...a little too much for you sometimes?" + +"I am so seldom alone." + +"I dare say you feel tired sometimes." + +"It may be that." + +"You mustn't think about it any more Tell me, Auntie: Gerdy isn't very +well...." + +"What makes you say that?" + +"I thought she looked pale ... and rather sad." + +Constance passed her hand over her forehead: + +"Oh, Marianne," she said, "I wish that I could talk it all away, think +it all away!... But I can't.... I'm frightened, I keep on being +frightened...." + +And she sobbed gently on Marianne's shoulder, while the younger woman +knelt beside her. + +The rain fell in vertical streaks. The carriage took Marianne and her +children to the station through a deluge. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +Since that first time, Mathilde was pricked with continual jealousy; and +in the mornings, when Addie went upstairs to Marietje van Saetzema's +room, she always followed him and stole into the wardrobe-closet next +door, always with her keys in her hand, so that, if she happened to be +caught, she might appear to be looking for some article of dress in one +of the presses. She listened at the partition and understood what they +were saying sometimes but not always, because Marietje spoke very low +and Mathilde could not always hear what she answered. But, as her eyes +glanced mechanically along the big flowers that formed the pattern of +the wall-paper, she suddenly noticed a broad crevice, where the wood had +split and the paper cracked and torn; and, with her heart leaping to her +throat, she peeped and peeped.... She had to squeeze between two +cupboards, she banged her head against the partition and was terrified +lest they had heard; but they heard nothing or else the noise did not +strike them, for the sound of their voices went on.... Mathilde now put +her eye to the crevice and was able, though with difficulty, to see into +the room, saw Marietje sitting with Addie sitting beside her, saw her +hand resting in his: + +"Why does he hold her hand so long?" she thought. "Need he feel her +pulse as long as that?" + +But he did not let go of Marietje's hand; and Mathilde became impatient, +also because she could not catch what they were saying: + +"How softly they are talking and how confidential it all is!" she +thought. + +And, when Marietje lifted her head a little, as with the movement of a +lily on its slender stem, Mathilde saw her smiling, saw her eyes +gleaming softly, saw the words taking birth as it were smiling on her +lips; and it seemed as though those words added a touch of colour to the +pale lips and a blush to the pale cheeks.... + +"How very much better she looks than when she came!" thought Mathilde, +though she wanted to call out to Addie and tell him to let go Marietje's +hand. "They are about the same age," she thought. "I am much younger +than she is." + +And yet Marietje, though twenty-six, had a certain youthfulness, as of a +very young girl; and Mathilde could not get rid of the thought: + +"They are--very nearly--the same age. It's ridiculous: a young doctor +like Addie ... with a young woman, a young girl like her. It's +ridiculous.... Why is he wasting his time on her now?" + +She now saw the smile fade from Marietje's lips, saw the girl, on the +contrary, look very serious, tell a long and serious story: + +"What can she be telling him?" thought Mathilde. + +And she saw their faces come nearer to each other: it was as though +Addie were reassuring Marietje, explaining things; and now, now he laid +his hand on Marietje's head and she ... she lay back on the sofa. + +"It's absurd," thought Mathilde, "this hypnotizing ... and that they +should be alone together for so long." + +Soon the hypnotism took effect. Marietje fell asleep and Addie quietly +left the room. Mathilde waited a few minutes and also stole away, +meeting no one on the stairs.... + +What she had seen through the slit in the wall-paper was nothing; and +yet ... and yet she could not help constantly brooding over it.... She +now also noticed, at lunch, that Marietje was much more cheerful, that +her movements were much less languid, that she laughed with the other +girls; and she noticed that, after lunch, she helped Adeletje with the +plants in the conservatory, that she was beginning to join in the life +of the others, that she no longer went straight back to her room as she +used to do at first.... And constantly too, downstairs, in the +conservatory, she was struck by an intimacy between Marietje and +Addie.... Mathilde was quite sensible, though she was jealous of her +husband; she was jealous of all his patients; she was quite sensible and +thought: + +"A certain affection between a young girl and a doctor, a young doctor, +who obviously has a good influence upon her, as Addie has, is easy +enough to understand." + +And she wanted to go on thinking so sensibly, she, a woman of sound, +normal sense, but it was difficult, very difficult.... For Addie went +out and she at once saw Marietje's smile disappear, saw her happy +vivacity sink as it were ... and Marietje soon went upstairs, until she +came down again with Aunt Constance and Adeletje to go for a walk, as +they did every afternoon when the weather was not too bad.... Mathilde +remained upstairs, played the piano, looked out upon the sad, misty +road.... Oh, she loved her husband, she even loved him passionately and +she was living here for his sake; but wasn't it awful, wasn't it awful? +In Heaven's name wouldn't it be better just to move to a small house at +the Hague ... and accept the pinch of poverty?... She went to the next +room, to her children: they had been out and were playing prettily, +while the nurse sat at the window sewing; and now she did not know what +to do next.... What an existence, in the winter, in a village like this, +in a big house, a house full of sick people and mad people! As it +happened, through the window she saw Uncle Ernst walking along the road, +with his back bent under his long coat, talking to himself as he +returned to his rooms in the villa where he was being looked after: what +an existence, oh, what an existence ... for a young and healthy woman +like herself! She was never susceptible to melancholy; but she felt a +twilight descending upon her from the unrelieved sky overhead. She could +have wept.... And yet she could have stood it all, if only she had +possessed Addie entirely.... If only she could win him entirely, she +thought, suddenly; and suddenly it occurred to her that she did possess +him ... but not entirely, not entirely.... He escaped her, so to speak, +in part.... They had love, they had fervour in common; they had the +children in common; they had bonds of sympathy, physical sympathy +almost. She felt happy in his arms and he in hers; but for the rest he +escaped her. Something of his innermost being, something of his soul, +the quintessence of his soul, escaped her, whereas she gave herself +wholly to him and did not feel within herself those secret things which +refused to surrender themselves.... She felt it, she understood it now; +suddenly, under the grey melancholy of the skies, as though she suddenly +saw clearly in that twilight; she understood it: their love was merely +physical! Oh, he escaped her; and she did not know how she was ever to +win him entirely, so as to have him all to herself, all to herself!... +Perhaps if she began to take an interest in his patients, to share his +life in them? But she was jealous of those patients, who took Addie from +her for hours and days together; and she was jealous, very jealous of +Marietje.... But what then? How was she to win him?... And in this +rich-blooded woman, whose senses bloomed purple and fierce, there shot +up as with a riot of red roses the thought of winning him more and yet +more with her kisses, with her whole body, with all that she would give +him, with all that she would find for him, to wind tendrils round him +and bind him to her for ever and for ever.... And then, then also to +make him jealous of her, as she was jealous of him, by disturbing his +unruffled calm, the calm of a young, powerful man, with painful +suspicions, which would yet bring him wholly to her, so that she might +win him entirely.... + +Oh, wasn't it awful, wasn't it awful? As it was, she sat here the +livelong day and possessed her husband only in the evening, only at +night, as though she were food for nothing else. It went against the +grain; and suddenly, intuitively, she felt her jealousy of Addie's long +talks with Marietje more sharply than before. What need had he to talk +to her at such length? Oh, he ought not to neglect his wife so, he ought +not to think her good only for that: he ought to talk to her also, for +hours at a time, earnestly, strangely, gazing into her eyes, as he +talked to Marietje! Why did he not talk to her, his wife, like that? +What were these talks? What had those two to talk about? It was not only +about being ill and about medicines and not even only about hypnotism: +of that she was convinced. There existed between the two of them secret +things, about which they talked, things which they two alone knew.... +Oh, how she felt her husband escape her, as though she were stretching +out her fingers at him covetously and as though she did indeed grip him +in her hot embrace ... only to lose him again at once!... + +Her days passed in constant monotony. She was a healthy, superficial, +rather vain, very young woman, with a few vulgar aspirations; and she +suffered in her surroundings because she had an undoubted need for +healthy and superficial affection. She would have been happy leading a +simple, very carnal, very material married life, with plenty of money, +plenty of enjoyment, with children around her; and then she would have +laughed with pride and been good, as far as she was able. As it was, she +felt that, except physically, she was hardly the wife of her husband +and, despite her children, hardly accepted by his family and hardly +suffered in their house. And she peevishly blamed them all, thinking +that they were not kind to her, and she failed to perceive that what +separated her from them all was a lack of spiritual concord, of harmony, +of sympathy, because she had nothing that appealed to them and they had +nothing that appealed to her, because the emanations from her soul and +theirs never reached each other but flowed in two directions, because +everything that they understood in one another, even without words, she +did not understand, even though it were explained to her in words, +because she looked upon them as sick, mad, egoistical and nerve-ridden, +because they looked upon her as shallow and vulgar. It was an antipathy +of blood and of soul: nobody was to blame; and even that she did not +understand. The only one to blame, perhaps, was Addie, because, when +taking her for his wife, he had not listened to the soul within his soul +and had allowed himself to be led only by instinct and by his material +philosophy of regeneration: + +"She is a healthy, simple woman. I want healthy, simple children. That's +how we ought all to be: healthy and simple as she is." + +Were those not the ideas which had made him introduce her into the midst +of them all, as an object lesson, without listening to the still, +slumbering voices of his soul's soul?... And scarcely had those voices +awakened before he had been roused out of himself with the thought: + +"After all, I found her. Why should I lose her now? Who am I, this one +or the other? And, if I am both those whom I feel within me, how can I +unite them and compel them into a single love for my wife, for the woman +who gives me healthy, simple children?" + +And, every day that passed, he had known less for himself, whatever he +might know for all of them whom he approached and benefited by strange +influence, knowing less and less daily, until he saw himself plainly as +two and gave up the struggle, let himself go, allowed his soul to drift +at the will of the two streams that dragged him along, in weakness and +surrender and lack of knowledge for himself, whereas he sometimes knew +so clearly for others. Self-knowledge escaped him.... And, if Mathilde +had been able to see this, in her husband, she would have shrunk back +and been dismayed at what, all incomprehensible to her, existed secretly +in the most mystic part of him. She would have been shocked by it as by +a never-suspected riddle, she would have turned giddy as at a +never-suspected abyss down which she gazed without knowing where it +ended, a bottomless depth to her ignorant eyes and quite insusceptible +instincts. She would not have understood, she would have refused to +understand that there was no blame but only self-insufficiency and +inconsistency of soul, in silent antagonism and antipathy, because +Addie felt himself to be two. She would have wanted to blame ... them, +all of them, because "they were not nice to her," but not her husband, +for she loved him because of his sturdy young manliness, because of his +older earnestness and thoroughness, in which she failed to see the soul +of his soul. And she now wanted, unhappy as she was, to continue feeling +like that, neglected, offended, underrated, by all of them in that +large, gloomy house, in which everything, down to the dark oak +doorposts, was hostile and antagonistic to her, until she felt +frightened of mysteries in or upon which they hardly ever touched in +speaking, mysteries which were even almost welcome to the others and not +too utterly unintelligible in their communism of soul, from which she +was irrevocably excluded. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +That night, Marietje van Saetzema had a dream which was like a +nightmare. She was running down a sloping mountain, deep as an abyss; +she rushed and rushed and Addie came rushing after her and Mathilde +after Addie, rushing with delirious screams. After Mathilde, Johan +Erzeele came rushing and, last of all, Gerdy; and before any one of them +reached the other, Marietje, who was running in front, plunged into the +deep abyss; and they all plunged after her. The echoing fall, in the +black depths, made Marietje wake with a start to find the darkness of +her bedroom quivering all around her, the strange inner darkness of the +night; and she was cold and clammy and sat up wide-eyed, while the wind +blew fiercely outside. Her first impulse was to get up and run out of +the room for help, to Aunt Constance, to Addie. But, growing calmer, +though her head and heart were still throbbing, she let herself fall +back upon her pillows and controlled her fears. She would stay quietly +in her room. + +A month ago, she would never have done as much; at the Hague, after this +sort of dream, she would utter cries, go running through the house, +scream aloud. Now she did not scream, but lay where she was and drove +the feverish thoughts in front of her. Yes, feverish she was; but she +speedily recovered a sense of calmness, as soon as she began to think of +Addie. Hadn't he said so himself: + +"Marietje, when you feel overstrung ... think of me!" + +And she thought of him; and things began to smile and to grow very calm +around her.... She gave a deep sigh.... She recalled the words which he +used when hypnotizing her: + +"The body is growing heavy.... The hand is growing heavy.... You can't +lift your hand...." + +And, though she did not fall asleep, she became very quiet and smiled +contentedly. True, she knew that he said the same thing to all the +patients whom he hypnotized: + +"Think of me, whenever you feel your nerves give way." + +But she, when she thought of him ... was she in love with him? Perhaps; +she didn't know: perhaps she did love him, deep down within herself, in +the chastest recesses of her soul; perhaps she had been in love with him +for years, ever since he used to talk to her so kindly--he a small boy, +she a rather bigger girl, but about the same age--when her brothers were +so rough to her and Mamma, Floortje and Caroline used to snub her, as +they always did. In the noisy, uproarious, vulgar house, she had grown +up quietly, like a little pale plant, humble, oppressed, as it were +hiding herself, until suddenly some impulse in her blood had made her +scream the house down with neurotic cries. They all asked whether she +had gone mad; and she had locked herself up since, hidden herself, in +her room.... And, after these attacks, she would remain behind as in a +dream, seeing nothing, hearing nothing around her, just staring. And, +when she saw that her condition at last made an impression, she at once +became proud of that impression, lifted herself out of the Cinderella +humility, became the interesting figure at home, now that she aroused +her father's fears, her mother's pity, her sister's annoyance. And she +had grown proud of her neuroticism; she let father, mother and sister +feel fear, pity and annoyance, with a sort of vindictive satisfaction. +Yet she had a vague feeling of deep unhappiness, because her soul was +sinking as into an abyss, her hands groping vaguely in the terrible +void.... She would spend days in tears. Then Aunt Constance had come, so +kind, so gentle, so sensible; and she had resisted, because perhaps she +was very fond of Addie and always had been, in obedience to some modest +dread, did not wish to live where he lived. But Aunt Constance had +insisted and she had yielded; and Addie, Addie was now curing her: oh, +he cured her when he merely pressed his hand softly on her forehead! And +she confessed to him the wicked, arrogant pride in her illness, which at +last created an agitation in the paternal house where Marietje had never +counted.... + +He had listened so earnestly, telling her that this was very wrong, that +it was the worst of all and that, with such wicked feelings she would +never get well. And, after that, he talked for days, oh, so earnestly! +And she listened to him in ecstasy, as though her soul were rocking on +his deep, soothing voice. And gradually, gradually, she had discovered +in him--oh, no affection for her, no ordinary affection or love, for she +was plain and thin and without charm, while Mathilde was so handsome: a +beautiful woman!--but a real harmony between some of his feelings and +views with what she, in her silent life as a lonely, down-trodden little +girl, had thought about all sorts of people, animals, things, about +everything which had aroused her compassion in her youthful earnestness +and hypersensitiveness: about the wind lashing the leaves; about a +driver ill-treating a horse; about Aunt Adeline, Granny, Emilie, little +Klaasje; about poor people whom she would sometimes go and visit with +Aunt Constance and Adeletje. And thus, slowly, out of all these small, +simple feelings something had thrilled in unison with his feelings, had +roused kindred feelings in him, until they had talked of all sorts of +strange presentiments and dreams, of existence before life and after +death, of an invisible world and life crossing their threads with the +visible world and life. And, when sometimes she had been a little +fanciful, Addie had always understood her, but at the same time, with +all his restfulness and strength, his seriousness and smiling +earnestness, had quieted her in her hypersensitiveness and +hyperimagination, in her dread and surmise, until she now discussed all +those questions with him so quietly, in words that quickly understood +one another, so that, even in these conversations, which might easily +have made her more neurotic, he satisfied her and lulled all the anxious +thrills of her sick girlish nerves and soul. There was a mystic force in +his voice, in his glance, in the pressure of his hand, so that, even +after these conversations, she remained lying in a deep and blissful +sleep and, after half an hour, woke from it as though rising refreshed +out of a wide, still bath on strangely rarefied air, like cool water, +which gave her an incomprehensible, blissful sense of spiritual +well-being. + +And that peaceful life of sympathy was healing to her, whereas it vexed +Mathilde. She thought that it would always keep flowing on like this; +and she was greatly surprised when she suddenly heard of a ball at +Utrecht to which they were all invited. + +"Which of you want to go?" asked Constance. "I shall stay at home, but +Uncle will chaperon you." + +Mathilde loved the idea, even though Addie did not give it a thought. Of +the girls, however, only Gerdy cared about it; but Guy would go with +her. + +"So none of you: Adeletje?... Mary?... Marietje?" + +No, they did not feel inclined, even though Aunt Constance urged them, +said that they very seldom had any fun, that they ought really to go, +now that the chance offered. But the girls didn't want to; and Aunt +Constance said: + +"Well, then, you and Uncle will just make four; so you can go in the +carriage." + +But Mathilde preferred to dress at Utrecht, in an hotel, because her +dress would get creased in the carriage; and she decided to go in the +afternoon, with a box. + +On the evening of the ball, Constance grumbled at Adeletje, Mary and +Marietje, because they took no pleasure in dancing, and said that, if +this went on, they would move to the Hague, because the girls were +growing so dull in the country. Constance' nerves were raw; and she said +angry, unreasonable things; her eyes filled with tears. + +"But, Auntie," said Marietje, "we're all so happy here together! Why +talk about the Hague? What do we care about a dance?" + +"That's just it. I think it unnatural." + +"Listen to it blowing!" said Adeletje. + +"And raining!" said Marietje--Mary. + +"That's what Uncle and Gerdy and Guy are driving through," said +Adeletje. + +"The poor horses!" said Marietje--Mary. + +The others laughed. + +"Yes, the horses will get wet, poor things!" said Marietje--Mary. + +"Dirk'll look after them," said Constance. "The horses are taken out so +seldom." + +"But when they are ... they are taken out in the rain!" said Mary, +reproachfully. + +Paul was there, playing softly on the piano. Ernst was there; and it was +very strange to see the friends which he had silently made with Klaasje. +Together they looked in her picture-books: the unnaturally old queer man +and the unnaturally young child. + +"I can read now," said the backward girl of thirteen, very proudly. + +"Really?" said Uncle Ernst. + +"Yes, Uncle Addie is teaching me to read. Look, in these books, with +pretty letters, blue, yellow, red. That's violet. And that, Uncle Addie +says, is purple. That's purple: a lovely colour, purple. Uncle Addie +teaches me to read." + +And laboriously she spelt out the highly coloured words. + +"So Uncle Addie teaches you to read with coloured letters?" asked Ernst. + +"Yes, I don't like black letters. And look at my books: all with +beautiful pictures. That's a king and a queen. It's a fairy-tale, Uncle. +This is a fairy. The king and queen are purple ... purple; and the +fairy--look, Uncle, look at the fairy--is sky-blue. Uncle Addie says +it's a-zure." + +She drew out the word in a long, caressing voice, as though the names of +the colours had a peculiar meaning for her, rousing in her strange +memories of very early colours, colours seen in gay, faraway countries, +down, down yonder.... + +"Mr. Brauws won't come," said Emilie. + +"No, it's raining too hard," said Adeline. "He won't come this evening." + +"He's become so much one of the family." + +The evening passed quietly; the old grandmother and Klaasje were taken +and put to bed; but, because Aunt Constance was sitting up till the +carriage returned from Utrecht, they all wanted to sit up. + +"What an idea!" said Constance, with nervous irritability. "Why don't +you all go to bed?" + +But they were gathered round her so pleasantly and they stayed up: +Addie, Emilie, Adeline, Marietje; but Addie sent Adeletje and Mary to +bed. + +And they sat waiting downstairs in the night. It was three o'clock when +at last they heard the carriage; and Van der Welcke, Gerdy and Guy +entered. + +"Mathilde is spending the night at the hotel," said Van der Welcke. + +"And Uncle made a very sweet chaperon," said Guy, chaffingly. + +But Gerdy did not say much, looked tired, very pale, constrained. They +went upstairs, to their rooms, and Gerdy kissed her mother. But, without +the others seeing it, she followed Adeline to her room and suddenly, +unable to contain herself, burst into a paroxysm of tears. + +"Darling, darling, what is it?" + +And the mother, long since broken, took the girl, now breaking, into her +arms and it was as though she suddenly wakened from her apathy and felt +herself very much a mother.... Oh, she knew that she could not do much +for her children, that she was not capable, never had been since +Gerrit's death, that without Van der Welcke, Constance and Addie she +could not have made anything of her children! Nevertheless, they +remained her children; and, if she did not know how to guide her sons in +their careers, she did know how to sympathize with her poor Gerdy's +sobs. + +"Darling, darling, what is it?" + +And, dropping into her chair, while Gerdy knelt before her in the folds +of her white-tulle frock, she held the pale little face against her and +compelled the child to speak, to speak.... + +"It's nothing," said Gerdy, through her sobs. "I didn't enjoy myself." + +"You didn't? Why, what happened?" + +"I hardly danced at all." + +"Why not?" + +"Mamma, it's better to tell you plainly. I'm so unhappy! It's about +Johan...." + +"Erzeele? Has he proposed to you?" + +Gerdy shook her head: + +"No, but...." + +"But what?" + +"In the winter ... skating ... I thought he was fond of me.... It's my +own fault: it was silly of me, it was silly.... It wasn't anything.... +He was just the same to me as to other girls; and I thought, I thought +... It's nothing, Mamma, it's my own fault, but I thought ... Mamma, I +oughtn't to take it so much to heart ... but it makes me very +unhappy.... He danced with me, once.... But he danced with Mathilde the +whole time.... He was always with her.... People were talking about +it.... It was just as if she was mad, as if she didn't think ... that +she oughtn't to behave like that ... with Johan.... It struck Uncle +Henri too: I could see it by his face. They were together the whole +evening and ... you understand.... He paid her attentions ... +shamelessly ... the way he does to married women.... With girls he's +different.... I hated him for a moment. But then he came and asked me, +for that one dance ... and then I thought ... I oughtn't to have thought +it. It's my own fault. I'm very unhappy, Mamma.... Uncle Henri was very +angry too ... with Mathilde ... because she wouldn't come back with us +to Driebergen.... He gave way and let her stay, to avoid +unpleasantness.... But it was ridiculous of her: the carriage is big +enough and she would not have been so badly creased.... Oh, she looked +lovely, she looked lovely!... She is quite lovely, dressed like that, at +a ball.... Addie ought to have come with us.... She was really +beautiful, but not--it's wrong of me to say it, I know--not like _us_." + +"How do you mean, dear?" + +"Not like Aunt Constance and Emilie and you.... She didn't ... she +didn't look well-bred.... She looked beautiful, but she looked +coarse.... If Addie had come, perhaps she would have restrained herself, +not worn her dress so low. She was the only one in such a very low +frock.... You see, there was something about her ... that repelled me +even more than usual: I can't say what and it's very wrong of me, +because after all she's Addie's wife and we must be fond of her; but +really, she didn't look a lady; and I could see it in people's faces: +they thought her very handsome ... but not ... not well-bred.... And ... +after that ... when she did nothing but dance with Johan ... then ... +oh, Mamma, then she looked at me ... and looked at me with a sneer ... +as if she were looking down on me!... I knew that I was not at my best, +that I looked pale and thin; my shoulders are not good; and Johan +behaved so oddly to me, in such a queer, mocking way: oh, Mamma, he was +almost cruel!... I do believe, oh, Mamma, I do believe, that I ... that +I'm in love with him! But I oughtn't to tell you and I oughtn't to be +like this ... I oughtn't to cry so; but I couldn't help it, I couldn't +help it!... I did my best, Mamma, not to show it before Uncle Henri and +before Guy, but, oh, Mamma, the whole dance ... the whole dance was a +torture!" + +Adeline mingled her sobs with Gerdy's: + +"My darling, my poor, poor darling!" + +"Mamma! Oh, Mamma!" + +"What is it, my poor dear?" + +"Listen, Mamma!" + +"What?" + +"Don't you hear? The sound ... upstairs!" + +"Hush!... Hush!... The sound...." + +"Is dragging itself...." + +"Downstairs. It's like a footstep. It's always like that." + +"Oh, Mamma, I'm frightened!" + +"It's nothing, dear: the wind, a draught, a board creaking...." + +"Oh, but I'm frightened!" + +"It's nothing.... I opened the door once ... to look." + +"You dared to?" + +"Yes. It was nothing." + +"There was nothing to see?..." + +"No. It was only very draughty." + +"And everything's closed!" + +"It's nothing, it's nothing, dear." + +"Now it's dragging itself away ... down below." + +"It's the draught.... Oh, my poor, poor darling!" + +"Oh, Mamma, I'm unhappy ... and I'm frightened, I'm frightened, I'm +frightened!..." + +When Mathilde returned next morning, she seemed to perceive a certain +displeasure, a coldness in her husband, in her mother-in-law and in all +of them; but she decided that perhaps she was mistaken: she was tired, +she was unstrung; and, after she had been to see the children, she kept +to her own room, where she knew that no one would disturb her, now that +Addie had gone out to his patients. And it was not the surmised +displeasure, the unwonted fatigue after the ball that made her nervous, +as though she was infected by a nervous thrill from all who surrounded +her: it was particularly because of Johan Erzeele that she was now +walking restlessly round her room, sitting down at the window, getting +up again, going in to the children, coming back again, sitting down to +the piano, looking over her ball-programme and suddenly tearing it +up.... Now, suddenly, she reproached herself with all sorts of things +that had happened the night before: for dancing with Johan so often, +even though she had known him all her life as a young girl at the Hague, +where he was a subaltern in the grenadiers, while his people lived at +Utrecht; for flirting with him in so marked a way at supper; for +allowing him to speak like that, with his brazen, sensual fashion of +making love to her; for knowing and deliberately encouraging his +brazenness; lastly, for scarcely preventing him from escorting her on +foot--because it was so near--to the hotel, where she had reserved a +room. + +She had lost her temper, refused, asked for a carriage, and ridden alone +to the hotel where she had spent the night; but his offer and the words +in which he had couched it had shocked her, had frightened her all +through that night, that short night, so that she had not had a moment's +sleep. And now she was angry with herself for not summoning up her usual +sound sense, so that he had seen how frightened and shocked she was and +had laughed at it, with the caressing laugh of his well-shaped mouth. +And, because she was angry with herself, all sorts of nervous excuses +went whirling through, all her grievances, great and small, came surging +up, as though to defend her against herself, against her own +self-reproach. Why couldn't Addie have gone too? Why must he leave her +to her own devices like that? Why was she only good for the one thing? +Why did he hold such long conversations, full of strange intensity, with +that ailing Marietje? Why did she sometimes, through his kisses, feel a +strange chill come out of him and freeze her, so that the spontaneous +word grew still and lifeless on her lips and she no longer knew what to +say: she only knew that she was losing him, again and again and again, +while all the others, down below, were winning him, winning him for +themselves! Oh, how the grievances whirled up, fighting against her +self-reproach, until at last she burst into tears, sheer nervous tears, +such as she had never shed before! And, as though the grievances were +winning, she suddenly laid the blame on Addie, on all of them, on her +husband's whole family, on Driebergen, on the house full of lunatics and +invalids, on the eerie, haunted house where she could not breathe, while +they all, down below, found living there so delightful. She blamed them +all, blamed the whole house for it, that she was losing her sound sense +and had allowed Johan to say all sorts of things to her which otherwise +she would never have allowed. And, in her tears, while still blaming +him--because she did not see that there was no blame, that no one was to +blame for anything, while she was casting about to whom to impute the +blame--she longed for her husband, felt that she was still very much in +love with him, that she would have liked to embrace him, to clasp him +close to her, to weep out her sorrows on his heart, to hear his deep, +young, earnest voice, to look into his deep, young earnest eyes, so that +she might grow calm again and happy, far away, with him and her +children! Now she longed for him to come back; now she looked out down +the road; and, when she saw him--the bell was ringing for lunch, because +Truitje downstairs had also seen him coming up the road--she ran down +and was just in time to kiss him in the morning-room and to whisper: + +"Addie, Addie, you do love me?" + +"Why, of course, darling!" he answered, gravely and, she thought, almost +sadly. + +And now, sitting silent at table, feeling all sorts of reproaches around +her, she asked herself, was it not his fault, was it not his fault? What +she really imagined to be his fault she did not clearly see, for it was +all whirling through her mind; she kept on thinking of Johan Erzeele, +kept on feeling her self-reproach; and the grievances surged up, like +lances, more numerous than before, to defend her against that +self-reproach. + +Gerdy had not come down to lunch: she was tired, Adeline said. The tone +of the conversation was forced; and Mathilde reflected that it was +always so when she was there, when they would look at one another +askance, in a silent understanding against her, against her.... + +Lunch finished, the children, Jetje and Constant, went out, after Addie +had first played with them. Yes, he was fond of the children, but was +he fond of her, of his wife?... + +"Addie, Addie, you do love me, don't you?" + +She had found another opportunity of asking him; and he answered: + +"Why, of course, dear." + +"Stay with me to-day." + +"Very well. What would you like to do? Shall we go for a walk? It's +fine." + +"Yes, Addie, I'd like to." + +And they went out together and roamed along deserted paths; she took his +arm: + +"I am so glad to be with you.... You ought to have come yesterday...." + +"I don't care for dancing ... but, if you had asked me...." + +"You would have refused." + +"Perhaps not." + +"Yes, you would.... I sha'n't go again, without you. I want to dance +with you, with you." + +"I like skating better." + +"There, you see, you're refusing already!" + +"No, I won't refuse: I shall come with you, next time." + +"I'm happy when I'm with you.... Addie, couldn't we go and live alone, +with our children?" + +"Whenever you like, darling." + +"Yes, but you're attached to the house." + +"Yes, I'm attached to it." + +"It would be a sacrifice for you." + +He made a vague gesture: + +"Only you'd have to be economical at the Hague." + +"You would soon have a fine practice there." + +"But I'm not aiming at ... a fine practice." + +"Ah, that's just it!" + +He yielded to a slight sense of impatience: + +"It's a pity, Tilly, that you find it so difficult to adapt yourself +here.... Very well, we'll go to the Hague." + +"But, if you're obstinate ... and refuse to earn an income," she said, +impetuously. + +"We shall have enough." + +"How much?" + +He made a brief calculation: + +"Say, five thousand guilders, no more." + +"But I can't live on that ... with two children." + +"It ought to be enough, Tilly." + +"But it's nonsense, trying to live at the Hague on five thousand +guilders a year ... with two children." + +"Then what do you want?" he asked, bluntly. + +"I want you to get a practice.... You have only to wish it: you would +become the fashion at once." + +He was silent. + +"Why don't you answer?" + +"Because we don't understand each other, Tilly," he said, sadly. "I +can't give up the practice which I have in order to become a fashionable +doctor." + +"Why not, if it pays?" + +"Because it conflicts with all ... with everything inside me." + +"I don't understand." + +"I know you don't." + +"Then explain it to me." + +"It can't be explained, Tilly. It can only be felt." + +"So I have no feeling?" + +"Not for that ... no fellow-feeling ... with me...." + +"Why did you marry me?" she asked, curtly. + +"Because I love you." + +"Because you love me!" she echoed, curtly. "Because I'm good enough ... +for that!" + +Her eyes flashed. + +"Tilly!" he implored. + +It was as though a sudden terror blinded him, as though a spectre of +guilt suddenly loomed up out of all the black self-insufficiency of the +last few years, his years of married life. + +"Because I'm good enough ... to bear you children. Because you want to +have children by me, healthy children, children different from your +family, your mother's family." + +"Tilly!" + +"Addie!" she entreated. "Love me! Love me!" + +"I do love you, Tilly!" he cried, in despair. "Love me altogether!" + +"I do love you altogether!" he lied, in anguish for her sake. + +"No, you love me ... half!" + +"That's not so!" + +"Yes, it is, you know it is!... I want to be loved by you altogether and +not only...." + +"Hush, Tilly," he entreated, in dismay. "Tilly, don't let us spoil our +happiness!" + +"Our happiness!" she laughed, scornfully. + +"Aren't we happy then?" + +And he tried to force her to say yes, but she was suffering too much and +exclaimed: + +"No, I am not happy! When I embrace you...." she clutched her fingers. +"When I have embraced you," she went on, "it's over, it's over, it's +over at once; I feel that you are far away from me again; that you don't +love me." + +"I do love you, I do love you!" + +"Then talk to me." + +"I do." + +"No, talk to me as you talk to Mary." + +"But, Tilly, I talk to her ... to calm her." + +"That's a lie!" + +"Tilly!" + +"It's a lie!... You talk to her ... you talk to her because you're in +love with her!" + +"Tilly, stop that!" + +"Not as you are with me ... but differently." + +Suddenly he grasped her wrist. She knew his sudden bursts of anger. They +were very rare; but she knew them. And, because he was dazzled by the +sudden light that shone from her, because from all the gloom of his +self-insufficiency a consciousness of guilt came looming up to frighten +him: + +"And now, silence!" he cried, shaking her arm. "Silence! I command it!" + +He no longer knew things. Life whirled dizzily before him, deep as a +black abyss. + +He stood in front of her on the lonely road; and it was as though his +grey eyes flashed lightning, shooting blue spark after blue spark of +rage and pain. His whole face quivered, his body quivered, his voice +quivered with rage and pain. She felt a furious resistance rise within +her ... together with black despair. She felt an impulse to rush into +his arms, to sob out her sorrow on his heart. But she did not want his +caresses: she wanted the thing that escaped her. It was escaping her +now; and, when she said it, when she said it straight out, he commanded +her to be silent, not to say it. Wasn't it his fault, wasn't it his +fault? Wasn't _she_ right? + +She released her hand: + +"You don't love me," she said, curtly. + +"No. When you speak to me like that, I don't. I'm not in love with +Marietje. I'm sorry for her." + +His voice was very calm and full of feeling; and she, also grown calmer, +answered: + +"You feel for her." + +"I do." + +"Well, then...." + +"But you have no right to bring that up against me. I don't grant you +that right ... because, Tilly...." + +"Right, right? What rights have I? I have no rights!.. I live in your +house on sufferance." + +"Tilly, be careful!" + +"Why should I?" + +"You're destroying our happiness." + +"It doesn't exist." + +"Yes, it does ... if...." + +He passed his hand over his head. There was a cold wind blowing; and the +beads of perspiration stood on his forehead. + +"If you would be reasonable." + +"And share you?" + +"Share me?... With whom?" he roared. + +"Not with her, perhaps," she resumed, frightened, "but with ... +with...." + +"With whom?" + +"With them all." + +"All whom?" + +"Your family ... all of them ... whom you love more than me." + +"I don't love them more." + +"No, but you feel with them ... and not with me." + +"Then feel with me!" he implored, as though to save both her and +himself. "Feel, Tilly, that I can't be a fashionable doctor, but that I +have a large practice, a number of patients to whom I am of use." + +"They don't pay you." + +His mouth involuntarily gave a twist of contempt. + +"They don't pay you," she repeated. "You are wearing yourself out ... +for nothing." + +"Try and feel, Tilly, that I am not wearing myself out for nothing ... +just because I am not making money." + +"Then teach me to feel it." + +He looked at her in despair. + +"Teach me!" she entreated. "For your sake, because I love you, I will +try to learn, try to feel ... I love you, I love you, Addie!" + +"Dear," he said, gently, "I'll do my best ... to teach you to feel it. +Come with me." + +"Where?" + +"There ... to those little cottages." + +"Who lives in them?" + +"Poor people ... sick people ... whom I attend." + +"Addie ... no, no ... no!..." + +"Why not?" + +"I'm not prepared for it.... You know I can't stand that...." + +"You're a healthy woman; your nerves are strong: come with me." + +She went with him, not daring to refuse. + +"Tilly," he said, gently, as they walked on and approached the cottages, +"I will try to have understanding for both of us.... If you are to be +happy in yourself ... with me ... happy the two of us ... then...." + +"Well?" + +"Then you must learn to understand me ... to understand me very deep +down, as I am. Then you must try to understand ... all of us; to love us +all: my father, my mother.... Tilly, Tilly, can you?..." + +She did not answer, trembling, frightened, looking deeper into things, +after all that he had said. Her fine eyes gazed at him despairingly, +like those of a wounded animal in its pain. She could have embraced him +now, just ordinarily, clasping him warmly and firmly to herself. But he +led her on as he might lead a child. He knocked, opened the little door +and led her in. A sultry heat of mean poverty struck her in the face +like a blow; and it was nothing but misery, wherever he took her. It +seemed to her as if she herself carried that misery with her, in her +soul, which had never yet thrilled as it did now. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +Oh, he was to blame, he was to blame, he was to blame! He saw suddenly, +in a sort of despair, that the only answer to the question which he +sometimes had to ask in vague, black self-insufficiency was the +assenting yes, yes, yes!... Because he had not known it for himself, +entirely for himself, for the two personalities which he so clearly felt +himself to be, he was to blame, because he loved his wife with only half +of himself. Was she to blame in any way? Was she not what she always had +been? No, she had changed, she had refined herself, as if her soul, +despite the antipathy of her environment, had yet become transformed and +grown more like the people and things that surrounded her! And it was +his fault: he had brought her into this environment, in which no +sympathy was created and which had given her nothing beyond a refinement +of soul, senses and nerves, so that she now suffered through that which +he had always thought that she would never perceive. With what sudden +clearness, in her simplicity, she had seen it all, almost unconsciously, +and was now flinging it at his feet! He wrung his hands and felt +desperate at the thought of it all. Of an evening now, alone in his +study, in the soft light of his reading-lamp--the table with Guy's books +and maps standing in one corner--he would walk up and down, up and down, +wringing his hands, glancing deep into that despair, while the +self-insufficiency was no longer vague, but soul-torturing in +self-dissatisfaction, because he saw himself at fault in that great +action of his life, which was still so very young, his marriage: at +fault towards himself, at fault towards his wife. To let her marry him, +because she was healthy and simply normal, with that idea of setting an +example--see, that is what we ought all to be: normal, simple and +healthy--oh, to love her, yes, but to love with only the half of +himself, without ever giving her anything of the deep--things of the +soul, things which he gave to all with whom he felt a soul-relationship, +without counting, in a lavish prodigality: how _could_ he have done it, +he who knew things for others I More clearly than ever he perceived that +he had never known them for himself; and he clearly perceived that +others, his father, his mother, had suspected that he did not know for +himself, that he had not known when he brought Mathilde to them as his +wife: into their midst, into their house. And now, in his emotion, in +this lonely silent contemplation, there awakened within him the energy +to redress, oh, to redress if possible: to redress everything, +everything for her!... + +Now, suddenly, he went to her room, where she was spending a moment +after dinner, before tea was brought in, where he often found her when +he wished to be alone with her for a minute; and he found her now. She +was sitting listlessly in a chair; and the room was dark: the children +were already asleep next door. He lit the gas and looked at her with all +the energy that leapt up within him like springs, the energy to redress, +to redress. And, without any preamble, he said: + +"Tilly ... we'll go to the Hague." + +"What do you mean?" she asked, in surprise. + +"We shall go and live at the Hague. I shall do what you suggest: I shall +look for a practice at the Hague." + +She had him to herself now, for the first time after their talk that +afternoon, and suddenly, sobbing, she threw her arms around him, pressed +him to her: + +"Love me!" she implored. + +"I do love you.... It won't do for us to stay here.... It's better that +you should be quite by yourself, in your own house, your own mistress." + +"We've talked about it so often!" she sobbed. + +"There will be money enough, Tilly; I shall make money." + +"You said five thousand guilders." + +"No, there will be more. Don't be afraid, have no care, there will be +enough ... and you can do as you please. I promise, I promise." + +"But it's a sacrifice for you...." + +"To leave the house?" + +"Yes." + +"I'm fond of the house ... but it's better that we should go to the +Hague." + +"Your parents ... they will all miss you." + +"Now don't make difficulties, Tilly." + +"No, Addie, no...." + +"How do you mean, no?" + +"I won't go to the Hague." + +"Why not?" + +"It's too late.... It wouldn't alter a thing.... It's too late." + +"What's too late?" + +She sobbed and embraced him. She clutched him to her, she covered his +lips with glowing kisses. + +"Oh, let it be!" she said, in between her kisses; and her voice sounded +utterly discouraged. + +"Why, Tilly? Why? I want to see you happy.... It's decided now: we're +going to the Hague. I'll look out for a house." + +She shook her head. + +"Tell me, Tilly: why do you refuse?" + +She shrugged her shoulders: + +"I don't know," she said. + +"You love me, surely?" + +"I love you, I dote on you, I'm mad on you!... Let us stay here and ... +and ... love me a little." + +"But, Tilly, I do love you. You know I love you!" + +He kissed her, very tenderly; and she accepted his kisses, with her eyes +closed, and lay limply, as though tired, in his arms. Suddenly she +thrust him away: + +"Let me be," she said, rising to her feet. + +"Tilly...." + +"Let me be ... stop kissing me." + +"Why mayn't I kiss you?..." + +"I don't want you to." + +"And you say you love me!" + +"Yes, but ... don't kiss me any more." + +He looked at her in perplexity; and she said: + +"It's not only kissing...." + +"Tilly!" he said, stretching out his arms. "Whatever it is, we shall +find it for each other ... with each other...." + +"Yes...." + +"You think so, don't you?" + +"Yes." + +"You believe it? When we are at the Hague ... alone ... in our own +home?" + +"Yes, yes, I believe it." + +"And will you then be happy?" + +"Yes ... when we have found it." + +"And we shall find it." + +"Yes." + +"Come and sit with me, in my study.... I have work to do: come and sit +with me. I sha'n't go downstairs for tea. I have some reading to do: +come with me ... and stay with me this evening: will you?" + +"Yes." + +"Then it will be as if we were already at home ... in our own home ... +at the Hague...." + +She went with him, pale, tired, listless, with his arm round her waist. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +Easter was at hand; spring brought a new balminess to the wind, a new +softness to the rain, a new warmth to the air, which hung low in a heavy +grey canopy; and much had changed during the past few weeks. The big +house, full though it was with all of them, seemed very quiet now that +Addie and Mathilde had moved to the Hague, though their rooms were +always kept ready for them because Van der Welcke had said that Addie +must always have his rooms ready for him whenever he chose to come home, +though it were only for a day. And so the bedrooms and the nursery +always remained in mute expectation, with silent furniture and closed +doors; and only in Addie's big study, one of the best rooms of the +house, formerly the old man's library, Guy now sat and worked at the +window. And it was as though, in spite of the restfulness induced by +Mathilde's absence, they were all gloomy because Addie was gone, as if +they had all lost him. True, he came regularly, twice a week in fact, +especially because of Marietje--Mary; but even then he had so much to do +outside that they scarcely saw him except at meals. And it was as if +they could all have put up with Mathilde, rather than lose Addie. +Klaasje no longer pushed her chair away, Gerdy no longer spilt the milk, +at evening tea--those small, almost ridiculous vexations with which +Constance had had to put up so often--as soon as Mathilde entered; but, +now that all vexation was gone, Addie also was gone and seemed lost for +all time. And they lived on in a sort of grey harmony, still and +peaceful but now, regularly, without many words, in a dull resignation +which mourned in all their eyes and voices, while Gerdy now silently, +silently pined and pined; and it was only Guy and Van der Welcke who, +once in a way, indulged in loud and forced merriment. Paul also had his +melancholy days: sometimes he would not put in an appearance for a week, +said that he was ill, remained in his rooms, lying on a sofa with a book +in his hands, not thinking it worth while to talk brilliantly or to play +the piano. But they looked him up, Constance, Brauws, the girls; they +drove him out of his rooms and out of his mood of depression; and he +returned, like a victim, grumbled that Gerdy's piano was always dirty, +asked for a duster, scrubbed the keys and submissively played Grieg, the +melodies dripping slackly from his fingers. And, though everything was +grey, in the somewhat sultry spring air, still it was strangely happy +with a harmony felt in silence, a family concord, which sometimes +brought the tears to Constance' eyes when she sat talking to Brauws in +the twilight upstairs in her own sitting-room, in whispered interchange +of quick half-words, which at once understood one another. Then, when +Addie arrived, he brought with him a certain gleam, a light, a sudden +glory; and yet his eyes too were full of sombre greyness, but they were +all so glad to see him that they saw only glory in them. He was happy at +the Hague, he said. He had a good practice, everything was going well. +Mathilde was very cheerful; the children were well. He asked them all to +come down sometime, for, though they had all been once, to see the +house, they did not come again, withdrawing themselves from him as it +were ... He saw it and was hurt by it; his eyes seemed to roam through +the dear brown rooms, as if this big house remained his house; and, +when Constance embraced him, she felt in her son's heart a difficult +struggle and a swelling of great sorrow. He never spoke of it; he +hypnotized Marietje; he regularly kept up Klaasje's reading-lessons and +the books with the coloured letters gleamed into the child's awakening +imagination; he talked, on Saturdays, at great length with Alex or sat +with old Grandmamma and always thought of something to say to her that +made her nod her head with soft, smiling satisfaction; he found a moment +for his father, for his mother, for all of them: also for the poor sick +people on the silent country roads; once he interested himself in an old +sick horse which caused Marietje--Mary--great sorrow, when she saw it +tortured, and bought it for her and let it run about, for her sake, in a +meadow belonging to a farmer whom they knew. And his regular visits were +what they all looked forward to, once a week, as to a delightful day; +and the other days dragged on, in grey harmony, amid the quiet family +life, in which they all recognized the same loss in one another. + +Easter arrived; and the three, Constant, Jan and Piet, came home for the +holidays. And it was one great emotion, not only for Adeline, but also +for Constance and also for Addie, when he came down, an emotion which +bound them still more closely together, an emotion aroused by the future +of all those boys, an emotion felt over the examinations which they had +passed or were about to pass. Constant, now seventeen, was to be +transferred this year from the Secondary School at the Hague to the +School of Agriculture at Wageningen; Jan, now fifteen, was still at a +boarding-school at Barneveld, preparing to go up for his naval +examination next year; Piet, now fourteen, was at the Hague, at the +Secondary School, with a view to the Polytechnic. At the Hague, +Constant and Piet lived with a tutor; and Addie was almost glad that he +himself was now living at the Hague and seeing more of the boys, for the +tutor was not satisfied: the boys did their lessons badly, not because +they were unwilling, but because they had no head for books, for +working, for studying, any more than Alex, any more than Guy. The three +yellow-haired younger ones were even worse feather-heads than their two +elders: Constant was something of a dreamer, Jan the most solid, Piet +the cleverest of the three, but none of them workers. They all displayed +the same incapacity for perseverance, with the different shades of their +different characters: Alex, true, doing his best for Addie's sake at the +Merchants' School at Amsterdam, but full of a secret dread of life, +struck as a child with that dread since, staring through open doors, he +had seen his father's dead body, in that single moment of horror and +blood; Guy, kindly, genial, merry and light-hearted; Constant, inwardly +sombre, morose, with a strange deep look of suspicion in his eyes; Jan, +a boy for games; and Piet--the youngest except Klaasje--no doubt the +most enlightened intellectually, but delicate, shy, girlish and +reminding Constance most of the flaxen dolls of the old days: the merry, +careless children, romping round the dining-room in the Bankastraat, +while Gerrit, in his uniform and riding-boots, stood tall and +wide-legged in the midst of their fun. And now, now the boys were no +longer careless: it was their reports, it was their careers opening +yonder in the future that as it were compelled them to think of serious +things; and it was as though they none of them developed with the +blossoming of their years, as though they, Alex, Guy, Constant and Jan, +remained feeble, light-hearted, sombre and rough and Piet so shy and +delicate, while cruel life opened out before them, society, in which +they had to conquer a place for themselves, when none of them could +persevere in the youthful studies which prepared their future. It was a +great source of anxiety for Addie; and, if the boys had not all been so +fond of him, the anxiety would have been greater than he could cope +with. Was it not he who had really chosen their career for them, because +they did not know, because they had no preference, all of them perhaps +shuddering with dread of having to take their place in human society, +such as Alex felt it most deeply in the melancholy of his dejection, as +though their father's suicide, of which they all knew, had cast a shadow +over all of them, a twilight over their childish souls? And Addie, like +an elder brother, like a young father, had had, in consulting them, to +choose for them, had had to discuss the matter with them at length. The +Indian Civil Service appealed to none of them; Addie thought that not +any of them had the brains for college; and so it was decided: Alex, +army training-college, but that had not been a success and he was doing +better now at the Commercial School; Guy, the Post Office; Constant, +Wageningen; Jan, the Navy; and Piet, in whom Addie saw the brightest +intelligence of all, he had stimulated to enter for the Polytechnic. But +it was not only Alex: Guy also was a source of trouble to him, plodding +with gloomy resignation at his maps and books; Constant, sombre and +morose, was doing his best; but the competitive examinations for +Willemsoord might prove very difficult, Addie thought, for Jan later; +while Piet ... But the boy was still a child, clinging so dependently to +Addie, with his rather girlish affection, with his shyness, which placed +confidence in Addie only.... Yes, thought Constance, now that she saw +them all together, they would long be a great trouble, they would still +be a great burden to Addie; and Adeline, poor Adeline could never +unaided have made men of her boys. + +It was Easter; and it was strange how much at home they all were in the +big house at Driebergen, which they regarded as their paternal house, +regarding Uncle Henri and Aunt Constance next to their mother as parents +also, regarding Addie as an elder brother, as their youngest father, on +whom everything really depended. No one ever opposed this view; and in +everything, down to the least thing, it was quite natural for them to +say: + +"I'll ask Addie." + +They thought their cousin much older in spirit than in years and all +looked up to him naturally and with unquestioning confidence, as though +he must know things, as though he would be sure to make life smooth for +them, that future of career beside career which opened before them like +a battlefield. However much they might differ in character, in this they +felt alike, quite naturally, as though they could not do otherwise; and, +when a stranger sometimes expressed surprise that Addie fathered them +so, their eyes would glance up in astonishment, as though to ask: + +"What do you expect? Of course, Addie does everything for us!" + +And they were very grateful, almost unconsciously, to Uncle Henri, who +paid the bills, to Aunt Constance, who took care of them in so many +ways, to Addie, who would make life smooth for them; but still they +thought it very natural, because it had always been like that, for the +girls too: Marietje, Adeletje, Gerdy and Klaasje. There it was: Uncle, +Aunt and Addie looked after them, because Mamma was so sad and not very +capable and devoid of energy. They had been used to it ever since they +were very young and small; and it was like that; and it could never have +been different. + +Now, when he came down from the Hague, Addie talked to all of them +seriously; and they listened with serious faces, looking up at him, +accepting what he said, promising to work better in future, to show +better reports next time, to give him more reason for content in all +respects.... Then he would shake hands with them; and that handshake +conveyed a promise which they would be glad to keep, to please Addie, +because Addie, after all, was bearing the entire responsibility for +their lives and their futures. They left it all to him, but they began +to see more and more clearly that they must make it easier for him. He +spoke to Piet in particular: + +"Mr. Veghel's not satisfied, Piet." + +This was the tutor with whom Constant and Piet boarded. + +The boy blushed, with a quick flow of colour to his round, girlish +cheeks; his eyes glanced up shyly and timidly. + +"You must work harder, Piet: you can when you like; and therefore, if +you don't, you can't possibly go to Delft.... And you're cut out for a +civil engineer. That's what you want to be, isn't it?" + +"Yes, Addie." + +"Well, see that you get your remove before the summer holidays. You +won't get your remove, Piet, if you go on like this." + +"I'll do my best, Addie." + +Then the boy became very restless, because Addie was not satisfied; and +inwardly he wished that Addie did not see him so clearly, so clever and +capable if only he liked; and Piet thought the Polytechnic a very +difficult affair: + +"It'll never come off," he thought, in his secret heart. + +But he did not say so, because, in spite of himself, he hoped that it +would, if only because Addie wanted it to and because it was such a long +way off, the Polytechnic, and because Addie lately had worn such a +wrinkle in his forehead, as though he were disappointed ... possibly in +him. + +"We're a great trouble to you, Addie, what?" + +"If only you work hard, Piet ... then it won't be such a trouble and +things will look after themselves." + +But Piet was not the only one to see it: they all saw it, the boys and +girls alike, and wondered if it was because of them only or because of +something quite different--himself, or Mathilde--that his forehead +wrinkled so and his grey eyes grew so sombre.... + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + +At the Hague, Mathilde felt a certain gratification, a satisfaction; and +the bustle of the early weeks gave her a pleasant feeling of excitement +and made her forget the despairing thoughts of the last few weeks spent +at Driebergen. They had an attractive little new house in a side-street +off the Bezuidenhout itself. It was freshly painted, bright in +colouring; and she found it delightful to be able to furnish the house, +now that summer was approaching, with light, modern furniture which +looked and suggested a doll's house, with the small rooms and the +abundance of light-coloured muslin in the drawing-room and conservatory, +which she thought looked nice and cheerful. The first spring light +entered hard and shrill; and the new colours of the wallpapers showed up +in the first sunny days, crying out at Addie when he returned from his +visits in his smart little brougham. And she displayed a certain +solicitude that above all he should be nicely dressed, that he should +look very well-groomed: she insisted on his ordering a couple of new +suits. He had not a large practice yet, but that was sure to come: she +was full of hope. In the afternoons, she would go out, rejoicing in the +shopping-streets, in all the errands which she had to do, in the +old-acquaintances whom she met, people whom she had known in her +parents' house--they were both dead now--and occupying a somewhat lower +social scale than her own at present. And she loved especially to show +herself to her relations--a few uncles and aunts and cousins in her +elaborate new dresses: Baroness van der Welcke.... And, in her +gratification, in her satisfaction, in her new environment, created by +herself in sympathy with her commonplace illusions, it was as though she +had suddenly wiped all Driebergen out of her life, as though they had +never existed, the nearly three crowded early years of her marriage +yonder, in the melancholy, rainy village, in the sombre house, the +haunted house full of lunatics and invalids. A newness, fresh and +commonplace as the paint of her house, reigned all around her; she +inhaled newness and was grateful to Addie; but that which, despite +herself, had begun to grow refined in her, through her intercourse with +antagonistic but yet finer natures than her own, now became blunted at +once; and the days of real misery which she had undergone now, in her +superficial thoughts, seemed very far away, as though they had been +never lived but only dreamed, as read in a book, but never felt. The +feeling had not burst forth from her, like a plant that buds, but had +moved slowly around her, like a wind that blows or a drifting cloud. It +had moved her, but had not metamorphosed her. Now, in her own +atmosphere, she was blossoming up, fully, like a flower transplanted to +the earth which it needed in order to blossom entirely. + +And yet, though she recovered herself, she was not quite herself again. +Even though she no longer craved to know and to receive that which +escaped her in Addie, yet she continued to know that something in him +did escape her; and, however eagerly, in her simple entreaty, she had +begged that he would love her, now, even though she uttered the same +request, almost with a childish plaint--"Addie, you _do_ love me, don't +you?"--she had to admit to herself that she now saw him really very far +above herself, not only in that which escaped her, but also in that +which she understood: the daily sacrifice which he was making by living +at the Hague, by acting as she had asked, seeking to establish a +practice as she wished, by shifting the tenor of his life, as with a +strong grip of the hand, in the direction which would make her happy, +her, the woman who no longer loved him as she had done ... as she had +done when she felt him akin to herself, in the healthy normal life of +physical natures.... He was that still, but he was also different; and +that different thing was not akin to her, nor was the superiority with +which he sacrificed himself. The superiority, the sacrifice oppressed +her.... She soon forgot; and, when she was out of doors, going along the +shops, meeting acquaintances who admired her, she was happy. When she +came home, waiting with her two children for Addie's return, she +suddenly felt oppressed: + +"I grew melancholy at Driebergen," she would think. + +But now she was in her new, freshly-painted house; and she was oppressed +and felt unattractive; she dragged with her something that she could not +shake off. She often wept, sobbed, as at Driebergen, but there, she +knew, it was only about Marietje van Saetzema, whereas here she did not +know what she was sobbing for.... At meals, sitting with him alone, she +was silent, or else spoke harshly, without intending to. She did not sit +with him when he was working, though he asked her to. When he wanted to +kiss her, she drew back. At night she often locked herself in, pretended +to be asleep.... Only in the children did she feel in harmony with him, +did she agree with him, with his system of feeding them, of sending them +out every day in all weathers. The children united them, now and then, +for a few moments.... When the children were in bed, their life +together became strangely unreal, as though both were asking themselves +why, why? And it grew worse daily. He was now living exactly as she +wished; and it seemed to him as if he had no life of his own. The +keeping up of his reading, in the evenings, became mechanical; and +mechanically he went once, sometimes twice, a week to Driebergen, +remaining there for half the day. They saw him looking strange, +unsettled, old, with wrinkles in his forehead and a gloom of despair in +his eyes. + +"My dear old chap," Van der Welcke said, one day, "I can see that things +are not going well with you. Do you remember how your father, not so +very long ago, with the only bit of wisdom that ever fell to his share, +advised you to seek your own life for yourself?... You're seeking it +less and less ... for yourself. Things are not well with you down there +... at the Hague." + +"Father, I have so little right to seek my own life for myself." + +"And yet we all do it." + +"There was a time, once, when you didn't. You then gave up your life for +me." + +"I did that quite naturally. I don't know what's happening inside you +... but it looks to me as if you were forcing yourself. Here you're at +home, here you feel a man: you love this house, you love the work you +used to do here...." + +"I don't belong to myself any more." + +"You never did belong to yourself. As a child, you belonged to your +silly parents ... who got the better of you entirely; and now you belong +to your wife. I expect it's your fate." + +"If it has to be...." + +"I should so much like to see you happy, Addie. Bless my soul, old chap, +we should all like to see it. We're all suffering on your account. Your +poor mother's suffering." + +"Does she talk about it to you?" + +"No, we never talk much together, as you know, but still...." + +"Do you understand each other better?" + +"No, but that's not the question. The question at this moment is your +happiness...." + +"Father, I am not unhappy. Things are really all right with me." + +"You've got that cold, distant voice, my boy, which I know so well in +you, which you put on when you're hiding yourself and not facing things. +I never mistake it." + +Van der Welcke got up, walked restlessly across the room, all blue with +smoke, walked back again and suddenly stopped in front of Addie and took +his son's head in his two hands: + +"My boy, why was it necessary that your fate should be the same as your +father's, an unhappy marriage?" + +"Father...." + +"Don't deny it. Why should you? Aren't we two friends who have always +known all about each other? As a child, you were my friend. We were +always like brothers. Why must your fate be the same as your father's, +an unhappy marriage? You, who are so clever where others are concerned." + +Addie suddenly clutched hold of his father. Van der Welcke continued: + +"Why must you always know so little that will help yourself?... At the +time, I raised no objection. You were fond of the woman; you always knew +your mind with such certainty; I thought that you knew things for +yourself; I let you have your way. I was jealous because you were +getting married; so was your mother; we should have been jealous of any +woman. We didn't like the girl you brought us; we thought, 'It's our +jealousy that makes us not like her. She's Addie's wife; she's taking +our boy from us.' We had no right to think like that. We tried to stifle +our jealousy. We received Mathilde, hoping, almost knowing for certain, +that you were finding your own happiness in her, because you always knew +your mind.... You didn't know it in your own case.... You knew +everything so positively in ours.... You also knew so positively, so +plainly, that the profession which I tried to urge upon you was not the +thing for you: you found your own vocation. You were a small boy; and +you know it all so clearly and positively.... When you grew up and +became a man, you no longer knew things. Isn't that so?... Why should +your fate be the same as your father's? I was a ne'er-do-well, when I +made my mistake; you were a calm, serious man...." + +It was as if his father were depriving Addie of all his strength, but he +merely said, in his almost cool, even, restrained tones: + +"Dear Father, really ... things are all right between Mathilde and me. +Even Mamma understood, in the end, that she did not feel happy here, at +home; and Mamma agreed that she would feel more at home and happier in +her own house, however small...." + +"But I'm not speaking of Mathilde's happiness, I'm speaking of +yours...." + +"That goes with it, that must go with it, Father...." + +And so it always remained: he spoke out no more than that, gave no more +of himself than that and was outwardly almost cold with chill shuddering +and repellant when spoken to about himself. That he had made a mistake, +that he had not known things for himself he clearly perceived; but all +his efforts were directed towards the attempt to repair what he had +managed, through his ignorance where himself was concerned, to spoil or +destroy in his wife's life. + +Because he knew that she soon forgot things, he thought that he would +succeed, if he devoted himself to her entirely, if he lived with a view +to her happiness and ceased to live with a view to his own higher +instincts, his own sympathies, his own vocation and activities. And, +even if she did not forget everything at once, he would hope that, if he +persisted, she would end by forgetting entirely. + +On days when she was bright and cheerful, he was satisfied, in silence +and with a certain inward sombreness, because things were going as he +was compelling them to go. On days when she was snappish and locked +herself into her room and was evidently unhappy and no longer knew how +to explain her melancholy, he suddenly saw his young life before him as +a dismal ruin, as a desolate block of masonry in a dark night, as a +desperate climbing and climbing in the dusk, with no goal of light +ahead. Then he would look at his young, crowing children and wonder +whether one day--and that perhaps soon--they would comfort him and her, +their parents, even as he had comforted his. He did his work listlessly, +visited his patients listlessly, even though no one ever noticed +anything in him. He would ride through the streets of the Hague in his +smart little brougham; and his eyes looked dully before them and he +longed for his bicycle and the Driebergen roads, the silent, gloomy +roads, sodden with rain and weighed down under by the heavy skies where +his sick poor awaited him in their mean little dwellings, in vain, +seeing him only for a single moment once a week. He was filled with +bitterness: with a listless sneer at himself he reflected that he might +just as well have satisfied his parents' wishes and Grandmamma's wishes, +in the old days, and become a diplomatist. It would have been nearly the +same as what he was doing now: putting himself forward as a young +fashionable doctor who practised hypnotism and who was sought after, +especially by the ladies, because he was good-looking and a baron. + +He sank into deeper and deeper dejection and felt roused only for a +moment when treating a serious patient. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +And Mathilde's healthy mental balance was disturbed. This young and +healthy woman, with her rather vulgar aspirations, had fallen in love +with him because her nature expected to achieve a sympathetic +satisfaction through his both in body and soul; her love had faltered +when she gradually perceived that she was sharing him with so many who +seemed to understand him better, when she suddenly saw, in a refinement +of her inner perception, that he was really escaping her. She had enough +common-sense to understand and to appreciate that he wanted her +happiness above all things, that he was now devoting himself to her +entirely, that he had forced their present life at the Hague into a +direction which was hers, not his. Because of this, she was filled with +a surprised gratitude; and yet this gratitude depressed her. The years +spent at Driebergen amidst her husband's family had subdued her to a +mere nervous susceptibility; and now she sought and wept again and did +not know what she sought nor why she wept. Fits of temper followed on +fits of weakness and fits of discouragement. In the question which she +no longer put to Addie, but which nevertheless constantly arose in her +heart--the question whether he really loved her--lay hidden a second +question, whether she really loved him. At such times she thought that, +even though her love was diminished, they would still be happy, now, at +the Hague, and make her life a simple life, the after-math of physical +love. But she saw him grow moodier despite himself, despite all his +efforts. She passed through hours of despair; and, if she had not had +her children, she would have gone away somewhere, she knew not where. + +Her healthy mental balance was disturbed. She now thought that it would +be a good thing to tell Addie that she did not wish to stay at the Hague +like this, because he was not happy there, that she wanted to go back to +Driebergen. And the idea of giving back to him what he was giving her, +of sacrificing herself as he was sacrificing himself, gave her an +internal glow of exhilaration, as though she had found a solution; a +solution in the near future, in a week or two, a month or two. Yes, let +her tell him that it would be better, after all, to go back to +Driebergen. The rooms there were always ready for them. They would all +be glad to see him back again. She would give him back to his family. +But she ... + +She pictured herself once more in the repellant life which she had led +there. And she would not, she could not suggest it to him. Then days +would follow when she avoided him, when she hardly saw him at meals. +Sometimes, for a few moments, they would play with the children, for +there was something really attractive about the fair-haired little +mites, pretty children both, Constant and Jetje, healthy children, such +as Addie had wanted. When they were put to bed, she would go out in the +evening by herself, to take tea with relations or friends. She did not +ask him to go with her: he had his work to do; and she came back in a +cab. + +There was a void in her life; and she tried to argue sensibly with +herself, and to make light of things. Come, there were hundreds of women +in her position, not so very happy with their husbands: really, happy +marriages were rare; and people still managed to get on all right.... +There were the children; and she was very fond of them.... Perhaps +later, when they were a little older, things would be better: Addie +might become reconciled to his position as one of the most fashionable +doctors of the day; she also might recover her calmness, her balance.... +Life was so insipid: getting up, dressing, ordering meals, paying +visits, shopping. Only the children, still so small, imparted a little +gaiety to it. For the rest, it was insipid; and it was the same for one +and all. Nearly everybody had to pass through some sort of crisis, after +a few years' marriage. She would settle down, Addie would settle down: +they would go on living side by side.... + +But days of tears would follow, days of despair; and she felt much too +young, much too full of vitality, just to drag on her life like +that..... + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + +It was spring; and Marietje van Saetzema was to go to the Hague for the +day, to see her father and mother. Constance went with her. + +"How well Marietje was looking!" cried Adolphine, with delight. + +Marietje certainly looked well. She would always remain a little pallid, +frail and thin, with narrow shoulders; but her cheeks had filled out, +her eyes showed a dewy calmness and her lips, pale though they were, +blossomed into a kindly smile. She was, as usual, a little subdued, but +she joined in the conversation and her attitude was more natural, less +painful and forced. + +"But you must leave her with us for the summer as well," said Constance, +"for the poor girl hasn't had much out of the country air during the +winter. It is beginning to look lovely now where we are. She'll spend a +summer with us first, Adolphine, won't she, before you take her back?" + +"Very well," said Adolphine, gratefully. + +But presently, when she was alone with her sister, she found an +opportunity to say: + +"At least ... if there are no objections." + +"What objection could there be?" + +"Because of Addie." + +"What do you mean?" + +"People are so spiteful sometimes, you know. They say...." + +"What do they say?" + +"They say that Addie is in love with Marietje and that Marietje does her +best to attract him." + +"I should let them talk, Phine." + +"What do you believe, Constance?" + +"I don't believe a word of it. Addie is in love with his wife." + +"That's just it. People say...." + +"What do they say now?" + +"That things are not going so very well between Mathilde and Addie." + +"Every young couple has a difficult time now and again. A little +difference of opinion ... I assure you they are happy together." + +"Is that so?" + +"Yes." + +"It was Mathilde's wish to come and live here?" + +"It was better that she should be on her own, in her own house." + +"Oh, she didn't have a scene with you then? That's what people say." + +"I never had a single word with Mathilde." + +"I see her once in a way. She does _not_ talk nicely of you. She says +that she was sacrificed to Gerrit's children, that she did not count at +home. When she talks like that, I defend you, for I know how nice you +and Van der Welcke are to everybody." + +"She may have had a bitter moment that made her speak like that." + +"She goes out a lot," said Adolphine. + +"When? Whom does she go to?" + +"In the evening. Friends. She is hardly ever at home of an evening. She +oughtn't to do that ... without Addie, you know. It's so +undomesticated." + +"I know she goes out now and then of an evening to have tea ... with +friends." + +"Yes, exactly.... She's _always_ out.... But how well Marietje is +looking, Constance! She does Addie great credit. He's making a great +reputation ... with his hypnotism. Everyone wants to be hypnotized by +him. I'm always hearing him praised." + +"I'm so glad, Adolphine." + +She went away, arranging to fetch Marietje in the afternoon and take her +back to Driebergen. She had an open fly waiting: it was beautiful, mild +weather; and the spring was weaving verdure in between the trees. But a +heavy load lay on Constance' breast and she could have cried ... because +of her boy, because of Addie. She was going to ride to him now, at the +other end of the town, the Emmastraat. She meant to lunch there and, +when she had seen the grandchildren, to come back to Adolphine's. It was +eleven o'clock. And she felt so much weighed down with sorrow for Addie, +who came home to them looking more and more gloomy every week, that she +could not, could not go to him yet ... after all that Adolphine had +said.... Oh, how she always loved saying things that jarred upon your +nerves, things that hurt, things that grated against your soul! Did she +do it purposely? Was she insincere? Or was it because she couldn't help +it, because she was tactless ... or, very likely, took an unconscious +pleasure in hurting other people?... Oh, perhaps she did not know how +much pain she gave!... But to go straight to Addie now, to Mathilde, was +impossible.... + +"Cabman, drive a little way through the Woods first." + +The driver turned down the Javastraat, went along the Scheveningen Road +and let his horse roam at will in the rides of the Woods.... Oh, the +Hague was charming; she loved the Woods! Even as Addie loved Driebergen, +with an innate inherited love for the house and household and the fact +of living there--he was indeed his grand-parents' grand-child--so she +loved the Hague greatly. She loved those green villa-lined roads, she +loved the briny fragrance of the sea.... She was now riding along the +Ornamental Water, now, suddenly, along the spot where she remembered +meeting Brauws years ago--he sitting on that bench yonder--when, after +she had turned round with a start, he caught her up; and her confession, +that she had suggested a divorce to Henri.... Oh, those days, those days +of life and suffering and illusion, so far, so far away in the distant +past!... And now, now the man drove with his jog-trot, the jog-trot of a +victoria hired by the hour, along the Kerkhoflaan; now she was riding +past the old house.... Oh, that old house! It was as though the past, +the illusion, the suffering and the life, the later, later life, were +still hanging around it like a low-drifting cloud! It was the trees of +yore and the skies of yore and the green spring life of yore. The house, +the house: there was the window at which she had so often sat musing, +gazing at the great skies overhead, while her soul travelled along a +path of light. Up above were Addie's little turret-room and her own +bedroom: oh, that night of illusion at the open window, with the +noiseless flashes of hope over the sea, the distant sea yonder!... She +felt almost inclined to stop, to alight, to ask leave to go over the +house; but something in the curtains, in the outline of a woman +sketching at the window of her former boudoir prevented her; and she +rode on. Oh, how she loved her Hague; and yet ... yet she had suffered +there, with what antipathy she had been surrounded!... Did that +antipathy of small souls for small souls go on for ever? Must her poor +boy now suffer through it, even though he made his name as a doctor?... +Oh, what a heavy depression she felt upon her heart, as if her fur +cloak, were much too warm for the balmy weather with its breath of +spring!... Now they were going down the Bankastraat, past poor Gerrit's +old house; and suddenly that terrible night of snow stood white-hideous +before her mind, stained dark with her brother's blood.... Here was +Dorine's boarding-house; and Constance got out and rang, but Dorine was +not in.... The driver jogged on wearily. She recognized acquaintances +here and there, grown older now that her memories were harking back to +past years; and the cabman, doubtless to spin out the drive, instead of +following the Kanaal, turned up the Alexanderstraat. Oh, the house, the +old family house, so full of recollections, so full of the past! And ... +she saw that it was empty, that it was to let. With a quick glance at +the uncurtained windows above, she even recognized the plasterwork of +the ceilings; and it was as though the past still brooded there, still +stared out at her, through the white, streaked windows.... Wearily the +horse now jogged along the Bezuidenhout; and she saw poor Bertha's +house, with its tightly-drawn veil of chill panes stiff and repelling a +swift penetrating glance.... Yes, the Hague was like a grave to her; and +yet even as a grave the Hague was dear to her. A grave? And Addie lived +down there, at the end of the street!... Would _she_ still care to live +in the Hague? She did not know, she did not know: perhaps she was +becoming used to Driebergen, becoming used to the big, sombre house +there, because there was so much love around her, even though she +continued to feel a stranger there.... And a stranger: that was how her +boy felt here! + +The carriage now pulled up outside her boy's house. Strange, the +front-door was open: perhaps the maid was out on an errand and had left +the door open for a minute to save herself trouble. Constance, telling +the driver to come back at half-past two, went inside. Addie could +hardly be home yet from visiting his patients. She knocked at the door +of the drawing-room and received no answer. Mathilde was no doubt busy +with the children or with her house-keeping. Constance opened the door +and walked in, to look for her. + +She gave a start. Through the drawing-room and the dining-room she saw +Mathilde sitting in the conservatory, with Johan Erzeele beside her. He +sat bending towards her; and he was holding her hand in his two. +Mathilde's eyes were staring into the distance; and a feeble hesitation +seemed to take away something of the usual strength of her fine, +healthy, rather full lines. Constance saw it for one moment, as a +strange vision in that bright, unsoftened conservatory-light, which was +made the harder with many-coloured muslin curtains and coarsely vivid +with the gold and motley of ugly Japanese fans. It gave Constance a +fright; and in that inexorable light the fright and the vision were both +inexorable. + +It did not last longer than a second. Her shadow in the drawing-room +made Mathilde and Johan start up; and they rose to their feet: + +"Mamma!" + +"Mrs. van der Welcke!" + +It sounded like a greeting; but their voices were unsteady, because they +understood that Constance had seen. Constance' voice trembled, but she +merely said: + +"Good-morning, dear. How do you do, Mr. Erzeele?" She kissed Mathilde, +shook hands with Erzeele. "I came over with Marietje; I left her with +her father and mother and came to look you up ... intending to lunch +with you ... if it suits you." + +She strove to make her words and her voice sound quite unaffected and +she succeeded; and, because she succeeded, she suddenly felt that what +she had seen was nothing: a moment of familiar intimacy. Were they not +old friends? Had Mathilde not, as a girl, when he was still a cadet, +danced with him often at their dancing-club? There was nothing, there +was nothing; she was reassured by the tranquillity of her own voice. + +"So you will stay to lunch," said Mathilde. + +"If it suits you." + +"Of course it does.... Addie is not in yet." + +"Are the children upstairs?" + +"Yes, I'll send for them." + +Erzeele said good-bye, said that he must go, reminded Mathilde easily of +her appointment to meet him the next day at the tennis-club. Constance +glanced at him quickly: in his uniform, he was young, broad and short; +his complexion fair but bronzed with the sun; above his powerful +shoulders and thick neck his face stood fresh and strong, smart +military, with a pair of glad, childlike grey eyes; a long fair +moustache shaded his lips, which were laughing glad and warmly sensual; +and, when he laughed, his small sharp ivory teeth flashed.... His thick +fair hair curled slightly at the tips....? It was very strange, but it +struck her suddenly that Erzeele's way of looking at Mathilde resembled +that of her own husband, Van der Welcke, when ... when he was young, +when she met him in Rome. Something in the fresh vigour of his glance +and of his rather sensual laugh, something about his figure, about his +teeth reminded her of Henri as a young man. + +"You've known him a long time, haven't you?" asked Constance, when he +was gone. + +"Oh dear, yes!" said Mathilde, vaguely. + +The nurse brought down Jetje and Constant for Grandmamma to see: after +that, the children were to go out for a little longer. + +"They look well," said Constance, huskily. + +She felt a heavy pressure of inexplicable melancholy on her heart, a +pressure so heavy that she could have cried, so heavy that she felt her +eyes grow moist in spite of herself. + +"Yes," said Mathilde, "they're very healthy. It's quite a system that +Addie and I are practising with that special diet and the regular time +each day in the open air. The other day it was blowing a gale ... and +Addie absolutely insisted that they should go out all the same. And I +must say I agree with him." + +Suddenly, while Jetje was sitting on her lap and Constant tugging at her +skirts, Constance took Mathilde's hand: + +"Then things _are_ all right between you?" she whispered, almost +imploringly. + +"How do you mean?" + +"You are happy now, Mathilde ... here at the Hague?" + +"Certainly, Mamma.... You yourself understood, didn't you, that I longed +for a house of my own." + +"Yes, dear, I understood." + +"Only...." + +"What?" + +"I am sorry to have robbed you of Addie." + +"But, my dear, a son does not belong to his parents." + +"Still, I reproach myself.... But I could not stay with you any longer. +You understood that it was not because ... because you were not kind to +me. You were very kind ... you tried to be ... though I do not believe +that Papa likes me, that Emilie, Aunt Adeline or any of the others like +me.... I bear them no malice: I don't like them either." + +Constance was silent. + +"I am so different from the boy and girl cousins ... and Papa was always +jealous." + +"My dear!" + +"And you too; but you fought against it." + +"Mathilde, I always wished you to feel at home with us; I always hoped +that some part of you would blend with us." + +"Exactly; and that was impossible: I was too different from all of you; +and at Driebergen ... in the end.... I should have become as full of +nerves ... as Mary." + +There was a tint of hatred in her voice. + +"No, dear," said Constance, harking back, "you were not happy with us. +But because I hope that you are happy now...." + +She had risen nervously; the nurse had entered and was taking the +children with her: they were to have one more turn in the street before +lunch. + +"Tell me, Mathilde, are you really happy? Do you really and truly love +Addie again?" + +"I have always loved him. What do you mean?" + +"Then it's all right, then it's all right, dear." + +"Why are you so sad? There are tears in your eyes." + +"The Hague always makes me sad. The cabman took me for a little drive +and I passed all the houses of the old days ... when we all used to live +here." + +"Did you feel a longing to come back to the Hague?" + +"No, no ... I don't want to come back again." + +"Will you always remain at Driebergen?" + +"Yes, I think so." + +"You have found happiness there, I did not. I remained a stranger." + +"Tilly ... one day, perhaps ... you will live there as we do now ... +when we are no longer there...." + +"No, never." + +"Why not?" + +"I dislike the house and everything in it ... down to the very +doorposts. And I can't get used to an eerie house ... as you all do." + +"But Addie...." + +"Exactly: he will never forget the house. What can it be to him? He was +not born there!" + +"He feels at home there." + +"Just so. And I do not.... Oh, I ought never to have married him!" + +"Tilly, Tilly, what are you saying?" + +"I ought never, never to have married him!" + +"And you love him, you love him!" + +"I have loved him, oh, very dearly. But he is far above me! I do not +reach his level! He sacrifices himself for me. And it breaks my heart to +accept his sacrifice. It oppresses me! Oh, Mamma, find something, find +something for us! Let him go back to you all ... and let me stay here +with the children.... I shall live simply ... in a small upper part ... +and practise economy. It is all my fault, not his. He is good and kind +and magnanimous ... but all that oppresses me. I thought at first that +we were--how shall I put it?--akin to each other, kindred natures. When +we got married, I used not to think about such things ... but I thought +in myself, with an unconscious certainty, that we were akin. He was so +nice, so straight-forward and so manly; and that rather elderly +something appealed to me: I used to look up to it, without being +oppressed by it.... Gradually, gradually I began to feel that he was far +above me. Things I like leave him indifferent: little luxuries, fashion, +gaiety, society. That hypnotism of his: at first, I used to think, 'This +is something new, a new method;' now, I don't know: I am becoming afraid +of it! I am becoming afraid of him! There is something in him that +frightens me.... Oh, I know, it is only because he is so good and so big +and because I feel very small and ordinary, because I don't understand +those fine, lofty ideals ... about doing good and about poor people and +about self-sacrifice!... To him it all comes natural. He is sacrificing +himself now for me: he does not care for the Hague or for his practice +here, whereas I could never live at Driebergen again.... And, even if I +could feel more or less at home among you all ... even then, even then +Addie would oppress me!... Do you understand? Oh, you are crying! Of +course you are angry with me: you see your son above everything. That is +easily understood; and I ... I still have enough love left for Addie to +understand it, to understand it all.... But, you see, the love I still +have for him ... is an anxious love, it's a sort of self-reproach that I +am as I am and not different, a sort of remorse caused by all kinds of +things I don't understand and can't express, things that make me cry +when I am by myself and oppress me ... oppress me, until I sometimes +feel as if I were suffocating!" + +"Hush, dear: here he is!" + +They both ceased and listened. They heard Addie's voice: coming home, he +had met the children outside the house; Constance and Mathilde heard +his deep voice sound kindly, playfully, in the hall. He now opened the +door, with Jetje on one arm and little Constant toddling by his side +with his hand in his father's. + +"Mamma!" he exclaimed, in surprise. "I had no idea that you were here!" + +"No, my boy, I came up unexpectedly. I brought Marietje with me and left +her with her father and mother." + +"You'll stay to lunch, of course?" + +"I should like to." + +"Why, what's the matter with you, Mamma?" + +"The matter?" + +"And with you, Mathilde?" + +"With me?... Nothing." + +He saw that they had been talking together. He said nothing more, +however, but played with the children for a while and then released +himself and gave them over to the nurse, who had come in. + +"The youngsters are looking first-rate, aren't they?" + +"We shall have lunch in a minute, Mamma," said Mathilde, tonelessly. + +Addie sat down beside his mother, took her hand, smiled. Mathilde left +the room with her keys. + +"Don't fret, Mamma," he said. + +"My boy...." + +"You're fretting. You look so sad." + +"My dear, my dear ... I...." + +"What?" + +She gave a sob and laid her hand on his shoulder. She was so frightened, +so frightened, that it was as though her great dread stifled her and +prevented her from breathing. She trembled in his embrace. + +"You won't fret, you won't fret, will you, dear?" + +"No." + +The maid came to lay the table in the dining-room. Constance controlled +herself. + +"Mamma," he said, jestingly, now that Mathilde also returned, "you're +losing all your vanity! That's a nice old blouse to come and see your +son in! Look, it's wearing out at the elbows. Do you know you haven't +looked at all smart lately?" + +"Oh, my dear boy. This blouse is quite good still!" + +"Well, I think it's seen its best days. What do you say, Tilly?" + +"Why should I get myself up, an old woman like me?" said Constance. + +"You'll never be old, Mummie, and a well-turned-out woman must always +remain well-turned-out.... Do you remember the old days?" + +"Yes, when...." + +"You brought home that fine photograph from Nice?" + +She smiled through her tears: + +"My boy, that is so long ago!... You thought me a bundle of vanity +then." + +"The photograph never leaves my writing-table.... Mamma, you mustn't let +yourself go like that." + +"Very well, I don't wear this blouse any more. ... But it costs so much +to dress nicely ... and we have so many expenses." + +"You were not rich in the old days," said Mathilde, piqued at something +that she did not understand. + +"And yet Mamma wore dresses that cost six hundred francs," said Addie, +chaffingly. + +"Yes; and now that you are well off...." + +"Now I never dream of doing such a thing," said Constance, gently. + +The luncheon was quiet, a little melancholy, a little constrained. +Afterwards, things went a little more merrily because Jetje and Constant +came downstairs again with their nurse, suddenly, in a very youthful +vision of golden hair seen through the open door. Their little voices +chirped like those of young birds; and Constance could not refrain from +saying how much they all missed them at Driebergen. For there also they +were always coming down the stairs, looking so young and so golden, like +a vision of the future, to go walking out of doors. Even in the winter +they brought a hint of sunshine and of spring, something refreshing of +youth and beginning, a promise of future in the old house which was so +gloomily full of things of the past, things that hovered about the +rooms, gleamed out of the mirrors, trailed, like strange draughts, along +the lightly creaking stairs.... + +Mathilde did not say much; she was silent and sat with her lips closed +and her whole face--her eyes half-shut--closed, after that sudden +irresistible betrayal of her feelings to her mother-in-law to whom +nevertheless she was attracted by no sort of sympathy. + +A little while later, Constance' carriage came to fetch her and Addie +offered to go to the Van Saetzema's with her and see how Marietje was. + +"And what are you doing, Mathilde?" asked Constance, gently. + +"I don't know.... I expect I shall go out.... Or I may stay at home...." + +Addie went upstairs to get ready; and Constance suddenly took Mathilde +in her arms. + +"My dear...." + +"Mamma...." + +"You did well to speak out to me just now.... However sad it made me +feel, you did right." + +"Oh, why did I do it? I should have done better to hold my tongue." + +"No, no. Speak, oh, do speak to Addie too!" + +"I have spoken to him so often!" + +"Not lately?" + +Mathilde shrugged her shoulders: + +"No, not so often lately. What's the use? It's not his fault ... it's +six of one and half a dozen of the other ... and it can't be helped." + +"Very likely. Only...." + +"Only what, Mamma?" + +"Be careful, Mathilde, I implore you! Oh, do be careful! Everything, +everything can come right again.... You are sure to come together again +later ... but be careful, be careful. Don't spoil your life." + +They looked deep down into each other's eyes. + +"Mathilde, I may speak openly to you, mayn't I? Just because it's I, +dear, your mother ... who suffered so very much ... because she spoilt +her life so ... spoilt it so ... when she was young ... until life +became a torture.... I was a young woman, as you are, Mathilde, and ... +and I wasn't happy ... any more than you are, my poor child, at the +moment ... and...." + +"I know, Mamma," Mathilde replied, shortly. + +"Yes, you know ... you know all about it.... Of course you know, dear, +though I have not mentioned it to you.... But just ... just because of +all that, I may tell you, may I not, to be careful? Oh, do be careful!" + +"You are afraid of things that don't exist." + +"No, dear, there is nothing.... I know there's nothing ... only...." + +"What?" + +"You see ... when I arrived this morning...." + +"Erzeele was with me." + +"Yes." + +"He's an old friend." + +"I know." + +"He came to make an appointment ... to play tennis to-morrow." + +"Yes, I heard him." + +"There was nothing else." + +"He was holding your hand." + +"He's an old friend whom I knew as a girl, almost as a child." + +"Yes, dear, I know ... but...." + +"What do you mean?" + +"It _is_ dangerous." + +"What is?" + +"To talk to him too much ... while you're in your present frame of mind. +If you're feeling unhappy, dear, about one thing or another ... speak to +Addie." + +"I've spoken to him so often." + +"Confide in him." + +"I have." + +"And not ... not in Johan Erzeele." + +Mathilde's eyes blazed: + +"Mamma ... you haven't the right!" + +"Yes, dear, I _have_! I not only have the right to tell you this as +Addie's mother, but above all I have the right because I understand you, +because I am able to understand you, because I remember my own +wretchedly unhappy years of despair, as a young married woman, +unsatisfied, unhappy, desperate, though for other reasons, alas, than +those between you and Addie!... Because I remember all this, Mathilde, +because I can never forget, just because I remember, because I now +remember how I used to talk ... to Papa while I was married to my poor +old husband ... how I used to talk to Papa ... and try to find +consolation in those talks ... and how we worked ourselves up with those +talks until ... oh, Mathilde, oh, Mathilde, let me tell you all about +it!... Let me tell you all about it, quite simply, even though you know, +so that I may have the right to speak to you. I used to talk to Papa ... +and we fell in love with each other ... we _thought_ we loved each +other...." + +"And, if you thought so, why didn't you?" + +"Because it wasn't true, dear, because it wasn't a burning fire of +feeling, because it was an unreal feeling, arising from unreal words +between a young woman and a young man until ... until all those talks +drove them into each other's arms ... and the awful thing became +irrevocable." + +"Mamma!" + +"I am telling you everything, dear...." + +"I know everything, Mamma. But you say you used to have unreal talks +with Papa." + +"Yes." + +"I talk _simply_ to Johan." + +"My dear, my dear, it's not that. I, I myself was unreal ... in those +days ... in my feelings, which came out of books which I had read. Papa +used to answer ... out of those same books. You ... you are different: +you _are_ simple; Erzeele, a friend of your childhood, is simple, a +simple-minded fellow; your talks are bound to be different." + +"Our talks are simple." + +"But, when I came in, I saw that you were talking confidentially, +intimately, intimately and eagerly ... and that he was holding your +hand, holding your two hands." + +"Yes, you saw that: he was consoling me." + +"That's exactly what he mustn't do. That's exactly what he mustn't be +allowed to do. Oh, Mathilde, I am an old woman and I am your mother, +especially now that you have no mother of your own, and I am Addie's +mother ... and I understand, I understand everything ... because I +myself have suffered so much...." + +"Addie's coming downstairs, Mamma." + +"Promise me, dear ... to be careful." + +"I ... I will be careful." + +"And forgive me, forgive me for everything that I have dared to say. +Kiss me. Oh, I long so intensely ... for you and Addie to be happy +again!" + +She took Mathilde in her arms, passionately, and kissed her twice, three +times. + +Addie entered. + +"I'm ready, Mamma. The carriage is waiting." + +"I'm coming, I'm coming, my boy." + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + + +Summer came suddenly: fine, sunny days followed one after the other, all +the windows in the big house were opened and the summer seemed to enter +and drive everything of winter out of the open windows. The spreading +garden became closely leaved with a green and gold triumph of dense +foliage which, lightly stirred by the wind, cast shadows over the pond, +with a play of alternating flecks of light and shade. Van der Welcke, +strolling along the paths, found pleasure in watching Klaasje, the big +girl of thirteen, tearing round the water, pursued by Jack, the new +terrier, who barked and barked incessantly with his sharp, throaty bark. + +"She is still just like a child," thought Van der Welcke, "and she is +developing like a little woman. It is strange, the influence which Addie +has over her ... and the way the child is perking up now that the fine +days have come. But it is not only the fine days, it is Addie above all +that gives her this balance: what's it through, I wonder? Purely through +his influence, through a sort of healing magic that flows from him.... +It is very strange. The other day, I had a terrible headache; and, when +he came and just gave me a little massage, it was gone, quite.... And +the way the fellow has succeeded in developing the child's mind, with +those picture-books, with those coloured things: it's as though he +wanted to affect her by means of colours and glitterings and I don't +know what. In any case, it came off; she is really learning her lessons +very well; and everything she says is more reasonable and sensible. +It's as though she were catching herself up.... Yes, amuse yourself, +child.... Look, how wildly excited she is with that dog, like a real +child; she's enjoying the fine weather; she's just like a child of +nature; and she looks well too: she'll grow into a pretty girl, though +she's a trifle heavily built.... She no longer has that stupid look in +her eyes; and there's something kind and genuine about her ... in her +behaviour towards old Mamma and Ernst, something motherly and +understanding combined, as if she felt she had something in common with +their clouded minds. ... It's jolly to look at the child, to see her +sprouting and blossoming, exactly like a plant that is now receiving +just the right light and just the right amount of water ... and yet she +owes it all to Addie and will very likely never know that she owes it to +him.... Yes, the fellow wields a wonderful influence.... Alex is keeping +his end up now in Amsterdam and seems to be losing some of his +melancholia since Addie has been talking to him so regularly: poor chap, +he was ten years old when he saw his father lying dead in all that +blood; and it affected him for all time!... We were right to take all +those children to live with us: that sort of thing gives a man an object +in life, even me, though I myself do nothing, though it's Constance and +Addie who act. I feel a certain satisfaction, even though I just let +them do as they please.... Who would ever have thought that it would +become like this, the big, lonely house, where Father and Mother lived +so very long and sadly by themselves, now so full, as a refuge for +Constance' family? It turned out so strangely, so very strangely.... Oh, +if my boy were only happier!... Who would have thought that he, he who +has everything in his favour, should go falling in love with a woman +who cannot make him happy? I am always thinking about it. I get up with +it, I go to bed with it; I see the two of them in the smoke of my +cigarette; and I am beginning to worry and worry about it: a proof that +I'm getting old.... And I can see that Constance also worries about it, +that the thought of Addie ... and that woman is always, always with her +... oh, everything might have turned out so happily!... But it was not +to be, it was not to be.... A lovely summer morning like this almost +makes a fellow melancholy.... Yes, it makes you melancholy because you +know for certain that it won't long remain so, that calmness in the air, +that beautiful clear sky, that green and gold of the trees, and that it +will soon become different, soon become different, full of sadness and +of gloomy things." + +He suddenly spread out his arms, for Klaasje, pursued by the dog, came +rushing down the path in his direction without seeing him, as it were +blinded by the game which she was playing. + +"Uncle Henri, Uncle Henri, let me go! Jack will catch me!" + +"Mind and don't tumble into the water," Van der Welcke warned her; but +she had already released herself from his arms and was running on, with +the dog after her. + +"She's gone wild," he thought, "wild with the joy of life. She is +beginning to wake up, physically and mentally. It is as though a +twilight were withdrawing from her, a twilight which is beginning to +steal over me. What is the matter with me? What do I feel? Oh, I long to +go bicycling, to go for a long spin ... but Addie's not here; and, even +when he is, he has no time, and Guy's working!... Suppose I asked Gerdy: +she's fond of a little run." + +He went in, through the conservatory: the old woman was sitting there, +staring quietly out of the window; Adeletje was busy with the plants. + +"Well, Mummie, how are you? What do you say to this fine weather?" + +"What?" + +"What do you say, Mum, to this fine weather?" + +The old lady nodded her head contentedly: + +"Lovely, lovely," she said. "The wet monsoon is over. But tell Gertrude +... to be careful ... of the river ... behind the Palace." + +Her voice sounded like a voice from the past and spoke of things of the +past. + +"Where is Gerdy?" Van der Welcke asked Adeletje. + +"In the drawing-room. Uncle Paul's in there, playing." + +He heard the piano: Paul was improvising. Van der Welcke found Gerdy +leaning over the back of her chair, very pale. + +"I say, dear, come for a ride with me. It'll freshen you up." + +She looked at him dejectedly, shook her head: + +"I have a headache." + +"That's just why you ought to come, dear. Come along, do ... to please +me." + +He stroked her hair. She took his hand and put it to her lips. + +"Come." + +"Really, Uncle, my head's too bad." + +"Then, why don't you go and sit in the garden? It's so hot in here." + +"Aunt Constance is taking me for a drive presently; and Mary's coming +with us." + +"Paul, can't you ride a bicycle? There's one of Addie's which you could +have." + +"No, my dear chap, it makes you so hot. And all that perspiring is such +a dirty business." + +"Well, in that case," thought Van der Welcke, "I'll go on my own, but +it's not particularly cheerful. If only Guy weren't working! I can't +very well take him from his work ... to come cycling! So I'll go on my +own.... Lord, Lord, how boring!... How boring everything and everybody +is ... without my boy! How that poor Gerdy is moping!... No. I can't +endure it, I can't do it, I can't go bicycling by myself.... I'll ask +Guy to come. It'll do him good: the boy is too healthy to be always +sitting with a pile of books round him." + +Van der Welcke went upstairs, reflecting that Addie would not approve at +all if he knew that his own father was taking Guy from his work ... to +go bicycling, as he had often taken Addie himself in the past. + +"But Addie has so much method, he used to divide his time so splendidly +between his work, his mother ... and me," thought Van der Welcke. +"Still, to-day, I simply can _not_ go bicycling on my own ... and so +I'll just play the part of the tempter." + +He had reached the first storey; and here too the windows on the passage +were wide open and the summer, fragrant and radiant, entered the gloomy +old house, whose brown shadows vanished in patches of sunlight. The +sunlight glided along the dark walls, the oak doors, the worn stairs, +along the faded carpets and curtains and through the open doors; and it +was strange, but all this new summer, however much Van der Welcke had +longed for it throughout the long, dreary winter, the winter of wind and +rain, now failed to cheer him, on the contrary, depressed him with +inexplicable sadness. + +He now opened the door of Addie's study. Since Addie and Mathilde had +moved to the Hague, the room had remained the same as regards furniture, +but somehow dead; only in the morning Guy usually sat working at his +table by the window and Van der Welcke was sure to find him there. But +he was not there; and the books and maps had obviously not been opened +or looked at. + +"Where can the boy be?" thought Van der Welcke. "He can't still be in +bed." + +The room did not look as if anyone had been there that morning. There +were a couple of letters on Addie's writing-table, where the maids +always left any that arrived for him at the old address, so that he +might find them when he came down, once or twice a week, for the brief +visit to which every one at home looked forward. + +Van der Welcke moodily closed the door: + +"I'd better see if he is still upstairs," he thought, going up the +second flight. + +Since Guy had given up his bedroom to Marietje van Saetzema, he slept in +a little dressing-room. The door was open; the bed was made. + +"The fellow must have gone out already," thought Van der Welcke. "It's a +dirty trick not to let me know. Well, I shall go by myself: I need some +air." + +Angrily he went downstairs, through the hall, to the outhouse where the +bicycles were kept. Guy's was not there. + +"There, I said so: he's gone out and never even let me know. Oh, it's +always like that: those children are always selfish. We do everything +for them, when they've got no claim on us; and what sort of thanks do we +receive?... The boy knows that I'm fond of him, that I like cycling with +him when Addie's not here, but he doesn't so much as think of looking +for me and asking me to go with him.... It's all egoism, it's always +thinking of your own self.... If there's any paying to be done, that's +all right, that's what Uncle Henri's there for; but the least little +thought for me ... not a bit of it!... That's the way it goes. I've lost +Addie ... and tried to find him again in another and it's simply +impossible and ridiculous." + +Still young and active, he slung himself on his bicycle and for a minute +or two enjoyed the motion of the handsome, glittering machine, as it +glided down the summer lanes; but very soon he began to think, gloomily: + +"A motor-car I should have liked to have. I'm not buying one because of +those everlasting boys: life is expensive enough as it is.... And +instead of Guy's thinking of me now and again.... Ah, well, if you want +to do good to others, you must just do it because it is good; for to +expect the least bit of gratitude is all rot!" + +No, cycling alone did not console him; his handsome, glittering, +nickel-plated machine glided listlessly down the summer lanes and he +suddenly turned round: + +"That's enough for me ... all by myself, without anybody or +anything...." + +And he rode back home slowly, put the machine away and looked at the +empty stand where Guy usually kept his machine. + +"Have you seen Guy?" asked Constance, meeting her husband in the hail. + +"He's out," said Van der Welcke, curtly and angrily. + +"He hasn't been working," she added. "I always look into Addie's study +to see if Guy is at work: Addie asked me to." + +"No, he has not been working; he's...." + +"Out?" + +"Yes, with his bicycle." + +"They why didn't he ask you to go with him?" + +"I'm sure _I_ don't know," said Van der Welcke, angrily, shrugging his +shoulders. + +Constance too did not think it friendly of Guy: + +"What does it mean?" she wondered to herself. "He ought to have been +working, but, if he wanted to go cycling, he might really have let his +uncle know." + +And her soul too became filled with melancholy, because young people +were inevitably so ungrateful. But she said nothing to Van der Welcke; +and they never knew that they often thought and felt alike, as in an +imperceptible harmony of approaching old age that found only a negative +expression: they so seldom quarrelled nowadays, at most exchanged a +single irritable word, even though no deep sympathy had ever come to +them.... + +Constance went to her room to put on a hat; the carriage was ordered; +she was going for a drive with the girls. She felt worried about poor +Gerdy, who no longer took pleasure in anything: + +"It will pass," she thought. "We have all of us, in our time, been +through a phase of melancholy.... Adeline told me that Gerdy was in love +with Erzeele ... but he doesn't appear to think about her.... Oh, how I +worry and worry about it all: about my poor boy, about Mathilde!... +Erzeele is bound ... is bound to be attracted by her.... Come, I need +air, in this fine weather; and yet this warm air oppresses me: the +summer is always oppressive in our country. The weather in our country +is always _becoming_ something: it never has become anything, like the +weather in the south; it is becoming, always becoming something.... +It's sultry now, the sun is scorching; we are sure to have a storm this +evening." + +She now left her room, ready, and thought: + +"Addie is coming to lunch to-day; it's his day: oh, how I always long +for that day!... Last time, he had to answer some letters and ran for +ink for his writing-table. I'll just see if everything is in order now." + +She entered the room that used to be Addie's study: + +"Yes, the ink's there," she told herself, with a glance at the +writing-table. "How uncosy, how cold the room looks, with nothing but +the old furniture, the old man's furniture!... There are letters for +Addie again: the poor boy never has any rest...." + +Casually she took a step towards the table and was struck by the +appearance of the letters: + +"What is that?" she thought. + +The letters--there were three of them--were without stamps or postmarks: +it was this that had struck her. + +"Bills?" she wondered for a moment. + +Then she shivered and began to tremble so violently that she dropped +into Addie's chair. She had recognized Guy's hand. + +There were three letters. One was addressed to herself and her husband: +to "Uncle Henri and Aunt Constance...." The second: to "Addie...." The +third: to "Mamma...." + +She sat distraught, staring at the three letters vacantly, without +putting out her hand. A cloud of white squares seemed to whirl about +her: it was as if the envelopes were flying round in a circle before her +eyes. And she felt suddenly faint. + +"What is it? What does it mean?" she asked herself, aloud. + +She looked at Guy's work-table: the books were there, neatly arranged on +the big atlases. She got up and trembled so violently that she felt +herself sinking away, into an abyss. She rang the bell. The door was +open. She heard the maid on the stairs: + +"Truitje!" + +"Yes, ma'am?" + +"Truitje, I'm here ... in Mr. Addie's study." + +"What is it, ma'am?" + +"Call your master ... at once." + +"But how pale you look, ma'am! What is it, ma'am?" + +"Nothing, Truitje. Call the master at once." + +"Aren't you well?" + +"Yes, yes, only call the master." + +The maid went away in dismay; the stairs creaked under her hurried +tread.... Constance had sunk back into the chair again and sat waiting. +Downstairs the piano sounded, under Paul's fingers, and she followed the +tune, _Siegmund's Love-song_: + +"He plays well, he plays well," she thought. + +She was half-fainting; the white squares still surrounded her, because +of the three letters, there, on the table. + +She now heard a footstep on the stairs; she followed the creaking as it +came nearer. It was her husband, at last. + +"What's the matter, Constance?" + +Her throat would not allow a word to pass; she merely pointed to the +table. + +"Well, what is it? Letters? For Addie?" + +She continued to point. He looked, recognized Guy's hand. He glanced at +her; she said nothing. He now opened the letter to "Uncle Henri and Aunt +Constance": + +"Has the boy gone mad?" + +Constance looked up with a question in her eyes. Every kind of thought +raced through her, so rapidly that she could not follow them. And yet +she seemed to see one thought flash across them slantwise: had three +letters from Alex been lying there, from Alex who was always so much +obsessed by the vision of terror and blood that had shocked his young +imagination, she would have feared the worst. + +Van der Welcke handed her the letter without a word; she read it +greedily. Guy wrote briefly, wrote difficult, sincere words of +gratitude. Oh, it was not want of gratitude to Uncle Henri and Aunt +Constance that had made him go without taking leave of all who were dear +to him! He was not ungrateful to Addie! But it was just because under +all his cheerfulness he had felt himself quietly growing sad under all +their kindness ... while he found it impossible to go on working. And of +course he knew that, if he had said to Addie, "I can't work at books; +what I want, very vaguely and I don't know how, is to make my own way," +Addie would have let him go, because Addie understood everybody and +everything so well. But it was just this, the conversations, the +leave-takings, that he feared, because within him there was so much +inert weakness, because he could never have gone, if he had had to +speak, if he had had to take leave; and that was why he was going away +like this, with his bicycle and his bit of pocket-money. + +"But the boy's mad!" cried Van der Welcke. "To clear out like this at +his age, with no money and just his bicycle! The boy's mad! I must +telegraph to Addie at once." + +"He will be out ... and on his way to us: this is his day for coming +down." + +"Which train does he come by?" + +"The half-past eleven as a rule." + +The girls, Gerdy and Mary, came in, with their hats on: + +"Are you coming, Aunt? The carriage is there." + +"The carriage?" + +"When we've been for our drive, we can fetch Addie from the station," +said Mary. + +Constance burst into sobs. + +"Auntie, Auntie, what's the matter?" + +Van der Welcke left the room, taking the letter for Addie with him: + +"How are we to tell her?" he thought to himself. + +Constance, upstairs, had an attack of nerves. She sobbed as violently, +felt as miserable in the depths of her being as if it had been her own +child that had left the paternal house ... for good. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + + +In the midst of the sunshine on that summer day a spirit of melancholy +descended upon the whole of the big house and set the nerves of all the +inmates tingling. Addie had been, had read Guy's letter, had left at +once ... for Rotterdam. Downstairs, in the morning-room, Adeline sobbed +without ceasing; and from the sunlit conservatory the old grandmother +stared at her through the vista of the rooms, because she did not +understand.... Adeline lay sobbing in Emilie's arms; Marie and Paul were +with her too; upstairs, Adeletje and Mary remained with Constance. +Brauws appeared at the door: + +"What has happened?" he asked, in a whisper. + +Van der Welcke seized him by the arm, took him into the garden. Klaasje +lay half-asleep against the thick trunk of a beech, with Jack nestling +in her little skirts, both tired with playing. The child was humming a +tune, looking up at the sky, dreaming away amid all the gold that rained +down upon her from between the leaves like glittering coins. + +"What has happened?" Brauws asked again. + +But Van der Welcke could not speak; his throat refused to let the words +through. + +"Good-morning, Uncle Brauws!" cried Klaasje, dreamily. "Look, Uncle +Brauws, I'm very rich. It's raining golden sovereigns over me ... out of +the beech-tree, out of the beech-tree!... Out of the beech-tree golden +sovereigns are raining over Klaasje!" she hummed rhythmically. + +"Hans," asked Brauws, "what's the matter, old fellow?" + +"It's that idiot of a Guy!" said Van der Welcke, at last, hoarsely. "I +was looking for him this morning, couldn't find him anywhere. His +bicycle was gone.... He has cleared out. He left three letters behind +him: for his mother, for Addie and for us. He writes that he can't work +at books, that he wants to try his own way.... I've read all the +letters.... He tells Addie ... that he feels that he must stand alone +... that he must stand alone if he's to do any good ... that ... in this +house...." + +Van der Welcke gave a sob. + +"Well?" + +"He feels himself growing flabby ... because there's too much affection, +too much leniency for him.... That's the sort of thing he writes.... Who +would have thought the boy was so silly?... He writes that he won't do +any good ... if he stays here.... That he wants to go and face the +world.... A boy of his age!... The most ridiculous idea I've ever heard +of!... + +"The boy may be right," said Brauws, very gently. + +But Van der Welcke was not listening: + +"I shall miss him," he confessed. "I miss him now. He was my favourite +... among them all. He consoled me for the loss of Addie.... I loved him +as my own son; so ... so did Constance." + +Brauws was silent. + +"Life is a damned, rotten encumbrance!" said Van der Welcke, +explosively. "We do everything for those children, we do everything for +that boy; and, all of a sudden, he goes away ... instead of ... instead +of staying with us, causes us sorrow breaks his poor mother's heart.... +He writes about America.... Addie went straight to the station to make +enquiries. He was going on to Rotterdam. Addie ... Addie never has a +moment's peace.... He was looking tired as it was, tired and sad; and, +instead of having a day's rest ... with us ... with all of us ... I +wanted to go with him ... but he said he preferred to go alone.... Why +not have told Addie ... that he would rather do something else ... than +go into the Post Office?... God, we'd have been glad enough to help him! +... He--Addie--does everything ... does every blessed thing for the +children.... Oh, Brauws, it's as if a son of my own had run away ... run +away in a fit of madness!... Addie has gone to Rotterdam. It was Addie's +idea, Rotterdam. But Guy can just as well have gone to Antwerp, to Le +Havre, to God knows where!... He hadn't much money with him.... What +will he do, what were his plans?..." + +The sunny summer day passed gloomily: just a telegram from Addie, +"Coming to-morrow," without any further explanation. Constance had found +the strength to go to Adeline in her room; the girls were overcome with +a silent stupefaction, at the thought that Guy, their cheerful Guy, kept +so much hidden under his light-heartedness: a deeper dissatisfaction +with life, vague and unclear to all of them, who were so happy to be +with Uncle Henri and Aunt Constance in what had so long been their +family house, since they had been quite small children; and, when Alex +arrived in the evening from Amsterdam, he too could not understand why +Guy had felt a need so suddenly to go away from all of them, without +taking leave, with that queer idea of making his way in the world +alone.... On the contrary, he--Alex--valued in the highest degree all +that Uncle, Aunt and Addie did for him: without them, he would never +have made any headway in the world and he was making headway at last, he +thought. He was now working methodically at Amsterdam and almost +methodically making his melancholy yield ground: it was as though Addie +inspired him with the love of work and the love of life, wooing to life +in him the strength to become a normal member of society, oh, he felt it +so clearly! After every talk with Addie he felt it once more, felt +strength enough to stay one week in Amsterdam, to work, to live, to see +the dreaded life--which his father had escaped by suicide come daily +closer and closer, nearer and nearer, like a ghostly vista, at first +viewed anxiously and darkly, but later entered, walked into, inevitably, +until all the ghostliness of it was close around him.... And, when he +thought of his father and always saw him lying, in a pool of blood, with +his mother's body flung across the corpse in all the terror of despair, +then at the same time he would think of Addie and reflect that life, no +doubt, would not be gay but that nevertheless it need not always hark +back out of black spectral dread to his youth ... because Addie spoke of +being strong and becoming a man gradually.... And Guy had gone, had +evaded just that beneficial, strengthening influence of Addie!... No, +Alex also could not understand it; and that evening he remained sitting +gloomily between his sisters, not knowing what he could say to comfort +his mother.... The next day was Sunday; and, if he did not see Addie on +Sunday, he knew that the following week would not be a good one for him +in Amsterdam, would be a bad, black week.... + +And it was only Grandmamma and Ernst and Klaasje who did not feel +oppressed by the sombre, sudden, incomprehensible and unexpected event +which the others were all trying to understand and explain: to them the +summer day had been all sunlight and the gloom had passed unperceived by +them. + +Next morning Addie returned. Constance, who was quite unstrung, had been +twice and three times to the station in vain. At last she saw him: + +"You didn't find him?" she asked, with conviction. + +"Yes, I did." + +"What? You found him? How? How was it possible?" + +"I had an idea that he couldn't go farther than Rotterdam: he hadn't +much money on him. I hunted and hunted until I found him." + +"And you haven't brought him back with you!" + +"No, I let him go." + +"You let him go?" + +"I think it's best: he was very anxious to go. He was angry at my +finding him. I talked to him for a long time. He said that he wished to +be under no more obligations, fond though he was of us, grateful though +he felt...." + +Constance, trembling, had taken Addie's arm; they went home on foot; the +road lay in a bath of summer under the trees. + +"He spoke sensibly. He had a vague idea of working his passage on a +steamer as a sailor or stoker. I took a ticket for him. He will write to +us regularly. I told him that Mr. Brauws, if he liked, could certainly +give him some introductions in New York. He said he would see. He showed +a certain decision, as if he were doing violence to something in his own +character. It was rather strange.... I thought that I ought not to +compel him to come back. He told me that he was certain of not passing +his examination and that this was what got on his mind and upset him, +that he couldn't concentrate on his books, that he would now look after +himself.... There was a boat going to London; I gave him some money.... +It's better this way, Mamma. Let him stand on his own legs. Here, the +way things were going, he might have gone drudging on...." + +She wept distractedly: + +"We shall miss him so.... He was the life of the house.... Papa, Papa +will miss him badly.... Oh, it's terrible!... Poor, poor Adeline!" + +They reached home. + +"Let me speak to Aunt Adeline first." + +"My dear, my dear, make everything right.... Oh, put it so that Aunt +thinks it right and accepts it: you can do everything, dear!" + +"No, Mamma, I can't do everything." + +"You can do everything, you _can_. What should we have done without you? +Now that you have found him and talked to him and made things smooth for +him, perhaps everything will be all right for him. If you hadn't found +him ...! How did you know that he had gone to Rotterdam?" + +"I felt almost sure of it, Mummie. But I didn't know anything for +certain. I might have been mistaken." + +"You look so tired." + +"I have had a tiring day." + +"Addie, to people outside, to the family we will say...." + +"That he has gone to America ... a sudden idea ... with introductions +from Mr. Brauws." + +"My dear, how can you talk of it so calmly?" + +"Mummie, perhaps it's better as it is ... for him. He was doing no good +here. He wasn't working. And he was getting enervated in the midst of +all his relations. He has developed a sudden energy; it would be a pity +to stifle it. I ... I simply could not bring myself to do that." + +"My boy, do you tell your aunt. Tell Papa, too, tell all of them, tell +his sisters and Alex. I ... I can't tell them. I should only cry. I'm +going upstairs, to my room. You'll tell them, won't you? You'll make it +appear as if it's all right, as if it's quite natural, as if it's all +for the best." + +"Yes, Mummie dear, you go upstairs. I.. I'll tell it them, I'll tell all +of them...." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + + +The oppressive, sultry, rainless summer days followed one after the +other; and the night also waited in oppressive expectation of oppressive +things, which were to happen and never happened, as though what we +expected to happen immediately withdrew and withdrew farther and only +hung over houses and people with heavy stormy skies: skies of blazing +morning blue, until great grey-white clouds blew up from a mysterious +cloudland and drifted past on high; only on the more distant horizons +was there any lightning; and that came soundlessly, later in the day; +the threat of a thunderstorm drove past; the foliage became scorched in +the dust of advancing summer and faded with the approach of decay; and +there was, almost, a sort of longing for autumn and for purple death in +autumnal storms: a nature, tired with heavy, trailing summer life, that +had never finally become anything and was always becoming something, +never flashing forth in a bright achievement of summer but dragging her +incompleteness from heavy day to heavy day, under the heavy immensity of +skies, towards the later bursting delights of autumn: heavy wind, heavy +rain, followed by the heavy death-struggle and unwillingness to die of +that which had never been the glory of the sun and yet left no golden +memory behind.... + +Often in those oppressive nights Marietje van Saetzema could not get to +sleep, or else woke up with a sudden start. She had been dreaming that +she was falling down an abyss, or gliding down a staircase or bumping +her head against the ceiling, like a giant bluebottle. Then she would +get up, draw the curtains and look out at the heavy night of trees, grey +with darkness melting into darkness: the road beyond the house was grey, +like an ashen path; the oak and beeches showed grey, their leafy tops +unruffled by the wind; in the front garden the dust-covered standard +roses stood erect as pikes and the roses drooped from them, grey and +with the tired, pining attitude of heavy flowers hanging from limp +stalks. All was grey and silent: only, in the very far distance, a dog +barked. And the bedroom, still dark with the night--the nightlight had +gone out--began to stifle Marietje so much that she softly opened the +door and went through the attic, though Addie had forbidden her to +wander about like this at night. She went carefully in noiseless +slippers, pale in her night-dress, staring wide-eyed into the grey +indoor twilight. She passed the doors of the maids' bedrooms and down +the first flight of stairs, stepping very lightly, so that the stairs +did not creak. Once on the staircase she breathed more freely, with +relief at feeling something more spacious than the air of her room, the +relief of unfettered movement, although the grey silence wove such +strange great cobwebs all around her, through which she walked down the +endless passages. She now went past Uncle's door, Aunt's door, Mamma's +door, the girls' doors, past Addie's and Mathilde's empty rooms ... and +she felt that she was very much in love with Addie, silently and without +desire, and was always thinking of him, even though she did not always +do as he told her, because she simply could not remain in her room and +longed even for the out-of-door air, to feel it blowing through the +filmy tissues that covered her young body. And, however much without +desire, because Addie remained to her the utterly unattainable, yet +there blossomed up in her a nervous passion like some strange flower or +orchid or lily, seen in a waking dream, a blameless girl's dream of +love, of soft, wistful lying in each other's arms and feeling the +pressure of breast against breast or mouth against mouth and ecstatic +thrills through all one's body.... Then Marietje would long for Addie, +so that he might lay his hand upon her head: no more, that was enough +for her, because she was also very fond of him, of his voice and his +glance and his speech, of his care, of his sympathy, of everything +abstract that came from him to her; she knew that, on his side, it was +no more than gentle interest, but it was enough for her: she lived upon +little like a bloodless lily, her body and soul needing no excess. She +well knew at the moment that she was doing what she should not, +wandering like that through the house, half awake, half asleep, because +it was so fresh and cool to walk about like that half-naked. The night +grew grey with dusk and there were deeper shadows in the corners, but +she was not afraid, after she had once talked to Addie about the house +and he had explained to her that, _if_ there was anything of the past +hovering about it, it could not be malign or angry, but rather +well-disposed and on the alert, in case it could be of use.... He spoke +to nobody but her like this; she knew that and it gave her a deep love +for him, especially because he had said it so very simply and without +any sort of exaggeration, as though it were the very simplest thing that +he could have wished to say.... Nor did he speak like that often; once +or twice at most he had spoken so; but it had reassured her greatly, +ever since she had been frightened into fainting on the little +staircase, all because of a sudden shadow which she thought that she saw +and yet did not know if she really saw.... + +She was now going down by that same little back staircase, almost +longing to see a shadow and always thinking of Addie; but she saw +nothing. White and as though walking in her sleep, she felt her way down +the narrow little stairs. They creaked slightly. She next opened a door, +leading into the long hall, which was like that of an old castle, so +fine with its old wainscoting. The long Deventer carpet was paled by +many years' traffic of feet; the front door seemed to vanish in the grey +vista; on the oak cabinet the Delft jars gleamed dimly.... She walked in +a waking dream on her noiseless slippers and now opened the door of the +morning-room, all dark, with the blinds down--she was very white now in +the darkness and could see her own whiteness--and she looked through the +drawing-room into the conservatory, where Grannie was always accustomed +to sit. The conservatory-windows showed faintly like transparent +greynesses; and behind them, in the dawning light of very early morning, +something of the dusk of the garden melted away: in the very early light +it was all ash, the conservatory full of fading ash and the garden full +of ash. Not an outline was visible as yet; and she gazed and gazed ... +and thought it so strange--and yet perhaps not so very strange--that +such outlines as did stand out in the conservatory against the grey +windows were motionless as the outlines of two dark shadows sitting each +at a window, as it were an old man and an old woman, looking out at the +birth of morning, which very far in the distance gave just a reflexion +of paler twilight.... + +Marietje now closed her eyes for an instant, then raised her lids again +and stared at the conservatory; and it was always that: the outline of +the dark, brooding shadows, so very similar to unconsciousness, as if +she were looking through atmosphere within atmosphere, invisible at +other hours than those of the greyness of the ending night and the +beginning of the morning melancholy.... The two irrealities remained +grey against grey; and suddenly Marietje felt very cold and shivered, +half naked as she was; and, in her shivering, it seemed to her that, +very quickly, the shadows themselves shivered, as with a start of +surprise, and disappeared, because she had dared to stare at them. +Nothing was outlined any more against the conservatory-windows; only the +morning between the trees grew paler: there was even a streak of +white.... + +Marietje was cold. She left the room, forgot to shut the door after her +and, going down the passage, made for the little back staircase and here +also forgot to shut the door. Up, up she crept, shivering, with the +noiseless tread of the soft slippers; across the attic now; and she +stole into bed, quite cooled, and, after just thinking about what she +had seen dimly outlined--perhaps--against the grey conservatory-windows, +she fell asleep, peacefully, and dozed until late in the morning, +peacefully and like a cold virgin now, with the bedclothes drawn up to +her chin. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + + +Addie was out in the afternoon when Mathilde opened Constance' telegram: + +"Please come see Emilie." + +"There's always something," Mathilde grumbled to herself. "Addie is +physician-in-ordinary to his relations. When it's not Klaasje, it's +Adeletje, or Mary, or Emilie. There's always something.... What can be +the matter with her now? He's only just been home. Oh, of course, she's +always ill in the summer! I expect it's the same as last year...." + +She had an angry impulse to tear up the telegram and say nothing to +Addie, to tell him later that it must have gone astray. She did not +destroy it, however, but laid it on the table where he would see it and +then went out to the tennis-club. As a rule, she took the steam-tram[1] +and alighted at the Witte Brug. This time, she ran against Erzeele, with +his racket in his hand, in the Bezuidenhout. + +"I was waiting for you," he said. + +"How nice of you!... Let's take the steam-tram." + +"Why not walk?" + +They stepped out, along the Hertenkamp. + +"Is anything the matter?" he asked. + +"Why?" + +"You look so preoccupied." + +"Oh, it's nothing!" + +"You're out of humour." + +"Need I say they want Addie again at home?" + +"Who's ill this time?" + +"Emilie." + +"Mrs. van Raven?" + +"Yes, she calls herself Mrs. van Naghel now." + +"I know. She's the one who ran away with her brother, years ago." + +"There was rather a scandal about that, wasn't there?" + +"People didn't exactly know...." + +"I don't like her. She's ill every summer. Then she becomes funny. And +then she has to see my husband of course. Hence the telegram from +Mamma." + +"The other day ... Mrs. van der Welcke saw...." + +"Saw what?" + +"That I was holding your hand." + +"What about it? You're a friend. We've known each other for years, since +we were quite young.... Do you know, Mamma warned me against you...." + +"Against me?" + +"She was afraid that...." + +"What?" + +"You would fall in love with me." + +"I am in love with you." + +"Now, Johan, you're not to say that." + +"You know I always have been." + +"You were in love with Gerdy." + +"For a minute only.... With you I have always been in love. Long ago. At +our Cinderella dances.... In love? I've always loved you." + +"You must not talk like that. I ... I love my husband." + +"Yes, I know you do. But he doesn't make you happy." + +She was silent. She did not wish to go on and say that she felt Addie so +far above her, unattained and incomprehensible, that everything was +coming to escape her, that her love was escaping her, that she felt +herself sinking slowly, slowly, in a vague abyss, that it was only the +children who made her find Addie again, every day, for a moment. She was +silent. But there were tears in her eyes. Her healthy temperament, now +slightly unnerved, had a need of much happiness for itself, even as a +healthy plant needs much air and much water and does not know what it +means to pine. The melancholy that sometimes overcame her was not native +to her. + +"Let's take the tram," she said. "I feel tired." + +"It's better for you to walk," he said. + +His voice was authoritative; and she allowed herself to be coerced: it +was a hot afternoon and she dragged herself along mechanically beside +him, both carrying their own rackets. + +"Mamma's quite right, Johan," she said, abruptly. "It won't do for us to +see each other so often, for me to talk to you so ... intimately." + +"And why not, if you feel unhappy, if you want to unburden yourself to +me?" + +"No, no, it doesn't do.... Come, let's take the tram: we shall be too +late for our tennis." + +He looked out mechanically for the tram. They were at the corner of the +Waalsdorp road; and he said: + +"Look here, walk a little way with me. I don't feel like tennis. Do +you?" + +She let herself be dragged along and turned down the lonely, green road. +She seemed to surrender feebly to his wishes; and she became aware that +she was in a profound state of melancholy, a hesitation of not knowing +things, of wavering, of feeling unhappy. + +"Everything could have been so different," she said, almost crying. + +"What do you mean? When?" + +"If Addie...." + +"If he what?" + +"I don't know," she said. "I'm tired of thinking about it. It is not his +fault." + +"No, it's your fault." + +"My fault?" + +"Yes! Nothing would keep you from marrying him.... And I loved you." + +"You? But you never asked me!" + +"But you knew that I loved you. Yes, everything could have been +different, oh, everything could have been so very different!" + +She suddenly began to cry. + +"Tilly!" + +"Oh," she said, sobbing, "don't let us talk like this! Let's go to the +tennis-club." + +"No, no, I don't want to." + +She turned. + +"Tilly...." + +"No, I won't go any farther. I'm going to the club. It'll distract me +... to play tennis." + +She turned back; he followed her. + +"Tilly, you're so unstrung. If you were a little calmer, I should tell +you...." + +"What?" + +"That I can't bear to see you unhappy. Oh, I love you, I love you! Let +us go away ... together." + +"Go away? Where?" + +"With each other. I love you, I love you, I have always loved you." + +She stopped with a start: + +"You're mad!" + +"Why?" + +"To suggest such a thing," she said, with a scornful laugh. "You're mad. +You think that I...." + +"Want to be unhappy all your life?" + +"That I should consent to run away with you. I love my husband ... and +my children ... and you imagine...." + +"Yes," he said, "it was mad of me to suggest it. You love your husband, +not me. You never allow me anything, not anything." + +"Nothing ... at all?" she asked, scornfully. + +"Nothing ... that counts," he retorted, hoarsely, roughly. + +She shrugged her shoulders: + +"You men always want ... that. Our happiness does not always consist ... +of that." + +"No, but ... if you loved me ... entirely...." + +"Johan!" she cried. + +They crossed the bridge and entered the Woods. + +"If you ever dare speak to me like that again...." + +"Very well, I won't." + +"But you're always doing it.... We'd better not see each other at all." + +"Not see each other?" + +"No." + +"I won't have that," he said. "I won't have that either." + +"And if I insist?" + +"Even so." + +"You don't make me any happier by talking like that; you make me even +unhappier than I am." + +"Oh, Tilly, I can't bear to see you unhappy!... What are we to do, what +are we to do?" + +"I don't know," she said, in a dead voice. + +"You don't care for me." + +"Not in that way. Why shouldn't we be friends?" + +"That's nonsense. Friendship between a man and a woman? That's one of +those notions which you picked up, I dare say, at Driebergen, among +neurotic people. Between a man and a woman there's only ... yearning. I +want you and I am in hell because I haven't got you." + +"Yes, it's always ... that," she said; and she thought of Addie. + +"Oh, if you would only go with me ... out of this." + +"Would that make me happy?" + +"I should live for you entirely. I have a little money...." + +"That would make me happy, would it? To leave my husband, to leave my +children?" + +"Your husband, your children? But I should be there!" + +"Yes, but...." + +"You don't care for me." + +"Not like that." + +"All the same, you would become happy.... You never found happiness in +your husband--you say so yourself--because you don't understand him. You +would understand me." + +She began to cry again: + +"Oh," she said, "don't go on talking like that!" + +"Do you care for me, Tilly, do you care for me?" + +"Yes, Johan, I do care for you." + +"Well?" + +She stood still: + +"Listen," she said, looking him straight in the eyes. "I care for you." +Her voice sounded loving in spite of herself. "I care for you ... very +much indeed. At this moment, perhaps even more than for Addie ... I'm +not quite sure. A time may come ... _may_ come, when I shall care for +you even _more_ ... certainly more than for Addie." + +"Oh," he cried, "but then...." + +"Don't speak," she said. "Listen to me. What you're asking of me ... I +refuse." + +"Why?" + +"Because I am an honest woman.... Because I am naturally an honest +woman.... Because I always mean to be an honest woman.... I could never +do what you ask me to.... Because, even if I had to say good-bye to my +husband, I should never, never be willing to say good-bye to my +children." + +"You love your children better?" + +"Better? I love them in a way which a man like you simply cannot +understand." + +"Tilly! Tilly!" + +"Be quiet!... There are people coming.... Be quiet!" + +"Oh, Tilly, what then?" + +"I don't know," she said, dully. "Oh, come along to the club; we'll play +some tennis!" + +She quickened her pace; he followed her, lurching like a drunken man. + + +[1] Running from the Hague to Scheveningen through the Dunes, as opposed +to the electric tram running through the Scheveningen Woods. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + + +When Addie found the telegram he at once took the train to Driebergen. +It was evening when he arrived. + +"What's the matter with Emilie?" he asked his mother. + +"She's crying all day long," said Constance. "It's just like last year." + +He went straight upstairs to Emilie's room and found her sobbing, +sobbing in Adeline's arms. + +"I'm at my wits' ends what to do with her," said Adeline. + +"Leave me alone with her for a moment, Aunt," whispered Addie. "Here," +feeling in his pocket, "here's a letter from Guy, posted in New York. +You'll see that he has found work, thanks to Mr. Brauws' introduction." + +Adeline left the room; Emilie went on sobbing. She flung herself on the +floor, with her face against a chair and her hair dishevelled, her thin +hands grasping the chair. + +"Addie!" she cried. "Addie! Is that you?" + +"Yes, Emilie." + +"Oh, it's suffocating me, it's suffocating me!... Let me tell you about +it!..." + +He sat down and she came to him with the movement of an animal creeping +towards him. She stammered incoherent words, but he understood them: he +knew the words of old; he knew what she was saying: it had been the same +thing last year and the year before. At the beginning of each summer +there was some fit of madness which mastered her, a fit in which she +lived all over again through things that had happened in the years long +ago. Oh, it was a terrible secret which she always carried about with +her, which no one knew, which no one had ever known! In the dark room, +with the closed sun-blinds, the secret stifled her and had to be told, +because it stifled her in her heart and throat. + +"I must tell it you, Addie.... It was during those last days, those +terrible days in Paris. Eduard, my husband, was in Paris and ... and he +had been threatening me.... You remember, you _must_ remember: I told +you as much as that, didn't I?... He had come to look for me in Paris. +He hated me ... and he hated, oh, how he hated Henri!... Henri, my poor +brother, my brother!... Addie, Addie, let me tell you everything!... +Whatever people may have thought, whatever people may have said, none of +it's true, it's all false! He was my brother, my own brother; and I +loved him as a brother, though perhaps too much; and he loved me as a +sister, though perhaps too much.... Oh, people are so wicked, so utterly +wicked! They thought, they said ... As for me, I would never speak. Oh, +Addie, your parents and you, your kindest and dearest of parents, never +asked me a question, but took me to live with them in their house, which +has become my sanctuary, where I can lead my cloistered life! Oh, Addie, +I shall be grateful for ever and ever to your dear parents ... and to +you! They never asked me anything, they have been like father and mother +to me; I have been able to live under their roof, though my life has +been nothing but remorse and pain.... Oh, Addie, let me tell you +everything!... Henri was a clown in a circus--you know about that--and +I, I made money by painting. We lived ... we lived together; we were +both of us happy; then Eduard came.... Oh, he was like an evil spirit! +Oh, when I dream of him now, I dream of a devil! Addie, Eduard came!... +And it was he ... it was he...." + +"I know, Emilie, I know." + +The words burst from her in a scream: + +"It was he ... he ... he ... who murdered Henri!" + +"Hush, Emilie." + +"Oh, I can't keep silent, I can't keep silent for ever; it chokes me, it +chokes me, here!" + +She uttered loud, hysterical cries, twisting herself against the chair; +her eyes stared distractedly out of her face; her hair hung loose about +her cheeks; her features were pale and distorted. + +"It was after an evening when he had been playing in the circus ... and +Eduard ... Eduard...." + +"I know, I know.... Hush, Emilie!" + +"He waited for him ... in the passage in front of the house where we +lived ... and ... and he called him names ... they quarrelled.... Then +... then he _stabbed_ him ... with a knife!" + +"Hush, Emilie, hush!" + +But she screamed it out: her screeches rang through the room. She +wriggled like a madwoman against his knees; he stroked her dishevelled +hair, to quiet her. + +"Oh, your parents, your dear parents, Addie: they never asked me +anything!... They came and fetched me: oh, Addie, that journey home, +with his coffin between us, oh, those formalities at the frontiers!... +Oh, Addie, your dear parents: they saved me: I was mad, I was mad, I was +mad at that time! Now it's all coming back to me; I can't keep it to +myself any longer!... You see, he waited for him, they began +quarrelling about me and ... suddenly they were like two wild animals! +Henri rushed at him ... and then Eduard stabbed him with his knife! The +villain, the villain! He has been missing since then; I have never seen +him again; only at night, at night I see him _with his knife_! Oh, +Addie, Addie, help me!" + +He gripped her by the arms with all his might and sought to control her; +but she resisted. She was like a madwoman; in the sultry summer heat she +was overmastered by the day-long vision that loomed up regularly with +the first balmy warmth of spring. She was like a madwoman; she saw +everything before her eyes; she lived the past over again. + +"Nobody has ever known, Addie, except you, except you!" + +"Hush, Emilie, hush!" + +He tried to look into her eyes, but they avoided his. She twisted and +turned as though she were in the grasp of a ravisher; she dragged +herself along the floor, while his hand held her arms. Suddenly his eyes +met hers and he held and pierced them deeply with his grey-blue glance. +She fell back helplessly against a chair; her features, now relaxed, +hung slackly, like an old woman's; her lips drooped. She lay huddled and +moaning, with a monotonous moan of pain. Then she began to shake her +head, up and down, up and down, grating the back of her head against the +chair. + +"Get up, Emilie." + +She obeyed, let him help her up, hung like a rag in his hands. She fell +back on her bed, with her eyes closed; and he rang the bell. It was +Constance who entered. + +"We will undress her now, Mamma; she's much quieter. I'll ring for Aunt +Adeline to help you." + +He rang again and asked Truitje to go for Mrs. van Lowe. But, as soon +as Emilie felt the touch of Constance' fingers, she began to moan anew +and opened her eyes: + +"Oh, Auntie, Auntie, you're a dear, you're a dear! You never, never +asked me!" + +"Perhaps it will be better to leave her now, Mamma," whispered Addie. + +Constance left the room, promising to remain within call with Adeline. + +Emilie lay on the bed, her eyes staring straight before her, as though +she still beheld all the horror of the past; and she went on moaning in +fear and pain: + +"Addie, Addie, it was Eduard ... it was Eduard who murdered Henri.... +Oh, nobody knows, nobody knows!... Uncle and Aunt never asked me.... +People at the Hague say that it was I who made Eduard unhappy, that that +is why he has gone away, disappeared.... Perhaps I did, perhaps I did +make him unhappy.... I don't know, I don't know.... You see, I didn't +know what I was doing when I married Eduard. I thought ... I thought it +would be all right, I thought I cared for him ... Ssh, Addie, don't tell +anybody, but I cared for Henri, for my brother, only. I swear, it was +all quite beautiful what he and I felt for each other; there was never +anything between us, never anything to be ashamed of!... But my life, +Addie, my poor life, oh, my poor little life was quite wrecked, because +I did not know, because I felt so strangely, because I fought against +the common things of life, against my marriage, against my husband, and +because all that was stronger than what I tried to do, what I myself did +not really know, nor Henri, nor Henri either I...." + +The heart-broken lamentation over her life moaned away in plaintive +words and it was as though, after uttering herself, she sank into a dull +vacancy, with her eyes wide open, staring through the room, as if she +still saw all the things of the past but as if they were now vanishing +after she had uttered herself. And it was the same every year: each time +spring came round, the same strange, mysterious force compelled her to +tell it, to tell it right out, to tell all the sad secret of her piteous +wreck and failure of a woman's life, she a very small soul, crushed +under too great a tragedy, under too great an affliction, something too +strange, which had crushed her and yet not crushed her to death. She +lived on, she had lived on for years, living her life devoid of all +interest and yet still young; bonds seemed still to bind her body and +soul to life; and there was nothing left for her except the pity of +those who surrounded her and a dull resignation, which only once, in +each year, as though roused by the warm torrents of spring or summer, +burst forth into a thunder of storm.... It gathered, it gathered, she +felt it threatening days beforehand, as though it were bursting within +her brain; during those sleepless nights she lay with her head clasped +in her hands; and it gathered, it gathered: a fit of nerves, a violent +attack of nerves; and she called for Addie, the only one who knew; and +she told him, she told it him again; and, after she had told it and had +fallen asleep under his eyes, she woke a little calmer. Then, after +days, after long, slow days, her quivering nerves became restful; she +surrendered herself; and that dull resignation wove itself round her +again, the summer beat hot and sultry upon her, the slow course of the +monotonous days dragged her on and on. Nobody talked of it all; and +then, one evening, in the garden, she found herself recovered, feeling +strange and resigned, limp her hands, limp her arms, with poor Aunt +Adeline beside her, quite cheered and receiving a short letter from Guy, +while the girls and Aunt Constance put Grannie to bed and then Klaasje, +that great big girl, who still always insisted on being taken to bed ... +and while Uncle Ernst wandered round the pond, talking to himself ... +and while Paul had not shown himself for three days, locking himself in +his room, in the villa over there, lower down.... + +That was how she recovered, as if waking from a hideous dream; that was +how she came to herself, in the evening, sitting in the garden with Aunt +Adeline, reading and rereading Guy's letter, beside her. And a little +further away sat Mr. Brauws and Uncle Henri: Uncle Henri who could not +get used to Guy's absence ... and who fretted over it sometimes, with +the tears standing wet in his eyes. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + + +Addie returned to the Hague that evening; and seldom had he felt so +heavy and listless, as if he knew nothing for himself. No, he knew +nothing, nothing more for his poor self, as if he, as he grew older, +daily lost more and more of the knowledge that is sacredly imparted for +a man's own soul, like a far-lighting lamp casts its rays over the paths +of his own destiny that lie dimly in the future.... Though he knew for +others so often and so surely, for himself he knew nothing nowadays, +nothing. Once he had known himself to be a dual personality; to-day he +no longer knew which of the two he was. He felt like a prematurely old +and decrepit young man, prematurely old and decrepit because life had +become serious for him too early and opened out to him too early, so +that he had fathomed it through and through: prematurely old and +decrepit because his own life later had not trembled in the pure balance +of his own twin forces of soul. He had felt fettered to the one; and it +drew him down, while the other had not the power to lift him up to the +height of pure self-realization.... + +He walked home from the station, late in the evening. He dragged himself +along, his step was heavy and slow; over the dark masses of the Wood +hung a sultry, pearl-grey summer night; the houses in the Bezuidenhout +faded away white in the evening silence. Light rain-clouds dreamed in +the sky: it would doubtless rain to-morrow; and far behind them lurked +the threatening summer storm. For the present the evening sombreness +drifted on as though in hushed expectation. Everything was still: the +trees, the houses, the clouds. There was hardly anyone about; a last +tram came rumbling out of the distance, from Scheveningen; and its bell +seemed to ring through the space of the evening, very far behind him. + +He walked on, dragged himself along past the houses. He was tired out, +as he was every time that he practised hypnotism; in addition to this, +it always broke his heart to leave Driebergen. How united he was with +everybody and everything there! The house was his father's and his; the +family was his mother's and his. As the child of his two parents, he +felt at home there, in that great sombre house. But he no longer lived +there, no longer worked there. In the crudely-bright, small, +motley-painted house towards which he was wending, his wife awaited him; +and he would find his children. + +Healthy children, a healthy wife: he had all that. What he had longed +for, in his anxiety at what he saw in his mother's family, he now +possessed: a healthy wife and healthy children. How they both of them +loved the children; how united they were, where the children were +concerned! All their difference arose from a spiritual misunderstanding, +because at first they had not known.... Know? Did he know now? Did he +know that he ought never to have taken a wife like Mathilde? Did he not +know that it was his fault? + +There was nothing else for him to do than to continue the sacrifice, all +his life long; but the sacrifice was very heavy: living and working in +contradiction to his impulses, in a sphere that was not his. It was this +that made him ill and prematurely old. He saw no future before him. The +sacrifice was killing something deep down in himself. + +He felt a sudden rebellion: it was not a man's business to sacrifice +himself like that. What was done was done. Mathilde must accommodate +herself somehow. He would tell her that it wouldn't do, that the Hague +was killing him, that he must go back to the house out there, to the +village, to the district where he was of use and able to work. She would +have to go with him. + +But he saw her, as a sacrificial victim, offered up for a faith which +she did not share, because of his mistake in life. No, no, he could +never do it, could never tell her that the Hague was killing him, that +she must accommodate herself and make the best of things. It was for +him, for him to make the best of things: if he wished to remain in any +sense just, he must continue to sacrifice himself, though it wore him to +death. + +How sombre and joyless it all was! How grey it all was, far and wide +around him, like the very night that hung pearl-white close by and, +farther away, dug itself into abysses of threatening darkness! + +As he drew nearer home, his feet lagged more heavily. And suddenly, +before turning down the street in which he lived, he dropped on to a +bench and remained sitting as though paralyzed, with his head in his +hand. + +How hard and heavy it was for him, to have to go back like that to his +own house! Oh, to remain sitting, just sitting like that until he had +attained certain knowledge! He closed his eyes. + +He felt himself conquered, overcome.... Suddenly, as in a dream, voices +struck upon his ear; and he seemed to recognize the voices. He rose +mechanically and, past the houses, along the silent pavement, saw +approaching the dark figures of two people walking slowly, a man and a +woman. Their voices sounded clearly, though he could not catch the +words; he recognized the leisurely forms. It was Johan Erzeele and +Mathilde. + +They did not see him. They walked on very slowly and Addie followed +behind them. Johan seemed to be persistently pleading, Mathilde seemed +to be refusing something. Addie's heart beat fearfully as he followed +after them; and a jealousy suddenly flared up amid his dull dejection. +Was she not his wife, was she not his wife? And why, lately, was she +always looking for Johan and he for her? Was it not always so: always +these tennis-parties together, always meeting at friends' houses where +he, Addie, never went?... Where were they coming from now? Where had +they been? Was he bringing her home? How intimate their conversation +sounded, how sad almost! Had they grown fond of each other, in a +dangerous increasing friendship? + +He followed them unobserved, almost glad to have surprised them, +suspicious in his jealous grief. Did not he still love his wife, +notwithstanding their deep-seated differences?... He slackened his pace +and followed very slowly.... After his first access of jealousy, he +seemed rather to feel a certain curiosity to observe in silence, to make +a diagnosis. His nature got the upper hand of him, the nature of one who +is born to heal and who, before healing, diagnoses the disease. Yes, +jealousy still smouldered within him; but he felt even more distinctly +the craving for knowledge. Did he not still love Mathilde?... Ah, but +was she indispensable to his life? + +That suddenly became clear to him: indispensable to his life she was +not.... His children, yes: they belonged to all of them, to all of them +yonder, in the old house, the old family-house. She, his wife, did not. +His children were indispensable to his life: he felt that clearly. +Mathilde, Mathilde was not. For Mathilde, as he now walked behind her +and Johan, he felt only the curiosity to analyze and classify the nature +of the disease, nothing but that. Even the jealousy died away in him, +the child of his jealous parents.... He continued to follow them. He saw +Erzeele put his arm through Mathilde's. + +He now quickened his pace slightly. His heels rang on the pavement +through the night air, regularly, faster than before. The two in front +looked round. They gave a start. He caught them up: + +"I seemed to recognize you ... in the distance," he said, calmly and +naturally, while they were unable to speak and Erzeele withdrew his arm. + +"I have come from the station." + +"I didn't expect you till to-morrow," said Mathilde, faintly, in spite +of herself. + +"I finished earlier. Emilie is much more peaceful.... How are the +children?" + +"All right." + +"Where have you been this evening?" + +"I went and had tea at Johan's sister's.... Johan was seeing me home." + +"But now that Van der Welcke's here ... to see you home...." said +Erzeele. + +"Not at all," replied Addie. "Come a little way farther." + +They walked on, Mathilde between the two men. Addie talked +conventionally. They hardly answered. Meanwhile he observed them. His +curiosity roused him, gave him a sudden new interest, as though he was +treating a case of serious illness. + +"I'll say good-bye here," said Erzeele, as they turned down the +side-street. + +They both shook hands with him and walked home more silently, suddenly +dragging their feet. + +Addie felt in his pocket for the key: + +"It's late," he said, mechanically. + +"Getting on for twelve," replied Mathilde, dully. + +He saw that her eyes were red with weeping. He said nothing. They went +upstairs without speaking. On reaching the nursery, they both crept in +for a moment on tip-toe and looked into the little cots. The nurse was +sleeping in the next room, with the door open between. They exchanged a +smile, because the babies were sleeping so prettily. Then they went to +Mathilde's bedroom. Once they had crossed the threshold, it seemed to +him as if they were strangers. + +"I'm tired," said Mathilde. + +"So am I," said Addie. + +He kissed her, left her and went to his own bedroom. Through the closed +door he could follow her movements, heard her undressing, heard the +rustle of her clothes. He sank into a chair and stared in front of him: + +"I know," he thought, with his eyes very wide. "She loves him and he +loves her. I ... I no longer love her.... She has never been +indispensable to my existence.... I made a mistake. I did not know for +myself...." + +He did not sleep that night. Next morning early he said to Mathilde: + +"Tilly, I want to talk to you." + +"What about?" + +"About ourselves." + +She raised her eyebrows impatiently: + +"What for?" she asked. "We have had that sort of talk so often. It leads +to nothing. It tires me." + +"Yes, you're looking tired ... and ill. You're not happy." + +"Oh, never mind my happiness!" + +"But what else did we come here for, Tilly, except your happiness?" + +"That's true," she said, without interest. "You did it for my sake. It +was nice of you." + +"But it did no good." + +"No, it did no good. And it would be better...." + +"What?" + +"For you to go back to Driebergen, Addie." + +"I agree," he said, gently. + +She started: + +"What do you mean?" + +"I was thinking the same thing." + +"What?" + +"That I ought to go back to Driebergen." + +She looked at him in surprise: + +"And I?" she asked. + +"You remain here ... with the children." + +"I don't understand." + +"You stay in the Hague ... you and the children." + +"And you?" + +"I'll go down there." + +"I don't understand," she repeated. + +"I mean what I say, Tilly," he said. "It is better...." + +"What?" + +"That we should separate." + +"Separate?" + +"Perhaps. For a longer or shorter period." + +She stared at him: + +"Do you want a divorce?" + +"I think so." + +She continued to stare at him and choked down her tears: + +"Addie, do you no longer love me?" + +"No," he said, gently. + +She looked deep in his eyes, affronted: + +"What do you mean?" + +"That I don't love you, any longer, enough to live with you. I beg your +pardon, Tilly, if I have spoilt your life, if I have shattered your +life. I have spoilt and shattered it. I beg your pardon ... if you can +forgive me." + +"Only a little while ago ... you told me that you cared for me." + +"I thought so at the time ... It seemed to mean so much to me." + +"And now?" + +"Now I don't". + +She rebelled with injured pride: + +"Then why did you ask me to marry you?" + +"Yes, that was just it." + +"Just what?" + +"The mistake.... Tell me, do you still love me?" + +"No," she said, proudly. + +"So you see: it's better...." + +"That we should be divorced." + +"Don't you think so yourself?" + +"And the children?" she asked. + +"That's my punishment," he said, gently. "They will remain with you." + +"You entrust them to me?" + +"I do." + +"Addie!" she cried, with a sob. + +"You still love me a little, Tilly...." + +She only sobbed. + +"But not so much as you did," he assured her. "You are in love with +Erzeele." + +"Erzeele?" + +"Yes." + +"He is a friend." + +"He may become more ... later," he forced himself to say, uncleansed as +yet of jealousy, because she was still his wife. + +"Addie," she said, "I am to blame. If I could only have got accustomed +to things, like all of you, at Driebergen ... I should have been happy." + +"Yes, but it is not your fault that you couldn't." + +"I don't want a divorce," she said. + +"Why not?" + +"For my sake ... and the children's." + +"The children's?" + +"For their sake especially. No, Addie, I don't want it. Unless...." + +"What?" + +"Unless you want it ... for your own sake, to be free, to marry somebody +else." + +"No." + +"Then I don't want it either. If you assure me...." + +"I do assure you." + +"Then I don't want it either." + +"And Erzeele?" + +"No," she said, shaking her head. "It's not as people say." + +"What do they say?" + +"That he is my lover. He's not that." + +"I never supposed he was." + +"I value his friendship ... but I could not be his wife." + +"Why not?" + +"Because I am your wife." + +"Do you feel that?" + +"Always." + +"My poor child!" he said, in spite of himself. + +"Why do you pity me?" she asked, proudly. + +"Because I have done you a wrong. Because I am unable to atone." + +"You have done me no wrong. We loved each other very much ... then. At +that time ... I thought I understood you. Now I no longer understand +you. You breathe too rarefied an air for me." + +"No, it isn't that. But...." + +"What?" + +"Nothing. So, Tilly, you don't want us to be divorced." + +She looked at him anxiously: + +"No," she entreated. + +"Well, dear, then we won't be," he said, gently. "Only ... our present +life ... is no life at all. So it will be better if...." + +"If what?" + +"If I don't stay with you, if I go away." + +"And I?" + +"You remain here, in this house, where everything is as you like it. You +stay ... with our children." + +"Our ... our children," she stammered. + +"Perhaps later...." + +"What?" + +"Because of our children, we shall come together again ... when all +misunderstanding has disappeared." + +"I don't follow you." + +"Perhaps you will later. But perhaps also ... you will become so fond of +Erzeele ... that...." + +She shook her head, stared before her. + +"We never know," said Addie, gently. + +"No," she said, pensively. "I know nothing ... nothing now. I used to +think ... that you knew everything." + +"I do sometimes know things ... for others. I have not known for +myself." + +"And now?" + +"Now I know better ... for you." + +"For me?" + +"Yes, now I _know_, Tilly ... that it is better for you ... that I +should leave you...." + +"For good?" + +"Perhaps. Perhaps for a long time ... only...." + +"And the children? Won't you be longing for them?" + +It was more than he could bear; and he said nothing, only nodded yes. +Then he said: + +"But they will be all right ... with you, Tilly." + +It was more than she could bear either. She fell into a chair, sobbing. + +"Don't be unhappy, Tilly," he said. "We _must_ make a change. If we +remain as we are, we shall end by hating each other.... Don't be unhappy +about parting ... when you reflect ... that it is really out of the +question for us to remain together." + +"You are right," she said, coldly. "So...." + +"You will stay here. You will live here. That is, if you like." + +"And you?" + +"I? I shall go home." + +She felt her jealousy of all of them, out there: + +"Yes," he said, gently. + +"If you don't love me," she burst out, "they will not need to console +you long." + +"I shall feel regret ... because I have spoilt your life ... and because +I sha'n't see the children any more." + +"Spoilt my life?" she said, proudly. "You have not done that." + +He did not answer. + +"The children?" she continued. "Why should you not see them ... when you +want to?" + +"Would you allow that?" + +"Allow it? They are your children. I have nothing to say in the matter. +In fact...." + +"In fact?" + +"I should not think it right ... if you did not see them often." + +"Then I shall come." + +"Of course.... But to go on living here ... would be too expensive." + +"No, not at all. I ... I shall want nothing ... out there. Whatever I +make is yours." + +"I can't accept it." + +"Yes, you can ... for the children. It's better, Tilly, that everything +should remain as it is." + +"Very well," she consented. "Only, Addie ... it's not a solution." + +"There can be no solution ... until you know that you care enough for +Johan Erzeele...." + +"No, no, I don't!" + +"That you care enough for Johan Erzeele to...." + +"I don't know, I don't know ... and I refuse to discuss it." + +"I understand that, Tilly. Then ... there can be no solution yet, can +there? We know nothing about a solution. I am simply giving you back +your life, as far as I can, and you are doing the same to me. Later we +will see what happens. It will all come of itself. What do we know? We +know nothing ... for ourselves. Knowledge will all come of itself. Do +you understand?" + +"No." + +"You will, later.... You will live here, with the children; you will see +me hardly at all. I shall not see the children for a time. It will be as +though I were on a journey. They are so small: oh, I hope that they +won't miss me and that, when they do see me again, they will know me!... +So you will be alone ... with the children ... It may be that you will +want me back then, that the former love will return.... In my case too, +perhaps.... We shall see. It will ... it will all come of itself and we +... we know nothing.... Perhaps, in years to come, we shall be living +quietly together again ... with the children. Or else...." + +"What?" + +"Or else you will be far away from me ... and will have found your +happiness with another." + +She put her hands before her eyes: + +"I don't see it.... I don't know...." + +"Now you are being honest. No, you don't know if you will come to care +so much as that for Johan.... And I ... I will be honest too! I don't +know if I shall ever care for you again.... But we must wait, Tilly; and +the best thing therefore is to leave each other and ... and not to talk +to each other again until it has come of itself and until we know.... +You will not be alone in the world; for, if ever I can do anything for +you, I will come to you. I shall never forget you." + +"Yes, perhaps that will be best," she said, in a dead voice. "I shall +try to look at it like that ... and to live alone ... with the children. +I shall not see Johan again." + +"No, no, on the contrary: you must see him." + +"Why?" + +"So as to know. You will never be _weak."_ + +"No, I shall never be that." + +"You know how he feels towards you." + +"How do you know?" + +"I know you do.... You know what he feels for you. But you do not know +what you feel for him." + +"Addie! Oh, Addie!" + +"Don't deny it. Be honest. These are the last words, perhaps, that we +shall exchange for quite a long time. I am going away now." + +"Now?" + +"Yes.... Write to me when there's any occasion." + +"Very well." + +"Good-bye, Tilly." + +She was silent, sat staring before her, with her hands clasped over her +knees. No, she did not understand him, but she could not act otherwise +than he wished. + +He was gone; and suddenly she felt very lonely. She heard him upstairs +packing, rummaging in his cupboards. + +And she began to reflect, sadly: + +"He acts differently and speaks differently from anybody else. Divorced? +Oh, no, I don't want that ... if he doesn't want it for himself!... I +... at least ... not yet.... No, no, nor ever.... Oh, I don't know, I +don't know!... I am fond of Johan.... If I were free now, if I were a +girl still.... But Addie, the children.... I don't know, I don't +know.... That was why Addie thought it would be well ... for us not to +see each other ... for a time. How he will miss the children!... Oh +dear, is he really, really going? Yes, I hear him upstairs ... +packing.... What will people say? Not that it matters. We can say that +he has to read, quietly, out there ... at Driebergen.... We can tell +people something of the kind ... even if they do understand.... I simply +can't go back to Driebergen. ... Oh, how will it work out, how will it +all work out? That is just what Addie doesn't know either.... Do I? No, +Heaven help me, I don't know any more than he does!... I am fond of +Johan: shall I grow fonder of him, now that I am less fond of Addie? I +don't know, I don't know.... Oh, if only I hadn't my children! ... As it +is, I could wish, my God, how I could wish, for his sake and the +children's, that I knew how to be happy at Driebergen, in that house of +theirs, with all of them, and that I could go back to it! Shall I ever +go back to it?... Shall I be Johan's wife one day, after all?... Oh, it +is all so dark and uncertain!... Addie says a solution will come of +itself.... We know nothing, he says.... Must I let it come as it +will?... But how will it come?... Oh, even Addie, who is so wise, can +find no solution!... There is ... there is no solution yet!... Will +there ever be one?... Oh, if I could go back ... to the house down +there!... Should I _ever_ be able to? Perhaps years hence! Perhaps +never! Who can tell?...Is Johan ... really fond of me? Not only because +he admires me ... not only for _that_?... Oh, that was the only reason +why Addie loved me!... I know it now, I know it: that was his one idea, +to have healthy children.... Now we are parted: parted for ever?... Or +shall we come together again one day? Shall we ever become husband and +wife again ... or not?... I do care for Johan. He is so matter-of-fact, +so simple: I should have become very happy and simple with him, without +all this thinking about things which I can't grasp or feel ... and which +came haunting me down there, at Driebergen, gradually.... Oh, if I could +only force myself to live there again!... But perhaps I never can! +Perhaps, in three or four years' time, I shall be Johan's wife ... and +have to give up the children, the poor children, to Addie!..." + +Now she sobbed, because she did not know. The days and months would +drift past slowly and slowly before she knew.... + +There is a sacred knowledge for ourselves, a knowledge so sacred that we +know it only ... when the future is here.... + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + + +The months drifted by. + +"It is strange," said Brauws, "that we haven't heard from Addie lately." + +"How long is it since we did?" asked Constance, vaguely. + +"Nearly a week." + +"Yes, it must be close upon a week." + +"His last letters were brighter." + +"Do you think the travelling is doing him good?" + +"He doesn't travel as another man would. In the three months that he has +been away...." + +"Yes, he will have learnt a good deal that will be useful to him ... in +his profession." + +"His letters were cheerful." + +"I'm longing badly to see him again ... Listen to the wind!" + +"That's the autumn coming." + +"The summer is past. This is our typical weather. Look, here, out of my +window, you can see the clouds coming up over the moor as you never do +downstairs, because the trees in the garden hide all the view." + +"Up here it reminds me sometimes of the Hague, in the Kerkhoflaan." + +"But it's wider, wider...." + +"And finer." + +"There, they're coming up, the clouds.... That must be rain.... They're +all grey and dark purple: I have never seen such purple as in our skies +down here." + +"You're able to live under them now." + +"Now I am. But it took so long ... that I had to get old first. I'm old +now and it's all right now.... Look, look: the clouds are drifting +along.... That means storm...." + +"For days on end." + +"Oh, I am yearning for Addie!... How long is it since we saw him? Three +months, isn't it?... Three months! What an age!... We are all yearning +for him...." + +"His father is counting the days till he returns.... Poor Hans!" + +"Poor Henri!... Even Mamma was asking the other day, where Addie was." + +"She always knows him." + +"Ernst and Paul can't get on without him." + +"And he has an excellent influence on Alex: the boy's doing very well." + +"Yes, he's grown so calm and manly ... latterly." + +"Guy's letters are satisfactory, are they not?" + +"Yes. It's kind of you, Brauws, to take so much interest ... in all of +us." + +"Well, I'm living ... with you all." + +"You belong to us." + +"It is like one family." + +"Family.... Yes, there is such a thing as family. In the old days, I +often used to think that it was just a word." + +"No, it's there, only...." + +"Yes, I understand what you mean.... Sometimes it does not begin to take +shape until we ourselves are no longer young.... It was there for Mamma, +whereas for us, at that time ... But for Mamma it was an illusion +and...." + +"For us ... it is indeed a reality...." + +"In so far that we think so ... we old people." + +"No, no, it is so." + +"I am quite willing to believe it is.... Yes.... Addie ought soon to be +home again." + +"And then?" + +"I think ... he will stay _here_." + +"And Mathilde?" + +"_There_ ... with the children." + +"That is not a solution." + +"No, but Addie says...." + +"That it will have to come...." + +"Later, of itself." + +"I dare say he's right.... How is she?" + +"Reconciled ... more reconciled.... I saw her the other day." + +"Don't leave her to herself." + +"No, we are not doing that.... It's not her fault. And she is a good +mother to her children." + +"As you say, it's not her fault." + +"Nor Addie's either. It's our fault: Henri's and mine." + +"Why?" + +"I don't know, I feel it is. It's all our fault. It's still the +punishment dragging along." + +"No, no!" + +"Yes, it is. Our child was doomed not to be happy ... because of us." + +"No." + +"You know quite well that you too ... look on it like that." + +"Not entirely.... If he had had certain understanding for himself...." + +"He couldn't, because...." + +"Hush! Say no more on that subject.... There _is_ a knowledge.... which +is so sacred ... Which of us has that certain understanding for +himself?... We all just let it come...." + +"Look how dark it's growing." + +"Here comes the rain." + +"It's lashing against the windows." + +"Strange that, even in this weather, the house and this room don't seem +sombre ... to me." + +"There is an air of so much affection in the house.... If Addie would +only come! If he would only come now!... Tell me, Brauws, what is your +opinion? What will be the end of it? Will they ever go back to each +other?" + +"Possibly ... later...." + +"You can't say it positively?" + +"Oh, no!" + +"Do you think that she cares for Erzeele?" + +"It's difficult to say." + +"She doesn't know, herself. Only the other day she told me so herself: +she herself doesn't know.... Will the children prevent her?" + +"Who can say?" + +"Is it right ... that Addie should let things decide themselves?" + +"Perfectly right." + +"Say that ... say that again. I sometimes doubt. Is it right that Addie +should let things decide themselves?" + +"Yes, I am firmly persuaded that it is right." + +"Is she ... strong enough?" + +"I think so ... in that way ... of course she mustn't sit still, with +her hands folded.... She will have to find herself." + +"Oh, if she could only feel in sympathy with all of us!... _If_ she ever +comes back, I swear that I shall...." + +"What?" + +"Nothing. I was thinking.... Then I begin to hope that she and all of us +will feel alike.... And, strangely enough, I see that in everything. We +all want it. _If_ she comes back, I am almost sure that we shall all ... +do a great deal ... to make her ours...." + +"And to make her happy...." + +"_If_ she comes back.... How delightful it would be, _if_ she came back +... with the children." + +"Delightful?" + +"I mean ... yes, I mean delightful.... Lives that have once been +interlaced...." + +"Are bad to pull apart. I agree.... And Hans?" + +"Oh, even he ... even he will try!" + +"Who knows? Perhaps one day it'll be like that." + +"For the present, there's nothing to be said." + +"No, nothing." + +"It's all still mystery and darkness." + +"Listen to the rain." + +"The sky is black." + +"What's the time?" + +"Almost dinner-time." + +"There goes the bell." + +"Shall we go downstairs?" + +They went down the dark staircase. The wind howled round the house. The +old lady was sitting at the window of the conservatory at the back when +Constance and Brauws entered. + +"It's blowing hard," she said. "There are great branches falling from +the trees in the garden." + +"Aren't you too cold in here, Mamma?" + +The old woman did not understand; and Constance put a shawl over her +shoulders: + +"Will you come in, Mamma, when you feel too cold?" + +The old woman nodded, without understanding. She remained sitting where +she was. She had already had something to eat, with Marietje to wait on +her: she never sat down to table with the others. + +The second bell rang. + +"Come," said Constance. + +Paul was there and noticed how miserable Van der Welcke looked: + +"What's the matter?" he asked. + +Van der Welcke was carving: + +"I loathe carving," he said. "Addie always used to do it, or Guy." + +"I never learnt how," said Paul, secretly fearing the gravy. + +"Give it to me, Hans," said Brauws. + +They were silent round the table; the wind howled outside. + +"The gas is burning badly," said Constance. + +"How nice-looking Mary is growing now that she's down here!" said Paul. +"There, you needn't go blushing: your old uncle may surely pay you a +compliment." + +"Well, Uncle Paul, I'm not as young as all that myself: I'm getting on +for thirty." + +"And you, Klaasje," said Paul, "you're eating like a grown-up person." + +"I do eat nicely now, don't I, Auntie?" said Klaasje, proudly. + +Constance nodded to her with a smile. + +"Only Gerdy ... she's not doing well," thought Paul. "How pale she +looks!... Ah, well! Perhaps it'll all come right later for the poor +child.... He or another.... Love, it's a strange thing: I never felt +it." + +He felt a shiver pass through him and said: + +"It's cold to-day, Constance." + +"Yes. We shall start fires to-morrow." + +"It's blowing bitterly outside. And what a draught! I'm sure there's a +draught in the house! What do you say, Ernst?" + +Ernst looked up: + +"There's no draught," he said. "I'm quite warm. You people are always +feeling things that don't exist." + +"Why is it so dark to-day?" asked Adeline, as though waking from a +dream. + +"The gas is burning badly," said Constance. + +"Truitje," said Van der Welcke, "take the key and see that the meter is +turned on full." + +"Grandmamma was very tired to-day," said Marietje. + +"Grandmamma hardly ate anything at all," said Adeletje. + +"She's getting very old," said Constance, sadly. + +The meal dragged on. They exchanged only an occasional word. + +"We're very cosy, among ourselves, like this," said Constance, fondly. +"Oh, I wish that Dorine would come and live here too!" + +"Nothing will induce her to," said Paul. + +"No, I'm afraid not." + +A carriage drove up outside, drove through the garden. + +"Hark!" said Constance. + +"It's Addie!" said Van der Welcke. + +"But he never wired!" + +Gerdy had got up: she rushed outside, leaving the door open. A cold +draught blew in. They all rose. The bell had rung; Truitje opened the +door. + +"Oh, Addie, Addie!" Gerdy exclaimed. "Is that you? Have you come back at +last? We have missed you so frightfully!" + +It was he. She flung herself into his arms and embraced him, with a +little sob. + +They all welcomed him home; they no longer noticed the draught, no +longer heard the wind. They hardly ate anything now, hurriedly finishing +their dinner. + +"Come into the drawing-room," said Constance, "it's warmer there. I +don't know why the dining-room should be so chilly." + +"We'll set the stove going to-morrow," said Van der Welcke. + +His face had brightened up out of recognition. + +"Let's see how you're looking, old chap." + +He, the father, was so much excited that the tears came to Addie's eyes. +The others left the two of them together in the drawing-room with Van +der Welcke while in the dimly-lighted dining-room the old woman seemed +to be asleep. + +"How are you, my boy?" + +"Very well indeed, Dad." + +"And now ... you're staying here?" + +"Yes, I'm staying ... with all of you." + +"Yes, this is your home.... And your wife?" + +"We shall see. That will settle itself." + +"So ... there's nothing certain yet ... about Mathilde?" + +"No, nothing certain.... I write to her once a month; she writes rather +oftener ... about the children. She's very good to them." + +"So ... no talk of a divorce?" + +"No, no talk of that.... Perhaps, later, all will come right between us. +Perhaps, on the other hand, she will feel that she would sooner be free +... in spite of the children." + +They both thought of Erzeele. + +"So you don't know anything yet?" + +"No, not yet. It will settle itself. It must settle itself some day." + +"You see, my boy, I'm different. In your place, I should have fought a +duel with Erzeele. I should have had a divorce ... if my wife didn't +care for me, if she cared for Erzeele." + +"Yes, Father, I know, that's you. I'm different." + +"You're better." + +"No, not better. But, whatever I may be, I am first of all your son." + +"You, my son? You're my friend, my pal; always have been." + +"And suppose I now wanted to be ... your son? I have come back feeling +very sad and very tired, because I feel that I am much to blame." + +"Nothing has happened?" + +"No." + +"What has happened? Nothing at all. You're too fond of thinking. What +you have to do now is to seek your own happiness. Just selfishly." + +"Perhaps ... if I can. Perhaps that will become Mathilde's happiness +too. We shall see. But I don't feel certain of myself. I don't know +things. And I now feel ... not your friend and pal but your son, Father. +I seem to feel it for the first time." + +"You always used to know things." + +"For you, Daddie, and for Mamma. But now, now...." + +"Now you're my son." + +"Yes." + +"My big boy." + +"Father." + +Van der Welcke was standing in front of him; Addie was sitting down. And +Van der Welcke now took his son's head in his hands. + +"Father," said Addie, "I wonder if you realize ... how devotedly I love +you! It's something that I feel only for my parents and for my children, +not for any woman." + +"You're a funny chap," said Va der Welcke. + +"But it is not your fault. It is your parents' fault." + +"If you only knew," Addie repeated, "how devotedly I love you ... and +Mamma!... And all of them here a bit too!... If I had my children here, +then.... Perhaps, perhaps they will come back later ... very much later, +with ... with Mathilde.... Look here, if that ever happens, we must all +of us ... behave differently to her." + +"Yes, my dear boy." + +"Or try to." + +"Yes, old fellow, I know what you mean. We'll all do it ... for your +sake." + +"You see, she _is_ my wife. I ... I am to blame for everything. If you +will try...." + +"Yes." + +"_If_ she comes back.... Perhaps she won't come...." + +"Do you want her to?" + +"Yes, I do. I can't do without my children ... like this." + +"But you'll see them now and again." + +"Yes. So, if she _does_ come back, you promise, Dad...." + +"That I'll try." + +"And, if they will all try, then ... then I shall be happy." + +"Yes, they'll do it, for your sake. But...." + +"If she comes back, I honestly believe ... that she will have learnt ... +also to try ... to like us all a little." + +"You mustn't be angry, Addie, that it was not like that at once. She is +so different ... from all of us." + +"Yes, it's my fault." + +"No, my boy, don't go thinking that and worrying about it." + +"No, Father." + +"What you've got to do now is to try and be happy among us all ... to +work ... to pick up your work again, you know." + +"Yes, just so." + +"And then, gradually, to let things _come_ ... as you say.... Would it +upset you very much if she and Erzeele...." + +"Yes. Because I should then feel my shortcomings towards her still more +strongly.... And also because of my children." + +"Perhaps things will come right, later, my boy." + +"Perhaps." + +"Take it all calmly now ... and don't worry. And just do your work here +quietly." + +"Yes, Father.... Oh, I feel that you are my father!" + +"Perhaps for the first time!... A different part for your old ruffian of +a father!" + +"You're not an old ruffian, you're...." + +Addie stood up and embraced his father. + +"Don't squeeze the breath out of my body!" said Van der Welcke. "You're +strong enough still. And you're looking well too. Your eyes look +interested again, even though they're a bit too pensive. And they were +always calm.... Did you have an interesting time abroad?" + +"I saw a great deal of misery ... but also a great deal of +good-will...." + +"That's it: do what you can here, just simply, in your own surroundings. +Oh, my dear chap, how glad I am that you're back!" + +Gerdy looked in at the door: + +"May we _never_ come in?... Uncle Henri, you're being selfish about +Addie!..." + +"You may come in, dear." + +Addie took her hands: + +"Will you be strong, Gerdy?" + +She sobbed and laughed through her tears: + +"I have tried to be all the time, Addie," she whispered. "But for +you...." + +"You know, life isn't _all_ your first suffering." + +"No, so you've told me." + +"And you must believe it.... It will help you.... You have such a long +future before you." + +"Yes. Oh, Addie, Addie, but for you...." + +"What?" + +"I should have died! I have suffered so, I have suffered so!" + +"And you see so much suffering around you.... But life...." + +"Isn't all your first suffering ... as you say." + +"And you must believe it." + +"Yes, I'll try." + +Constance entered: + +"Am I to see nothing of my boy this evening?" she asked, banteringly. + +He took her in a clinging embrace: + +"You've got him home for good now." + +She gave a sob: + +"My poor child ... then I haven't lost you?" + +"Lost me? Why?" + +"A son...." + +"You've always been afraid ... of losing me. But you never have lost +me." + +"No, never.... Tell me, dear, am I to blame? I am to blame, am I not?" + +"How?" + +"About Mathilde." + +"No, you're not to blame.... But, _if_ she comes back, later, with the +children, Mamma, let us try...." + +"Yes, dear, yes." + +"We will, won't we? We must try ... to bring ourselves into harmony with +her as far as possible...." + +"Yes, yes, I will try." + +"And all of us." + +"Yes, all of us." + +"That's so, Gerdy, isn't it? We must all...." + +"What did you say, Addie?" + +"I was saying, Gerdy, _if_ Mathilde comes back, later on...." + +"Yes...." + +"Would you be willing to try ... with all of us, with Papa and Mamma, +with every one of us ... to get into harmony with her as far as +possible, so that she...." + +"Yes, oh, Addie, yes! I'll try!" + +"You will?" + +"Oh, yes!... If she comes back, I'll try, Addie, I'll try." + +"My dear, listen to it blowing." + +"That's _our_ wind, Mamma." + +"Yes, always." + +Marietje and Adeletje had now gone into the dining-room; Adeline and +Emilie came after them. + +"Why is it so dark in there?" asked Marietje. + +"Grandmamma's taking a nap." + +"We must take her to bed," said Constance. + +Adeletje turned up the gas. + +"Auntie!" cried Marietje, in alarm. + +"What is it, dear?" + +"Oh, Auntie, Auntie ... come here!" + +Constance came in, with Addie and Gerdy. + +"Is Grandmamma ... is Grandmamma...?" stammered Marietje, aghast. + +They all looked at the old woman. She was sitting as usual, sitting +quietly in her big chair, with her veined and wrinkled hands folded in +her black lap. Her head hung back, framed white in her white hair. All +knowledge was hers now; and her old mouth smiled because of it, +encouragingly.... + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DR. ADRIAAN*** + + +******* This file should be named 34761.txt or 34761.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/4/7/6/34761 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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