De stille kracht. English

by Louis Couperus

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Van Helderen's two children, a boy and girl of six and seven,were staying at Eva's; and Van Helderen came in regularly oncea day for a meal. He no longer spoke of his intense feeling, asthough unwilling to disturb the pleasant intimacy of their dailyintercourse. And she accepted his daily visits, was powerless tokeep him at a distance. He was the only man in her immediate circlewith whom she could speak and think aloud; and he was a comfortto her in these days of dejection. She did not understand how shehad come to this, but she gradually lapsed into an absolute apathy,a sort of annihilating condition of thinking nothing necessary. Shehad never been like this before. Her nature was lively and cheerful,seeking and admiring the beautiful in poetry and music and painting,things which, from her early childhood, from her childish books, shehad seen about her and felt and discussed. In India she had graduallycome to lack everything of which she felt a need. In her despair shesuccumbed to a sort of nihilism that made her ask:

  "What is the reason of anything?... Why the world and the people init and the mountains?... Why all this tiny whirl of life?"

  And then, when she read of the social movements, of the great socialproblems in Europe, of the Eurasian question in Java, which wasbecoming more and more urgent, she thought to herself:

  "Why should there be a world, if man eternally remains the same,small and suffering and oppressed by all the misery of his humanity?"

  She did not see the purpose of it all. Half of mankind was sufferingpoverty and struggling upwards out of that darkness ... to what? Theother half was stagnating stupidly and dully amid its riches. Betweenthe two was a scale of gradations, from black poverty to dismalwealth. Over them stood the rainbow of the eternal illusions, love,art, the great notes of interrogation of justice and peace and anideal future.... She felt that it was much ado about nothing, shefailed to see the purpose and she thought of herself:

  "Why is it all so?... And why the world and poor humanity?"

  She had never felt like this before, but there was no strugglingagainst it. Gradually, from day to day, India was making her so,making her sick at her very soul. Frans van Helderen was her onlyconsolation. The young controller, who had never been to Europe,who had received all his education at Batavia, who had passed hisexaminations at Batavia, with his distinguished manners, his supplecourtesy, his strange, enigmatic nationality, had grown dear to herin friendship because of his almost exotic development. She toldhim how she delighted in this friendship; and he no longer repliedby offering his love. There was too much charm about their presentrelation. There was something ideal in it, which they both needed. Intheir everyday surroundings, that friendship shone before them likean exquisite halo of which they were both proud. He often called tosee her, especially now that his wife was at Tosari; and they wouldwalk in the evening twilight to the beacon which stood by the sea likea small Eiffel tower. These walks were much talked about, but theydid not mind that. They sat down on the foundation of the beacon,looked out to sea and listened to the distance. Ghostly proas, withsails like night-birds' wings, glided into the canal, to the droningsing-song of the fishermen. A melancholy of resignation, of a smallworld and small people hovered beneath the skies filled with twinklingstars, where gleamed the mystic diamonds of the Southern Cross or theTurkish crescent of the horned moon. And above that melancholy of thedroning fishermen, of crazy proas, of small people at the foot of thelittle light-house, drifted a fathomless immensity of the skies andthe eternal stars. And from out the immensity drifted the unutterable,as it were the superhumanly divine, wherein all that was small andhuman sank and melted away.

  "Why attach any value to life when I may die to-morrow?" thoughtEva. "Why all this confusion and turmoil of mankind, when to-morrowperhaps everything may have ceased to exist?"

  And she put the question to him. He replied that each of us was notliving for himself and the present age, but for all mankind and forthe future. But she gave a bitter laugh, shrugged her shoulders,thought him commonplace. And she thought herself commonplace,to think such things that had so often been thought before. Butstill, notwithstanding her self-criticism, she continued under theobsession of the uselessness of life, when everything might be deadto-morrow. And an humiliating littleness, as of atoms, overcame them,both of them, as they sat gazing into the spaciousness of the skiesand the eternal stars.

  Yet they loved those moments, which were everything in their lives;for, when they did not feel their pettiness too keenly, they spokeof books, music, painting and the big, important things of life. Andthey felt that, in spite of the circulating library and the Italianopera at Surabaya, they were no longer in touch with the world. Theyfelt the great, important things to be very far from them. And bothof them now became seized with a nostalgia for Europe, a longing tofeel so very small no longer. They would both have liked to get away,to go to Europe. But neither of them was able. Their petty, daily lifeheld them captive. Then, as though spontaneously, in mutual harmony,they spoke of what was soul and being and all the mystery thereof.

  All the mystery. They felt it in the sea, in the sky; but theyalso quietly sought it in the rapping leg of a table. They did notunderstand how a soul or spirit could reveal itself through a tableon which they earnestly laid their hands and which through theirmagnetic fluid was transformed from dead to living matter. But, whenthey laid their hands upon it, the table lived and they were forcedto believe. The letters which they counted out were often confused,according to some strange alphabet; and the table, as though directedby a mocking spirit, constantly showed a tendency to tease and confuse,to stop suddenly or to be coarse and indecent. Sometimes they readbooks on spiritualism and did not know whether to believe or not.

  These were quiet days of quiet monotony in the little town swept by therustling rain. Their life in common seemed unreal, like a dream thatrose through the rain like a mist. And it was like a sudden awakeningfor Eva when, one afternoon, walking outside in the damp avenuewaiting for Van Helderen, she saw Van Oudijck coming in her direction.

  "I was just on my way to you!" he cried, excitedly. "I was just comingto ask a favour. Will you help me once more?"

  "In what, resident?"

  "But first tell me: aren't you well? You've not been looking veryfit lately."

  "It's nothing serious," she said, with a dreary laugh. "It'llpass. What can I help you in, resident?"

  "There's something to be done, mevrouwtje, and we can't managewithout you. My wife herself was saying this morning, 'Better askMrs. Eldersma.'"

  "But tell me what it is."

  "You know Mrs. Staats, the station-master's widow. The poor woman hasbeen left without a thing, except her five children and some debts."

  "He committed suicide, didn't he?"

  "Yes, it's very sad. And we really must help her. There's a lotof money needed. Sending round a subscription-list won't bringin much. People are very generous, but they've already made suchsacrifices lately. They went mad at the fancy-fair. They can't do muchfor the moment, so near the end of the month. But, early next month,in the first week of January, mevrouwtje, some theatricals by yourThalia society: you know, nothing elaborate, a couple of drawing-roomsketches and no expenses. Seats at a guilder and a half, two guildersand a half, perhaps, and, if you set it going, the hall will be full;people will come over from Surabaya. You must help me, you will,won't you?"

  "But, resident," said Eva, wearily, "we've just had thosetableaux-vivants. Don't be angry with me, but I don't care to bealways acting."

  "Yes, yes, you must this time," Van Oudijck insisted, a littleimperiously, greatly excited about his plan.

  She became peevish. She liked her independence; and in these daysof dejection particularly she was too disconsolate, in these daysof dreaming she felt too much confused to accede at once with a goodgrace to his authoritative request:

  "Really, resident, I can think of nothing this time," she answered,curtly. "Why doesn't Mrs. van Oudijck do it herself?"

  She was startled when she h
ad made this peevish remark. Walking besideher, the resident lost his composure; and his face clouded over. Theanimated, cheerful expression and the jovial smile around his thickmoustache suddenly disappeared. She saw that she had been cruel; andshe felt remorse for it. And for the first time, suddenly, she sawthat, in love with his wife though he was, he did not approve of herwithdrawing herself from everything. She saw that it gave him pain. Itwas as though this side of his character were being made clear to her:she was seeing it plainly for the first time.

  He did not know what to reply: seeking for his words, he remainedsilent.

  Then she said, coaxingly:

  "Don't be angry, resident. It wasn't nice of me. I know that all thatsort of bustle only bores Mrs. van Oudijck. I am glad to relieve herof it. I will do anything you wish."

  Her eyes were filled with nervous tears.

  He was smiling now and gave her a penetrating sidelong glance:

  "You're a bit overstrung. But I knew that you had a good heart ... andwould not leave me in the lurch ... and would consent to help poorold Mother Staats. But don't throw away any money, mevrouwtje: noexpense, no new scenery. Just your wit, your talent, your beautifulelocution: French or Dutch, as you please. We're proud of all that atLabuwangi, you know; and all the beautiful acting--which you give usfree of charge--is quite enough to make the performance a success. Buthow overstrung you are, mevrouwtje! Why are you crying? Aren't youwell? Tell me: is there anything I can do for you?"

  "Don't work my husband so hard, resident. I never see anything of him."

  He made a gesture to show that he could not help himself:

  "It's true," he admitted. "There's an awful lot to do. Is that thetrouble?"

  "And make me see the good side of India."

  "Is that it?"

  "And a lot besides."

  "Are you becoming homesick? Don't you care for India any longer,don't you care for Labuwangi, where we all make so much of you?... Youmisjudge India. Try to see the good side of it."

  "I have tried."

  "Is it no use?"

  "No."

  "You are too sensible not to perceive the good in this country."

  "You are too fond of it to be impartial. And I don't know how to beimpartial. But tell me the good things."

  "Which shall I begin with? The satisfaction of being able, asan official, to do good to the country and the people. The fine,delightful sense of working for this country and this people; theample hard work that fills a man's life out here.... I'm not speakingof all the office-work of your husband, who is district secretary. ButI'm speaking of later on, when he becomes an assistant-resident!"

  "It will be so long before that happens!"

  "Well, then, the spacious material life?"

  "The white ants gnaw everything."

  "That's a poor joke, mevrouw."

  "Very possibly, resident. Everything is out of tune with me, insideand out: my wit, my piano and my poor soul."

  "Nature, then?"

  "I don't feel it all. Nature is conquering me and devouring me."

  "Your own activities?"

  "My activities? One of the good things in India?"

  "Yes. To inspire us material, practical people with your wit, nowand again."

  "Resident! You're paying me compliments!... Is this all on accountof the theatricals?"

  "And to do good to Mother Staats with that wit of yours!"

  "Couldn't I do good in Europe?"

  "Certainly, certainly," he said, bluffly. "Go to Europe, mevrouw, byall means. Go and live at the Hague; join the Charity OrganizationSociety ... with a collecting-box at your door and a rix-dollar... how often?"

  She laughed:

  "Now you're becoming unjust. They do a lot of good in Holland too."

  "But do they ever do in Holland for one distressed person ... whatwe, what you are now going to do for Mother Staats? And don't tellme that there's less poverty here."

  "Well?"

  "Well, then, there is a great deal of good for you here. Your specialactivities. Your material and moral work for others.... Don't letVan Helderen get too much smitten with you, mevrouw. He's a charmingfellow, but he puts too much literature into his monthly reports.... Isee him coming and I must be off. So I can rely on you?"

  "Absolutely."

  "When shall we have the first meeting, with the committee and theladies?"

  "To-morrow evening, resident, at your house?"

  "Right you are. I shall send round the subscription-lists. We mustmake a lot of money, mevrouw."

  "We'll do our best for Mother Staats," she said, gently.

  He shook her hand and went away. She felt limp, she did not know why:

  "The resident has been warning me against you, because you're tooliterary!" she said to Van Helderen, teasingly.

  She sat down in the front verandah. The skies burst asunder; awhite curtain of rain descended in perpendicular streams. A plagueof locusts came hopping along the verandah. A cloud of tiny flieshummed in the corners like an AEolian harp. Eva and Van Helderen placedtheir hands on the little table and it tilted its leg with a jerk,while the beetles buzzed around them.