Eline Vere

by Louis Couperus

  She had a sense of triumph as she surveyed her relatives and acquaintances drifting about the salon; how brave she was to be defying their conventional sense of propriety, that she should dare to have a crush on Fabrice! She laughed more merrily than called for when Emilie said something comical, indeed she was laughing at them all, exulting in her covert, forbidden passion.

  ‘And so Mr van Raat – Mr Paul, I mean – is to be a lawyer, is he not?’ asked Cateau.

  Why did she keep mentioning Paul? thought Eline. It was Paul here, Paul there, his wonderful singing voice, and now his career.

  ‘You are rather taken with Paul, I do believe!’ said Eline.

  ‘Oh yes, I like him very much!’ Cateau burst out happily. ‘Only sometimes, you know, he can get quite cross. Fancy, the other day, during the tableaux–’

  And Eline was obliged to listen to a lengthy account of how Paul had lost his temper over some detail regarding the tableaux, and also how clever he was at draping the costumes.

  ‘She doesn’t mince matters,’ thought Eline. ‘But then it doesn’t necessarily mean that she’s sweet on him, I suppose, even if she does talk about him all the time. Because if she were, she’d probably not breathe a word, like me.’

  It was half-past five; the callers began to take their leave.

  ‘So you’ll let me hear you and Paul sing?’ pleaded Cateau.

  ‘You could come on a Thursday afternoon, that’s when we usually sing together.’

  ‘Oh dear, I’m at school then.’

  ‘Well, in that case you could come during the evening some time.’

  ‘Oh, I’d love that, Eline.’

  It was the first time Cateau had called Eline by her first name, and she beamed with gratification at her newly acquired status. Then she bade goodbye, urged to do so by her mother.

  By the front door Eline, having said her farewells, found herself alone with Frédérique, quite by chance, while she waited for Betsy, who was still chatting with Mr Verstraeten. Eline was just about to say something to Freddie, but hesitated, thinking Freddie might address her first, and in the end both remained silent.

  Young Cateau was ecstatic all the way home, singing the praises of Eline and Paul to her mother.

  …

  The new year arrived with freezing temperatures. Betsy had invited the Verstraetens and the Van Erlevoorts as well as Madame van Raat and Paul to an oyster supper on New Year’s Eve, and a very pleasant evening was passed by all in the warm luxury of her salons. The wintry days of January succeeded one another in unbroken sameness, relieved in the evenings for Betsy and Eline by a constant string of dinners and soirées. The Van Raats led a busy social life, and Betsy was renowned for her elegant little dinner parties, with never fewer than ten guests and never more than a dozen, and always served with the most munificent refinement. They belonged to a coterie whose members were frequently in company with one another on terms of close familiarity, a state of affairs that caused them considerable satisfaction.

  In between these lighthearted social engagements Eline fanned the flame of her secret love in mute contentment, and felt steeped in romance. One morning, as she was walking homeward along Prinsessegracht after an errand, she caught sight of Fabrice emerging from the Wood. She felt her heart beating and hardly dared to look again, but after a moment allowed her eyes to chance upon him with feigned indifference. He wore a short duffel coat with a woollen muffler thrown casually around his neck, and walked at a leisurely pace with his hands in his pockets, his swarthy features and somewhat moody expression partially hidden by the wide brim of his soft felt hat. He made on her an impression of lofty reserve, which fired her imagination: he was bound to be from a good family, for there was a quality to the set of his broad shoulders that struck her as very distinguished; his parents had opposed his wish to devote himself to art, but his vocation had been impossible to resist; he had received his musical training at a conservatoire, and he had made a successful debut, but now he found himself in the throes of disillusionment and bitterness about the world of the theatre, which was too coarse and uncivilised for his artistic sensibilities; he had withdrawn into proud isolation; he thought back on his childhood, on his youth, and he could see his mother wringing her hands and imploring him to abandon his ambition and think no more of the stage …

  From that day on Eline was seized with the caprice, as Betsy called it, of taking long walks in the morning. The Wood was so beautiful in winter, Eline declared; she adored the way the tall, straight trunks looked like marble pillars when it snowed; it was like being in a cathedral. Henk accompanied her a few times with Leo and Faust, the two Ulmer hounds, but he missed his habitual horse ride, and so she took to walking alone, after calling at the stable to collect the dogs, which bounded happily and protectively at her side like a pair of boisterous pageboys.

  It was good for her constitution, she explained when eyebrows were raised at her new pursuit; she did not get enough exercise, and feared putting on weight like Betsy if she followed her example and never went anywhere on foot. Besides, Dr Reijer thought her morning promenades an excellent idea.

  In the Wood she would see other people taking a stroll, usually the same ones, and there was an elderly grey-haired gentleman in a fur cloak, invariably coughing behind his hand, whom she crossed daily. But she seldom saw Fabrice. No doubt he was rehearsing, she told herself when the baritone failed to appear. Each time the disappointment left her feeling worn out, and she would make her way home longing for her boudoir, her warm stove and her piano. But she persisted in her walks regardless, and in due course noticed that Fabrice tended to favour Fridays. Any other day was completely unpredictable; she might see him, but then she might not. She made a point of rising early, even if she had only gone to bed at three after an exhausting soirée or a dance, and had dark rings beneath her eyes. True, she saw Fabrice quite often these days, but it was always at the opera, from a box, or the stalls, when she was accompanied by the Verstraetens or by Emilie de Woude and Georges – one evening she had even invited the Ferelijns to join her – but it was nothing like seeing him in the Wood. There she saw him differently, no longer as a vision on stage divided from her by the blaze of footlights but at close quarters, less than three paces removed from her, a man of flesh and blood.

  On the days that she did catch sight of Fabrice, her heart soared, filling the high vault of snow-covered boughs with joy. She would see him coming in her direction with his manly, vigorous step, the hat at a rakish angle, the tasselled muffler fluttering from his shoulder, and when their paths crossed he would glance at her, or at the dogs sniffing his legs, with an inscrutable expression on his face. Afterwards, making her way home along the tree-lined Maliebaan, she would be overcome with a joy that made her bosom heave and the blood rush to her cool cheeks; she would not feel in the least tired, and on her return would break into jubilant song the moment she crossed the threshold. She would be in high spirits all day, her customary languid grace having ceded to quicksilver vivacity. Her eyes shone as she kept up her incessant banter; she called Henk an old lazybones and Ben a slowcoach and teased both father and son; she made the hall resound with her silver laughter and the stairs creak with her rapid footsteps.

  One Friday morning, seeing Fabrice coming towards her, she made a decision. It was so childish not daring to meet his gaze, she reasoned; he was a member of the acting profession after all, and surely accustomed to being recognized in public by ladies. And so, when he was close, she tossed back her head with an air of almost haughty defiance, and looked him directly in the eye. He returned her look in his usual blank manner, and passed her without slowing his pace. Then, feeling reckless, she looked over her shoulder … would he, too …? No, he continued walking, his hands in his pockets, and her eyes followed his retreating, broad-shouldered frame.

  That morning she sped homewards, humming under her breath, with a hint of mischievous glee about her closed lips. She could think of nothing but her encounter with Fabrice.
When she rang the bell at Nassauplein and Grete let her in, the dogs bounded into the hall, barking with excitement. She had to laugh: she had clean forgotten to leave Leo and Faust behind at the stable on her way home!

  Betsy burst out of the dining room, fuming.

  ‘Good heavens, Eline, are you mad? Fancy bringing those wretched dogs here! You know I can’t abide them. What’s come over you, going against my wishes like this? It’s as if I’m not mistress in my own home! Please take them away at once.’

  Her voice was harsh and strident, as though she were giving orders to an inferior.

  ‘They’re thirsty, and I want to give them some water,’ responded Eline, affecting cool authority so that Betsy would not guess that the dogs had simply slipped her mind.

  ‘That’s as may be! I will not have them drinking water in my house, do you hear? Look at that carpet, muddy paws everywhere.’

  ‘Grete can clean it in no time.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re saying! You live the life of a princess here, doing exactly as you please, taking no notice whatsoever of me! Take those filthy dogs away, I tell you!’

  ‘They must have some water first.’

  ‘Didn’t you hear me? I said I will not have them drinking water here!’ cried Betsy, beside herself with vexation.

  ‘Well, they must have their drink. I’ll take them to the garden,’ said Eline calmly.

  ‘Don’t you dare!’ shrieked her sister. ‘Don’t you dare!’

  ‘Come here, Leo, come here, Faust,’ called Eline, patting her thigh with maddening slowness.

  Betsy was incensed. Her lips quivered, her hands shook, her breath came in quick, short gasps. She was speechless with rage, and wanted only to slap her sister hard, but Eline was already sauntering down the hall with the frisky hounds at her heels, into the garden, where she proceeded to fill a bucket of water at the outside tap. It gave her a subtle pleasure to anger Betsy so. The dogs drank their fill and she brought them back inside

  Betsy was still standing in the hall, glowering impotently at Eline, wishing she had run after her and wrested the bucket from her grasp.

  ‘I warn you, Eline,’ she began, her voice quaking and her cheeks aflame, ‘I shall have to speak to Henk about this.’

  ‘Oh, see if I care!’ returned Eline with a flare of temper, whereupon she flounced out of the house with the dogs, slamming the door behind her.

  …

  Fifteen minutes later she was back again, humming to herself in secret rapture about her meeting with Fabrice. Starting up the stairs, she broke into a long, pearly ripple of song, as though in deliberate provocation of Betsy, who was moping in the dining room, close to tears.

  When Henk returned at midday, Betsy told him of Eline’s intolerable conduct, but he had little patience with her, refusing to take sides. Betsy was outraged; she accused him of being spineless, and made a scene.

  For a whole week the sisters barely spoke to one another, much to Henk’s dismay, for their sulking ruined his enjoyment of the comforts of home, especially at table, where the meals were hurried through, for all that Eline chattered incessantly to him and Ben.

  XII

  It had struck Frédérique during the New Year’s Eve supper party at the Van Raats’ that Otto had talked and laughed a good deal with Eline; not remarkably so, but more than he usually did with the young ladies of their acquaintance. She had been wondering about this for several days, but the opportunity to ask her brother the question that was foremost in her mind never seemed to arise. She was brusque towards Etienne when he wanted to share a joke with her, had little patience for games with the children, and was pronounced by Lili, Marie and Paul to have grown altogether less good-humoured of late.

  It was one of their evenings at home; only Etienne had gone out with some friends. The youngsters were in bed, and Madame van Erlevoort sat with Mathilda in the drawing room by the tea table, Madame with a book and Mathilda with some needlework. Frédérique came in, smiling, then went up to her mother and lovingly smoothed the grey hair at her temples.

  ‘Freddie, would you mind ringing for Willem?’ asked Mathilda. ‘Otto said he would like a cup of tea in his room; he’s doing some work and won’t be down until later.’

  ‘Why don’t you just pour him a cup and I’ll take it up to him,’ she replied.

  Mathilda poured the tea, and as Frédérique climbed the stairs carrying the cup she thought this might be a good time to put her question, although she would prefer it if he started a conversation himself.

  She entered Otto’s room and found him wandering about with a very distracted air, his head bowed and his hands clasped behind his back, in an attitude quite contrary to his customary briskness.

  ‘Well now, what kindness from my little sister!’ he said jovially, taking the cup from her. ‘It will taste ten times the better for being served by such pretty hands.’

  ‘Fie, Otto!’ cried Frédérique. ‘How could you be so banal! Don’t tell me you can’t come up with a more original compliment!’

  She continued to smile at him, but did not catch his reply as she was too busy pondering how best to phrase her question. After all, he might take it amiss. Try as she might, she could not think of any easy, lighthearted way of introducing the subject, and to her own surprise she broke out with:

  ‘Otto, I … I have something to say to you, something to confess.’

  ‘A sin?’

  ‘No, not a sin, at least I don’t think so; an indiscretion, maybe, which I committed against you by mistake. But first you must say you’ll forgive me.’

  ‘Without knowing what for?’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t a deliberate indiscretion; besides, I wasn’t as indiscreet as I would have liked to be, so you could even say I deserve a reward! But really, all I’m asking is that you forgive me.’

  ‘All right then, I shall be merciful. Tell me all about it.’

  ‘Promise you won’t be angry?’

  ‘I promise. Go on, out with it.’

  ‘It’s just that, quite by accident, I happened to find out who it was … you know, on St Nicholas’ Eve …’

  He paled a little, observing her intently, and she was keenly aware that he hung on every word she uttered.

  ‘So I know who sent Eline that fan … the Bucchi fan …’

  She stood before him with the air of a guilt-ridden child, mortified by her confession, while he fixed her with a wide-eyed, anxious stare.

  ‘You found out?’ he stammered.

  She nodded.

  ‘Oh please, don’t be angry,’ she begged. ‘I couldn’t help it, honestly. I went to your room one morning because I needed to borrow your sealing wax. You never forbade me to go into your room, did you? I knocked, but you weren’t there so I went in, and as I was hunting for the wax on your desk I happened to notice the leather case lying in one of the compartments, and so I recognised it straight away when I saw it again in the evening. At first I thought it might be something for me, and I was dying to take a peek inside – you know how inquisitive I am – but I didn’t because I felt bad enough having discovered your gift. Oh dear, I’m afraid you are angry with me, but I couldn’t help it, could I?’

  ‘Angry? But my dear girl, there is nothing to be angry about!’ he replied with forced levity. ‘It was a surprise gift, and surprises don’t last for ever, do they? But I hope you haven’t mentioned it to Eline.’

  ‘Oh no, of course not.’

  ‘Well, what of it then? There’s no harm done,’ he said carelessly. ‘Or are you sorry the fan was not meant for you?’

  She gave a disdainful shrug.

  ‘I’m surprised you should think me so childish. Only–’

  ‘Now what?’

  She lifted her clear, guileless eyes to him, and he felt a slight pang of unease under her scrutiny.

  ‘The thing is, I can’t imagine any young man giving a such a beautiful present to a girl unless he’s extremely fond of her.’

  ‘Oh, but I am v
ery fond of Eline, so why shouldn’t I give her something for St Nicholas?’

  ‘No, Otto, you’re not being frank with me!’ she said impatiently, drawing him to the sofa. ‘Come and sit down: I want you to listen a moment. A sensible, level-headed fellow like you doesn’t give a girl a fan costing goodness knows how much unless he’s in love with her, whatever you say. You never gave Eline anything before, and you didn’t give Lili or Marie any presents this year either. So you see, I can tell that there’s more to it!’ She broke off suddenly and put her hands on his shoulders.

  ‘Or do you think me too forward? Perhaps you’d rather not talk about it …’ she faltered.

  ‘On the contrary, my dear Freddie,’ he said mildly, drawing her towards him on the sofa. ‘I’m quite happy to talk to you about Eline. Why wouldn’t I be? But suppose I did care very much for Eline, would you still think it foolish and extravagant of me …?’

  ‘So it’s true then – you love Eline?’

  ‘You look shocked,’ he said, smiling.

  ‘Oh, but Eline isn’t the right kind of girl for you at all!’ she cried with agitation. ‘No, Otto, really, Elly doesn’t deserve you and she never will. I know she’s beautiful and charming, but there’s something about her that, well, that I find unsympathetic. Seriously, though, I think you would do better to put her out of your mind. I don’t believe you and she could ever be happy together. You’re so good and kind, and if you really fell deeply in love with her you’d want to surrender yourself body and soul, you’d want to do everything for her, and in return she’d give you not one tenth of what you gave her. She doesn’t have a heart, all she has is egotism, stone-cold egotism.’