Eline Vere

by Louis Couperus

  ‘I know, I know – I, who dared to interrupt you at a dinner party! Yes, I dared to do so! But I promise you that I shall dare a great deal more if I hear another word spoken against Vincent. You think he’s spiteful, but you’re the one who’s spiteful – first you invite him to stay and then you throw a tantrum over some trifle and shout at him like a fishwife so that he’ll leave! You’re the one who’s spiteful!’

  ‘Keep your insults to yourself, pray.’

  ‘And you keep your nasty remarks about Vincent to yourself in future!’ raged Eline. ‘I will not hear another word spoken against him, I’ve put up with it long enough for the sake of peace, but now I can’t stand it any longer! Do you understand?’

  ‘You can’t stand it any longer, you say? Oh, so it’s because of Vincent that you can’t stand Otto anymore either, I suppose.’

  ‘Leave Otto out of this!’ screamed Eline.

  ‘You don’t mean to say that you’ve taken a fancy to that reptile? Is that why you treated Otto as if he were just another beau, someone to have a little fling with? You say you won’t put up with my criticism of Vincent, but I – I won’t put up with any more of your compromising behaviour! Who do you think you are? First you’re stupid enough to break off your engagement, out of sheer caprice, without the slightest reason, so that now we’ve got all the tongues wagging, then you start making a fuss of Vincent here in my house as if you’re in love with him, and to cap it all you have the nerve to insult me in front of other people! I’m not having it, do you hear? If you’ve picked up your bad manners from all those idiotic philosophical discussions you had with Vincent, then–’

  Eline was beside herself. Her nerves were strung to their highest tension, quivering under Betsy’s vituperations. What Betsy had said about her and Otto, and especially about her sympathy for Vincent, which she thought she had kept hidden from everyone, filled her with helpless rage. She gripped Betsy’s wrists and, hissing between her teeth, shrilled out:

  ‘Shut up! Stop it, I tell you! Don’t you dare lecture me about Otto, or Vincent for that matter, or I’ll slap you. You’re horrible. I’ve had as much as I can take of your aggravation! I warn you!’

  ‘Eline, have you taken leave of your senses?’ cried Betsy, but Eline stood where she was, shaking her fists.

  ‘Yes, you drive me mad with all your aggravation about “my house, my house”! I am well aware it’s your house I’m living in, but I never asked to come here, and you keep harping on the fact that it’s your house as if I ought to thank you for taking me in. I don’t depend on you for anything, and even if I am living under your roof, that doesn’t give you any say in what I do or don’t do. I’m free, free to do as I please.’

  ‘No you are not. You are here, in my house, and you must conduct yourself accordingly. And if you cannot, then it is up to me to try to do something about it.’

  Betsy had left the door open when she came in, and their shouting reverberated through the whole house, almost drowning out the rattling of the shutters in the storm. Henk appeared in the doorway, but was unable to make himself heard over the din.

  ‘You have nothing to say about how I should or should not behave!’ shrieked Eline. ‘I’m free, I tell you! I don’t need your house, and I swear to you that I shan’t stay here for another second! I swear it! You can stuff your precious house!’ She hardly knew what she was saying, having worked herself up into a paroxysm of fury, nor was she conscious of what she was doing when she snatched up her cloak off the floor and flung it about her shoulders. She made a dash for the door, but Henk stood in her path.

  ‘Eline!’ he began gravely.

  ‘Let me go, let me go!’ she raged like a wounded tigress, pushing him away with such force that he staggered back. He tried to stop her again, but she was already out of the door, flying down the stairs.

  ‘Eline! For God’s sake, Eline! You don’t know what you’re doing!’ he called, in hot pursuit. She was deaf to his cries, for there was only one thought in her mind: to flee from this house where she was not wanted, and she was blind to Gerard and the maids staring at her in blank amazement as she rushed through the vestibule, threw open the glass-panelled inner door and swiftly drew the bolt of the street door. A blast of wind caused the inner door to slam shut, and at her back she heard the shattered glass fall to the floor.

  …

  Then the front door, too, slammed behind her, and she found herself in the street, in the driving rain with the gale blowing open her cloak and spitting at her face and neck. It was impossible for her to battle against that raging force, so she gave up and allowed herself to be propelled by the storm lashing her back like a gigantic vampire with broad, razor-sharp claws. She saw no one in the street, and as she ran ahead all alone in the doom-laden night, in the unrelenting, splashing downpour, buffeted by the gusting wind, she was seized with panic. She felt as if she had been wrenched from her familiar existence and hurled into a nightmare of disaster and despair; the rain was beating down on her bare head and she felt terror at the darkness enfolding her with calamity. The wind almost tore her cloak from her shoulders, numbing her with cold in her fluttering black tulle. Her dainty patent leather shoes went wading and splashing through puddles and mud, her dishevelled hair clung in dripping strands to her cheeks, and under her flapping cloak she felt an icy moisture gliding down her neck and shoulders. She no longer knew where she was, but hurried on regardless, shuddering with fright at each broken twig that came skittering her way, at each menacing rumble of loose roof tiles. And she saw no one, not a soul.

  She was slow in coming back to reality: she had fled from her brother-in-law’s house! She wanted to stand still for a moment to reflect on this, but the blustering storm drove her forward as though she were one of the autumn leaves flying past her head. And she let herself be blown along, trying to gather her thoughts as she went. Despite the direness of her self-inflicted plight, she felt no remorse, but rather, to her astonishment, a flickering of pride at her own temerity. Never had she imagined herself capable of taking flight like this, in the middle of the night, without even knowing where she was going! Heartened by this surprise, she forced herself to apply her mind to the urgent matter at hand: she could not wander about aimlessly all night, she had to think of somewhere to go.

  Suddenly she noticed that she had reached Laan Copes van Cattenburgh. Driven by the wind, she rushed headlong onwards over the slippery, muddy footpath, flinching from the boughs sighing overhead. The tree trunks creaked ominously, and she was terrified that one of them would topple over and crush her to death. She battled on regardless, summoning all her willpower to put some order in her thoughts. Where for the love of God should she go? She felt great staring eyes fixed on her in the darkness. Whom could she turn to? To old Madame van Raat? Oh, she might have been fond of Eline once, but now she was bound to take sides with her son and daughter-in-law! To the Verstraetens, then, who were her brother-in-law’s relatives? She felt herself sinking into a muddy abyss of despair. Otto loomed up in her mind, and she thought how willingly she would have traded the rest of her life just to have him appear at her side at this moment, to be drawn into his embrace, to be borne away to a safe place full of warmth, light and love. His name rose to her lips like a supplication, but her voice was drowned out by the storm. She was barely able to take another step, she was ready to let herself fall into the mud at her feet and lie there, lashed by the wind, until she died! But that would be a cowardly thing to do, while she had found the courage to follow her impulse to leave, and so she forced herself to focus on the question as to whom she could possibly turn to in her distress. Not to Madame van Raat – not to the Verstraetens, either – oh God, where should she go? Suddenly, like a bolt of lightning in that night of torment and dread, it came to her. Jeanne! In her mind’s eye she saw her old school friend’s sitting room in the cramped abode over the greengrocer’s shop. Yes, that’s where she would go! It was a last resort, but she could not think of anything better, and besides,
her strength was failing her. So she turned to face the driving wind and, with faltering steps, fought to cross the square at Alexanderveld in the direction of Hugo de Grootstraat, clutching the collar of her cloak tightly about her neck, drenched to the skin and shivering with cold. On the far side of the green she could just see the backs of the houses on Nassauplein. There were still lights in a few windows, but she was too far away to distinguish which ones were Betsy’s – hers no longer – and a pang of longing and regret went through her at the realisation of what she had left behind. With a sinking feeling she calculated how much longer it would take her to reach the Ferelijns’ apartment. She was exhausted, exhausted from the quarrel with Betsy, from the unrelenting, icy rain striking her in the face, from the wind buffeting her from side to side, from her sodden patent leather shoes, heavy with mud and threatening to slip off at each step. She felt she was about to die of misery, desolation, hardship.

  But she pushed her way doggedly onwards against the gale until she reached Javastraat, where she turned right towards Laan van Meerdervoort. A gust of wind almost made her lose her footing, and a broken branch came flying through the air, striking her on the shoulder and grazing her cheek, at which she let out a scream. Fear, pain and utter despair took possession of her as she laboured to make her legs go faster … To the Ferelijns’! To the Ferelijns’! But the raging wind was against her, compelling her to fight every step of the way.

  ‘Oh God! What have I done?’ she moaned in helpless agony. The streets so familiar by day had been transformed into a diabolical maze of darkness and clamour, in which she felt like a lost soul, ghostlike and God-forsaken, and when she found herself going past old Madame van Raat’s house she had to summon all her fortitude not to ring the bell, by which she would have gained immediate admittance to warmth and light. But no, it was too late in the night, Madame would be asleep by now, and besides, she would not take kindly to Eline’s flight from Nassauplein. And she trudged past the door without stopping, driven onwards by the wind as much as by her newfound passion to reach the Ferelijns, frantically putting one foot in front of the other in her mud-clotted evening shoes. She turned into Van de Spieghelstraat – how much longer would she have to endure this torment? There, at long last, Hugo de Grootstraat!

  With the rain stinging her face and the wind tearing harder than ever at her cloak, she found herself – thank Heavens! – standing on their doorstep. The house was in total darkness, but she did not hesitate. This was her only salvation. She seized the bell-pull and rang for all her worth, wildly, passionately, and rang again, and again.

  …

  How long it was taking! It seemed like an eternity, but at last she heard someone thumping down the stairs, then the squeak of the bolt being drawn across the door. It opened a crack, and a face appeared.

  ‘For the love of God!’ she cried, thrusting the door open and rushing inside. ‘It’s me, Eline!’

  The door fell to behind her. She stood in the unlit stairwell, face to face with Frans Ferelijn, who cried out her name in disbelief. Jeanne appeared at the top of the stairs, holding a lamp. All Eline could think of at that moment was the promise of light, warmth and comfort, and, mustering the very last of her energy, she ran up the stairs.

  ‘Jeanne! Jeanne! I beg you, help me! It’s me, Eline! Oh, please help me!

  ‘Good heavens, Eline!’ gasped Jeanne.

  ‘Help me, I beg you! I – I have run away! Oh please, help me, or I’ll die!’

  She sank down in a wet, crumpled heap at Jeanne’s feet.

  ‘Eline! Eline!’ cried Jeanne in dismay.

  Breaking into violent sobs, Eline remained hunched on the floor, where puddles were forming about the hem of her cloak. Jeanne struggled to lift her to her feet.

  ‘Oh Eline! What have you done? What’s happened? You’re wet through! And quite frozen! Heavens above!’

  She led Eline, who could barely stand, into Frans’ little study, and set down the lamp. Eline collapsed onto a chair, muddy water oozing from her clothes.

  ‘I’ve run away! I’ve run away from Nassauplein!’ she wailed. ‘I couldn’t bear it any longer – and I came here because … well, because I had nowhere else to go. Oh, Jeanne, please, you will help me, won’t you?’

  Jeanne was overwhelmed with pity.

  ‘You can tell me about it later, Eline. Come, let’s get you out of those wet clothes, or you’ll catch your death of cold.’

  ‘Oh yes, please, help me take them off. Here’s my cloak. Oh, and my shoes! What a disgusting state I’m in, all covered in mud! Lord in heaven, I wish I were dead!’

  She slumped against the back of her chair, weeping.

  ‘Frans, just look at her!’ said Jeanne tremulously. ‘I do hope she won’t fall ill – she didn’t even have a hat, and look what she’s wearing, just a flimsy evening dress!’

  ‘I’ll go down and light the stove, then, while you get her some dry clothes,’ said Frans, in a subdued voice. He too was profoundly moved by the sight of Eline slumped in their armchair, her dripping hair in streaks across her marble-white throat and jaw, her black silk dress clinging wetly to her limp form. He went off, glad for something to do.

  Outside, the storm raged unabated.

  …

  In the Ferelijns’ sitting room, lying on the couch, which Frans had moved up close to the glowing stove, Eline shivered feverishly under a blanket. Nonetheless, in that room suffused with light and warmth she experienced a grateful sense of wellbeing, and her relief at having escaped from the diabolical powers of darkness knew no bounds. With a start, she drew herself up.

  ‘Forgive me!’ she cried hoarsely to Jeanne, who was preparing a hot toddy. ‘Please, please, forgive me for disturbing you in the middle of the night like this! I am so sorry! But where else could I go? There I was, out in the dark street, in the wind and the rain! I can’t bear to think of it! It was terrible, the most terrible night in my life! But you must understand, I simply had to leave … I couldn’t stay there another minute! Oh, Betsy’s so mean! How I hate her!’

  ‘There, there, Eline, you must try to get some rest now.’

  ‘Why did she have to bring Otto into it? She had no right to do that! I hate her! I hate her!’

  ‘Eline! Eline!’ said Jeanne, clasping her hands beseechingly.

  She fell to her knees before the couch. ‘I beg you, Eline, for Heaven’s sake calm yourself! Lie down, now. You really must rest.’

  Eline stared a moment, wild-eyed, then wrapped her arm around Jeanne’s neck.

  ‘You must try and relax, Eline. Lie down and repose yourself, if you can’t sleep.’

  A hollow sob rasped in Eline’s throat.

  ‘You’re an angel!’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘I shall never forget what you’ve done for me, not as long as I live. You saved my life! Oh, all that horrible mud! You do love me, Jany, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, Eline, I love you, but you must take some rest now.’

  ‘Ah … rest!’

  The word pierced Jeanne’s soul. Eline had uttered it in a voice full of despair, as if to say that there would be no rest for her ever again, but she lay back in the cushions obediently, and drank the hot toddy proffered by Jeanne.

  ‘Thank you … thank you,’ she faltered.

  Jeanne tucked her up in the blanket and sat down beside her. The window panes rattled in their frames, whipped by the branches outside. The mantel clock struck three.

  …

  It had also struck three in the Van Raat residence when Frans Ferelijn pulled up at their front door. The storm was still raging like a wounded monster in the sky over the darkened city. Frans sprang down from the cab and rang the bell. He could see that the light was on in the vestibule.

  ‘I have no money on me, I’m afraid, so please come to my house in the morning to collect what I owe you!’ he called to the driver.

  The door was opened almost immediately by Henk, who appeared to be expecting someone. But on seeing Frans rush inside, he stepped back i
n wonder.

  ‘Why, is that you, Ferelijn?’ he exclaimed.

  ‘Yes, it’s me, don’t be alarmed,’ said Frans. ‘It’s all right, Eline is at our house.’

  He stepped forward, crushing the broken glass that lay scattered on the floor.

  ‘At your house? Oh, thank God for that!’ cried Henk. ‘I was worried sick, I didn’t know what to do. What a relief!’

  ‘Do come through, Ferelijn,’ Betsy called from the dining room door. The maids and Gerard, who had crept into the hallway to hear what was going on, were likewise relieved, and withdrew to the kitchen whispering among themselves. Henk ushered Frans into the dining room.

  ‘There is no cause for alarm, Madame van Raat. Truly, this is the best solution for the moment. Eline was soaked to the skin, but Jeanne has taken good care of her. You can’t imagine what a fright it gave us to hear the doorbell at such a late hour, and then to find her on the doorstep, dripping wet,’ said Frans, his voice trailing off as he stared at Henk.

  ‘What on earth has happened to you? Your cheek – it’s bleeding!’

  ‘Oh, nothing serious. When Eline ran out of the house I wanted to go after her, but the wind slammed the vestibule door shut, shattering the glass. Some fragments sprang into my face and eyes, so I couldn’t go in pursuit of her at once, but as soon as I was able, Gerard and I ran out, meaning to drag her home again if necessary. But it was so confoundedly dark – the gas lamps had all gone out in the storm – and she was nowhere to be seen. I didn’t know what to do. In the end we went to the police station on Schelpkade, and they sent out a party of nightwatchmen to search for her. She was in a terrible state when she left – I thought she might do herself an injury, and in this infernal weather anything could have happened. My eye is still hurting. I think I’d better see an oculist tomorrow.’

  Betsy sighed and fell into a chair. ‘Dreadful! How very upsetting all this is,’ she said. ‘Eline must have taken leave of her senses.’