Eline Vere

XXVII

It was two o’clock in the afternoon when Paul awoke. He had been out with friends the previous evening, and had not returned home until daybreak. He took a cold bath and dressed at leisure, so that it was past three by the time he went down to the dining room, where his breakfast awaited him. He felt hungry, and noted with relish the jellied chicken and bottle of Hochheimer wine. But first he took a couple of raw eggs from the dresser and, whistling a tune, stirred them into a glass of cognac. He did not like the taste, but downed the drink anyway for its restorative properties, after which he took his seat at the table and helped himself to a slice of the tender cold chicken in pale golden aspic. He was in no hurry at all, and wished to enjoy every mouthful.

It was a cloudy day in early June, and still quite chilly. The bleak light coming in through the window showed up the decaying opulence of the room. Paul was a little discomfited by the faded, old-fashioned drapes, the threadbare chair covers and ancient Deventer rugs, and had on several occasions tried to persuade his mother to redecorate her home, but without success. So he had resigned himself to the situation, for he realised that Madame van Raat, at her age, would not feel at ease with a more modern style, and also that each timeworn object in her home was aglow with memories and associations that she held dear and wished to surround herself with for the rest of her days.

As he savoured his chicken and Hochheimer his thoughts took a philosophical turn. Life was not so bad at all, he mused, and he could not imagine why he had ever felt differently. His student days floated into in his mind, chiefly as a time of youthful waywardness, but there was also Uncle Verstraeten hovering in the background, urging him to sit one exam after another. All those exams — there had seemed to be no end to them! On the other hand, it was just as well his uncle had kept such a stern eye on him. Because what would he have achieved otherwise? Had he been left to his own devices, free to do as he pleased as he was nowadays, he would probably still be a student! After graduating he had gone through that period of artistic ambition, and what a disillusion it had been to discover that he had insufficient talent for either painting or music! Well, he had got over all that; he no longer painted, no longer sang, and, thank God, no longer suffered despair at his piteous lack of creative genius. Now his sole aim was to enjoy life for its own sake, to lead a comfortable, heedless existence, indulging his spendthrift inclination — which he did with gusto — and sure enough, he found himself more energetic and in better spirits than he had ever been before, either as a student or an aspiring artist. Pursuing his materialistic and epicurean tastes gave him a sense of hearty well-being, indeed, he sometimes felt rather like a young bull frisking in a sun-drenched meadow at the height of summer! Thus he mulled over his transformation from what Betsy had been known to call a ‘feckless fatty’, into the devil-may-care, fun-loving young blade he was today. His meditations did not run deep, however; he was merely letting his thoughts roam for want of a conversation partner at his breakfast table.

Having eaten his fill, he lit a cigar and looked idly about him. Through the window he caught a glimpse of Aunt Verstraeten and Marie passing by; a moment later the doorbell rang. Knowing how slow Leentje was getting in her old age, he answered the door himself.

‘Ah, good day, Aunt, good day, Marie.’

‘Good morning to you, Paul. Is your mama in?’ enquired Madame Verstraeten.

‘I expect she is, Aunt, but to be honest I haven’t seen her. I got up rather late, you see.’

They went upstairs together and found Madame van Raat in her dimly lit room at the back; she was sitting by the window with her hands folded on her lap, gazing into the garden. A book by Gustave Droz, Tristesses et sourires, lay open on the table beside her. She rose to welcome her visitors; kisses were exchanged, after which Paul, too, planted a kiss on his mother’s cheek. When they were all seated Madame van Raat asked after Lili and Georges.

‘They are very well. Apparently, they ran into Eline at the home of some French relatives of Vere’s wife,’ reported Madame Verstraeten. ‘They seem to be enjoying Paris very much, although in her letter Lili did mention that she couldn’t wait to move into their new home!’

Curling his lip sarcastically beneath his moustache, Paul gave an almost imperceptible shrug.

‘Such dear young things!’ smiled Madame van Raat. ‘Their little abode is nearly ready, then, I take it?’

‘Nearly, Aunt,’ replied Marie. ‘I pop in there every day, and I keep finding things that still need seeing to. Actually, I ran into Emilie there a few times, too — she has a spare key, you know.’

‘How touching!’ said Paul. ‘The doting sisters!’

‘There’s nothing touching or doting about it,’ retorted Marie loftily. ‘We happen to think it good fun to put our doll’s house in order, as we call it. But you wouldn’t understand such simple pleasures, would you? By the way, you said you had got up late — and at what time would that have been, then?’

‘Ah, checking up on me now, are you?’

‘Go on then, what time was it? Or is it too embarrassing to tell me?’

He responded facetiously, and again caught Eline’s name being mentioned by the ladies.

‘Oh, they find Eline very gay and winsome — well, quite the way we always thought of her, too, didn’t we?’ said Madame Verstraeten. ‘They dined with those French people, apparently. And Eline has turned into a proper Parisienne, Lili said, didn’t she Marie?’

Marie gave a faint smile. She pictured Eline, and in her mind’s eye Otto appeared beside her.

‘Yes, Eline mentioned Georges and Lili in her letter to me too,’ observed Madame van Raat.

‘What’s that? Did you get a letter from Eline, Mama?’ exclaimed Paul. ‘And you never said a word about it to me!’

‘My dear boy, I have not seen you since dinner yesterday evening. And yes, this morning I received a very sweet letter. She is very pleased that I asked her to come and live with me. Poor child, she tells me she feels very lonely amongst all those strangers, however kind they are to her. She says she’s relieved to be able to settle down at last.’

‘So she’s coming to live here, with us?’ said Paul. ‘Such a shame I’m just moving out!’

‘You were always very fond of Eline, weren’t you, Aunt?’ said Marie. ‘What an excellent idea to invite her to stay with you.’

‘Yes, dear, I agree. I think it will be for the best,’ sighed Madame van Raat. ‘Besides, the idea of engaging some lady’s companion does not appeal to me at all, and having a sweet, considerate girl like Eline, who is part of the family after all, to keep me company is a different proposition entirely. I am so glad you approve, because I confess I did have some concerns at first.’

‘Betsy seems to take a positive view of it too, at least so I have heard,’ said Madame Verstraeten.

‘That does not surprise me. Eline wouldn’t dream of going back to live in their house, and with her coming to live here Betsy needn’t worry about any talk of a rift between her and her sister.’

‘A solution satisfactory to all parties,’ said Paul, rubbing his hands. ‘All is well with the world, then, which is just how I like it.’

Madame van Raat, shocked by her son’s playful tone, looked at him sharply. Just then there was a knock at the door and old Leentje came in to announce that the carriage was waiting.

Paul rose.

‘Much obliged, beauteous Helen! My dear Aunt, would you care to join me for a drive? It’s such a fine day.’

His aunt declined his offer, as she had some calls to make.

‘You could drop me off at Atjehstraat, if you wouldn’t mind,’ suggested Marie. ‘There’s something I need to do there anyway.’

He declared himself willing to conduct his beloved cousin to the North Pole if need be, and they departed together.

Madame van Raat shook her head.

‘That Paul! I don’t know what’s got into him lately!’ she said, sighing.

But Madame Verstraeten came to his defence.

‘Never mind, Dora, he’s not a bad boy at heart. He’s simply a young man with money to spend. . what can you expect?’

‘Henk was never like that. It’s a shocking way to live one’s life! To start with, he never gets up before eleven, and then he goes for a ride on horseback or in his buggy, after which he’s off to his club. He usually dines at home, thank Heavens! As for the evenings — well, goodness knows what he gets up to.’

‘He looks well enough, though.’

‘His constitution is robust, fortunately, and until now his health does not seem to have suffered from the ridiculous hours he keeps. But as I said before, it’s a shocking way to live. He was less wayward as a student than he is nowadays. No indeed, Henk wasn’t in the least like that when he was Paul’s age!’

She continued in the same vein for some time, drawing comparisons between her eldest son, her favourite whom she thought sensible and solid, and Paul, whom she accused of being irresponsible and egotistical. For that was what he was, egotistical, there was no other word for it, taking no heed whatsoever of his mother’s wishes, offering her no companionship to speak of, and treating her house much like a hotel! He had no thought for his old mother, he lived only for himself, for his own enjoyment.

Madame Verstraeten could think of nothing to say except that Paul was a good boy at heart and that this was just a stage he was going through. Although unable to express her feelings in words, she had a sharp sense of regret at the cruelty of Nature’s laws, by which the generations inevitably became estranged once the children grew up and embarked on their own lives, entering new realms of mental and material consciousness from which their elders were excluded. The gulf of incomprehension dividing parents from their adult offspring did not signify a lack of love on either part, it was simply the outcome of that single, fateful law dictating ultimate alienation. It was not so much that all the ties of kindred love were suddenly severed, they were successively unwound, unravelled, frayed, until such time as they were slack and inconsequential. She had become painfully aware of this when Lili took against her on account of her love for Georges, and she was reminded of it again now, for it had not escaped her that Marie’s behaviour had changed of late, which was bound to portend yet another estrangement, another parting. And then there was Jan, whose turn would come a few years from now. No one was to blame, either; not the parents, who were merely victims of their own parental love, nor the children, who, once they were parents themselves, would have to bear the same martyrdom in their turn.

. .

The weather was cool and Marie felt the wind on her face as she perched on the high box beside Paul, who was holding the reins.

‘What do you keep going to that house for?’ asked Paul. ‘You just can’t get enough of it, can you?’

She had to laugh, because he had guessed the truth. The cosy little nest was all ready and waiting to receive the two lovebirds, and yet she couldn’t wait to spend time there, as if it were a brand new toy.

They rolled along Bankaplein towards Atjehstraat, with Marie giving directions to Paul.

‘Do you always carry their house key in your pocket? Whatever will you do when you’ve given it back?’ he teased, drawing the buggy to a halt. The groom jumped down from the back to help Marie alight.

‘I shall ring the bell and hope to be let in!’ she replied, laughing. ‘But why don’t you come in for a moment, Paul? Then you can see your wedding present in its proper surroundings.’

‘No thanks, I can quite imagine what it looks like!’ he responded. ‘Have fun!’

‘Thank you for the ride. .’

She slipped her key in the lock, pausing to watch as Paul’s elegant, frail-looking vehicle rolled away with the smart little groom at the back.

Stepping inside, she heard someone singing upstairs. ‘Dear Emilie,’ she thought, smiling to herself. But she did not climb the stairs at once; instead, she slipped into the salon for a quick glance at the pretty suite of furniture, blue and shiny with newness in the soft light entering through the cream-coloured lace curtains. The silver tea service glowed under its tulle dust cover on a side table. The mantelpiece, too, was prettily adorned with vases on either side of an artistic jester’s head in terracotta, which was reflected in the glass. Only the walls were still a little bare, as were the walls of the dining room, which was very simply furnished with a round dining table and chairs, a modest nut-wood dresser and a brown-leather settee.

‘It all looks so new,’ thought Marie. ‘Not very cosy yet — but that will come, all in good time.’

Everything was indeed very shiny. The kitchen was the shiniest area of all, from brand-new pots and pans to a gleaming range that had yet to be lit for the first time. True, there was no life in the place yet, but all in all the ground floor was very fetching. Marie went upstairs. Emilie was still singing, and not at all surprised to see Marie, who was busy in Georges’ study arranging countless souvenirs from his boyhood room in his parental home.

‘Oh, how cosy it’s beginning to look here!’ said Marie. ‘Those knick-knacks make all the difference. It’s still a bit bare downstairs, I think.’

She opened the door to a side room which had been made into a small, frilly boudoir for Lili.

‘Now isn’t this just too lovely?’ gushed Marie.

‘Yes, isn’t it?’ rejoined Emilie. ‘Just think: young Georges at his desk over there while milady sits in her boudoir, daydreaming.’

‘Daydreaming? Milady will be far too busy running her household!’ said Marie. ‘Oh, I can just see Lili getting all flustered giving instructions to her new housemaid! How will she ever manage?’

They both pealed with laughter, and in high good humour set about removing Georges’ books from their boxes and ranging them on the shelves of the tall, antique bookcase, another relic of his study at Noordeinde. Marie was in such high spirits that she kept dissolving into helpless hilarity, which severely impeded their progress.

‘There, there, Marie,’ chuckled Emilie. ‘Pull yourself together! We’ll never get anything done at this rate. You can’t stop laughing, can you? You seem very happy — any particular reason?’

Marie gave a start and blushed.

‘Happy? How do you mean? No, no particular reason. But every time I come here I have a fit of the giggles, I can’t imagine why,’ she said, and a fresh peal of laughter ensued. ‘Just look at us, feathering the lovebirds’ nest for them! Would they do the same for us, do you think?’

Still laughing, the pair of them made a quick survey of the bedroom, which they still found to be lacking in cosiness. There was the same untouched, formal sheen of newness whichever way they looked, and when they opened one of the closets the sight of immaculate shelves bearing stiff little piles of starched household linen tied with pink and blue ribbons caused yet more merriment. Marie plumped herself down on the unmade bed.

‘Oh please, Marie, do tell me why you’re in such a jolly mood! Are you keeping something from me?’ said Emilie.

‘What makes you think I have a secret? But seriously, Emilie, I wish you would tell me why you never married. I mean, you must have been courted at some time?’

‘Yes, I was, by a cavalry officer. He was big and strong, and he had soulful eyes, and then, one day — oh, you naughty girl, stop laughing at me, do you hear?’ she protested, whereupon Marie sprang up, pulled Emilie to her feet and waltzed her around the highly polished floor.