Eline Vere

XXXVI

More than a year had passed since Eline’s death. For the Van Erlevoorts momentous changes had taken place. Madame van Erlevoort had been persuaded by her son Theodore to sell the house on the Voorhout, the beloved family home where all her children had been born, and she had moved to De Horze along with Mathilda and the four grandchildren. Paul and Frédérique were married and living in the small town of Heibeek, where Paul had been appointed mayor. Etienne had obtained his degree, and there had been talk of him making a career in the Indies, but his mother could not bear the thought of parting from her youngest boy, and in the end he had established himself as a lawyer in The Hague. Although Madame van Erlevoort was sad at first to lose her home in The Hague, she soon accommodated herself to the warmth and cosiness of her eldest son’s family circle, to which Henrietta, like Marianne before her, had returned from her last term at boarding school, while the boys put in an appearance from time to time. The Van Rijssel foursome — Tina was now eleven years old — were thriving alongside Memée in the wholesome country air.

Paul had begged his mother to follow Madame van Erlevoort’s example by selling her house and coming to live with him and Frédérique at Heibeek, but to no avail. Madame van Raat promised that she would visit them often, but she did not wish to take up residence in their home, fearing that her world-weariness, which had deepened since the death of her beloved Eline, would cast a pall on their sunny, fresh happiness. The excitement of Paul’s engagement and his subsequent marriage had taken her out of herself for a while, but now that her son had what he wanted and most needed, she gradually became submerged once more in the half-life of her listless despondence.

The Verstraeten household was hushed, and Marie often shed bitter tears. She had so much love locked away inside her, and all of it would go to waste; she felt as if she would shrivel up, like an overlooked flower. Lili was far too busy with her household and the care for her two fair-haired little ones to pay much attention to her, but she did not blame her sister for not realising how she unhappy she was. Besides, what difference would it have made, even if Lili had known; how could that have comforted her?

Paul and Freddie invited Marie to spend the summer months with them, and she felt better there than at home, for all that she doted on her papa and mama. At least with Paul and Freddie she could laugh and joke now and then, especially when they reminisced about all the fun they had had putting on those tableaux vivants in the old days. Fancy her having lectured Paul about being lazy! And did he and Freddie remember that Lili couldn’t abide De Woude back then? Well, Lili said it wasn’t true; she claimed that she had always adored him, and got very cross whenever anyone so much as hinted that this might not have been the case!

The villa in which Paul and Freddie had taken up residence was quite splendid. Built by the previous mayor of Heibeek, it had a colonial aspect to it, with a white-columned porch at the front and an enclosed veranda rather like a large conservatory at the back. Paul had furnished his new home with considerable luxury, which Frédérique thought somewhat exaggerated, given that it was a backwater they were living in where they received no one but the local church minister. But she did not go against her young husband’s extravagant tastes, in which she saw the reflection of unfulfilled artistic ambition; she was happy to see him the way he was now, with a warm heart for the community and contented in his position.

Otto came over from Elzen now and then to spend a few days with his sister and brother-in-law, and on a few occasions his visit coincided with that of Marie. Frédérique had the feeling that Marie was a shade subdued in Otto’s presence, and she was reminded with some unease of a remark she had made to her some years since.

‘Oh, Marie, you would have made Otto such a good wife!’ she had said, and she could still hear Marie’s stammered reply:

‘Who, me?’

Now she wondered whether she had caused Marie pain with those words. But she consoled herself with the thought that her impression might be quite wrong, that she had merely imagined Marie to be affected in her demeanour.

For Otto the year had passed in sombre, oppressive dejection. After Eline died there had been unpleasant rumours; she was known to have been ill, of course, but the suddenness of her death had given rise to much whispered speculation as to its cause. This had not escaped Otto, who plunged into renewed grief over his loss of Eline. He looked stricken and almost old, and when Frédérique tried to cheer him up, telling him it wouldn’t do to submerge himself entirely in his gloom, he protested gently with the same words he had once used to reassure Suzanne at De Horze: a man’s heart does not break as easily as you think; men have work to do, business to attend to, they do not ponder a lost love for the rest of their days.

Back then, at De Horze, he had not meant what he said. But lately it had seemed to him that there might be a measure of truth in those words after all. The heaviness in his heart seemed less leaden than it used to be; it was more like a lingering soreness from past hurt and sorrow. He had pangs of conscience whenever he felt his spirits lifting, and would vow to dedicate himself entirely to his grief and to the memory of Eline. But he did not reckon with the fact that time, at once cruel and kind, healed wounds, and that the wound he had come to prize would at length be no more than a scar.

. .

And now, in midsummer, strolling in Paul and Freddie’s garden with Marie at his side, he felt happy in spite of himself. He had asked her to marry him, which had initially thrown her into confusion and subsequently made her weep, whereupon he had begged her not to turn him away simply because he had previously given his heart to another. He had grown to love her deeply, he loved her for her candid simplicity and her sweet, affectionate nature, in which he found solace — oh, he would not deny it, his love for her was utterly egotistic, but she was not to scorn him for that, since he had suffered so much for that other love. As for Marie, she had no desire to refuse him. Her heart brimmed over with infinite compassion; her tears were not for herself, they were tears of joy that he had come to her at last, not tears of frustration at his mention of the past, they were for him alone, for the suffering he had gone through.

So she accepted, moist-eyed, and pressed a light kiss on his brow. He was unaware that she had always loved him, unaware of how much she, too, had suffered during his courtship of Eline. He had yet to perceive the depth of her love for him, he saw only the depth of her pity, but that alone was like a soothing balm to his soul.

Through the dense, spreading bushes glimmered the villa, and seated between the columns on the porch, in the light shining from inside, was an animated gathering, for Paul and Freddie had invited more friends to their abode: Georges and Lili with their two small children, and Etienne, boisterous and youthful as ever.

Otto and Marie made their way back slowly, lingering along the flowerbeds. All around were rose bushes in full bloom, suffusing the freshness of evening with their sultry fragrance. Beyond, on the porch, Etienne appeared to be teasing poor Lili, for they could hear her cries of indignation followed by peals of laughter from the others.

Marie hung back, as though embarrassed by the joy welling up inside her; then she stooped to shake the stems of a few overblown roses and watch their petals flutter down to the ground.

‘Come,’ he murmured. ‘Let’s go and surprise them with our good news.’

And as he led her by the hand he felt he could breathe again; he had a new sense of energy, even of rebirth, for the consoling passage of time had not only effaced his sorrow, it seemed to have rekindled his lust for life.