Louis Couperus - Eline Vere

‘Happy New Year, Eline!’ she said. ‘You can’t imagine how many glasses got broken last night! Thank goodness they were only hired. If you want some breakfast, you’ll find it in the salle à manger. Off you go now, you’ll only get in the way here, if you don’t mind my saying so. But it was fun last night, wasn’t it?’

Eline repaired to the dining room. She nibbled a piece of toast and lingered a while, hoping that St Clare would call. But neither he nor Vincent put in an appearance that day. Not the next day either, or the one after that. If Eline had dared, she would have sent him a note.

Before the week was out she received a letter from Madame van Raat, with news about Paul, whom she saw from time to time even though he had gone to live in Bodegraven; he seemed unhappy about something, but his mother knew not what. She was sorry to say that she and her son seemed to have become somewhat estranged, and expressed doubt as to whether she had been a sufficiently loving mother to him as a child.

‘She, not loving enough?’ Eline thought to herself. ‘I have never known anyone so loving. . to me, at any rate.’

She read on, and learnt that Lili was expecting a baby, due in March. But at the end of the letter she received a shock. Jeanne Ferelijn had died in Bangil. Eline’s eyes filled with tears.

‘Oh my God! Oh my God!’ she repeated slowly, and a nervous sob shook her frame. Her poor friend was dead! Oh, how tenderly Jeanne had nursed her when she was ill with bronchitis in that cramped little upstairs apartment! How kind and comforting she had always been, and how devoted to her husband and children! And now she had died. . What had life given her? Nothing, oh, nothing! Madame van Raat had her own sorrows; so did Paul. And Lili would receive her share of sadness and disappointment too, now that she was to be a mother. What was life but one great misery. .

‘Jeanne is dead! Jeanne is dead!’ hissed a voice in her ears and in her brain. She had so much to thank Jeanne for, and she would never see her again, for Jeanne was dead! Oh God, she was dead!

She threw herself back in her chair and hid her face in her hands. Hearing footsteps in the anteroom she looked up, and before she had time to compose herself, a figure appeared in the doorway. It was St Clare. She stared at him blankly through her tears.

‘I hope you will forgive me for disturbing you,’ he said softly, seeing that she was crying. ‘The maid said you were at home and receiving. Would you rather I came back tomorrow?’

She drew herself up, wiped her eyes and gave a sad smile.

‘Do you wish to go already?’ she said. ‘You are not disturbing me; on the contrary, I am glad to see you. Do take a seat. Is Vincent well?’

‘Thank you, he is very well!’ he said, and in his tone Eline could hear the affection he bore Vincent. ‘We have been to Liège and Verviers to visit some factories.’

‘Is that the only reason I have not seen you since the soirée?’

He looked at her a moment.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘That is the only reason.’

‘So you were not angry with me?’

‘Not in the least. I was the one who was wrong. I ought not to have spoken to you like that. You were right.’

‘I don’t believe I was,’ she said. ‘I was rude to you, and I am sorry. Will you forgive me? Or will you refuse me your hand, just as I refused you mine?’

She held out her hand. He held it fast.

‘I forgive you, gladly!’ he responded. ‘And I do appreciate your willingness to admit to being a little mistaken.’

‘So will you continue to take an interest in me? Will you believe me when I say that your friendship and concern are not in the least tiresome to me, unlike what I said before? May I depend on that?’

‘Certainly you may.’

‘Thank you. Thank you so much. I was not mistaken when I said you were kind-hearted. You are more than kind, you are noble.’

He gave a short laugh.

‘How formal you sound!’ he said. ‘Very dignified!’

‘No!’ she protested. ‘I am not dignified, and I wasn’t being formal either. Please don’t say that. I meant what I said. I can’t tell you how pleased I am that you have come to see me, and that you aren’t angry with me. Especially now. I was so downhearted.’

‘You were crying, weren’t you?’

Teardrops trembled on her lashes.

‘I just received some very sad news: a dear friend of mine has died. She was so frail, and yet so needed; what will become of her poor husband and children I cannot imagine. But what can you do? People who lead useful lives die. And people like me, who are a burden to everyone, including themselves, live on.’

‘Why do you say that? Are you sure there is no one who needs you and loves you? And is there no one you love?’

She gave a wry smile.

‘Because there must be people who care about you,’ he persisted.

‘What can I say? Both my parents have died, and my sister — well, I expect Vincent told you about her. Did you know I ran away from my brother-in-law’s house?’

‘Yes.’

‘Since then I have been drifting from one place to the next. Always among strangers. And now my uncle and aunt have taken me in, but in a way they are strangers, too. Back in The Hague I lived with my brother-in-law’s elderly mother for a time; she was extremely kind to me, and I was devoted to her. But I wasn’t at all kind to her, I’m ashamed to say.’

‘I feel for you very much!’ he said. ‘I wish there was something I could do to help. Have you considered finding something to occupy yourself with? Aren’t you rather bored? Couldn’t that be the cause of your unhappiness?’

‘I did look for things to do in The Hague. And I did a fair amount of travelling, but I still felt unhappy. It’s all my own fault, you see. I threw away my chance of happiness.’

She began to cry, holding her head in her hands.

‘Tell me, is there anything I can do?’ he pleaded.

‘Nothing, thank you. I am beyond help. . from anyone.’

‘But submerging oneself in unhappy thoughts to the exclusion of all else is never a good thing. I strongly advise against it. You need to be brave, so as to raise yourself from your suffering. Everybody suffers at one time or another. Come, promise me that from now on you will try to be brave.’

‘But I’m not brave, I’m weak!’ she sobbed. ‘I am broken, ruined.’

She sounded so powerless and distraught that he did not know what to say. His heart overflowed with pity, a pity mingled with despair at finding the means to help her. And yet his only wish was to try and console her, come what may.

‘No!’ he exclaimed firmly. ‘You are not broken. That is just a phrase people use. You are young, you have your whole life ahead of you. Break with your past, put it out of your mind.’

‘But how?’ she wept. ‘How could I possibly do that?’

He was aware that he, too, had used just such a phrase. He was also aware that the human psyche could become permanently warped by anguish suffered in the past.

‘My heart goes out to you!’ he said. ‘I feel such pity for you, more than I have ever felt for anyone before.’

‘That is the only thing you can do for me!’ she cried out with passion. ‘Give me your pity! It will do me good! Didn’t you say that you knew me before you met me, that I was like an unknown sister to you?’

He stood up, placed his hands on her frail shoulders and held her gaze.

‘Certainly!’ he said warmly, and she could have died, so profoundly grateful did she feel. ‘And now that I have met you properly, I shall do everything in my power to help you. You must tell me all about yourself. I will make you brave, you’ll see.’

He gave her a pat on the shoulder, in comradely fashion. Her heart was frantic with regret: why, oh why had she not met him sooner? How wonderful it had felt to humble herself before him and beg forgiveness!