Louis Couperus - Eline Vere

Then she pressed a soft kiss on the likeness it contained, as though she were kissing someone who had just died. She had a momentary impulse to detach the locket from the chain and put it away in one of the little drawers of her jewellery box, where she kept various trinkets that she no longer wore. But she did not act on it.

She climbed into bed. She did not sleep. Nor did she take any drops. At half-past five she heard Uncle Daniel and Eliza return home, sighing with exhaustion. But her wakeful hours had been undisturbed by grim thoughts of any kind; indeed, she felt bathed in a calm, rosy glow of repose.

Towards morning she dozed off, and when she awoke she felt less lethargic than usual.

. .

Eline did not see Eliza again until lunch the following day. Uncle Daniel had already left on one of his numerous missions, the nature of which was never fully disclosed, so that his occupation remained a mystery to Eline. She asked Eliza whether she had amused herself at the ball.

‘Oh, yes, well enough,’ Eliza responded genially. ‘Rather a brouhaha. Perhaps it was just as well that you didn’t go. You would have been a nervous wreck. Le cher poète était désolé. Did St Clare stay long?’

‘Until eleven.’

‘Ah well, personally I didn’t mind about him advising you to stay in. But Daniel thought it a bit strange that you were so easily persuaded. He’s got over it now, though! You are as free as you like as far as we’re concerned, you know that.’

Eline said nothing.

‘But you have to admit,’ Eliza continued with a chuckle, ‘that it was a bit odd. Makes you think, doesn’t it?’

‘Well, what does it make you think?’ asked Eline warily.

‘My dear girl, that is private. I am not going to tell you. You know I don’t go in for much thinking, but right now I do have some ideas. Don’t be alarmed: I am all in favour of it, if what I suspect is true.’

Eline sensed that this was an allusion to something she was barely conscious of herself.

She kept silent, whereupon Eliza, still fatigued from the ball, settled herself on a couch with a book and soon dozed off. Eline went to the balcony and sat down to think. She had thought little during the last few days, which had passed in a haze of contented submission, but now Eliza’s words had impinged on her consciousness. A bit odd. . it made you think. . True, that St Clare should have been so bold as to ask her not to go to the ball was slightly odd, to say the least, and it was no less odd of her to have consented! What this made her think of she dared not formulate in her mind, although the temptation to do so was almost irresistible. But she knew that nothing could come of it, that it could never be. . Oh, why had she not met him sooner? How cruel fate was!

She began to have qualms about her behaviour towards him. Perhaps she ought to have rebuffed him, told him not to meddle in her affairs. Nor had there been any need for her to apologise to him the other day for her coldness, really. But, on the other hand, how wonderful it had felt simply to bend to his will! He was so strong and protective, so deeply reassuring to her. It had never entered her mind that he might fall in love with her, ailing, broken creature that she was. It would be a foolish thing for him to do. . but it was probably too late now to try and stop him.

. .

When he called again a few days later, he found her alone in the reception room. The weather was cold, and Eline hardly ever went out with her uncle and aunt due to her cough. She was seated in the Turkish chair by the fire, while outside a driving wind sent the snowflakes whirling against the windowpanes.

‘I was sure I would find you at home; that’s why I came!’ he said, taking a seat. ‘Have your uncle and aunt gone out?’

‘Yes they have; I don’t know where to — some auction I believe, to buy antiques.’

She meant to maintain some reserve in her answers, but his company was so welcome to her that she found it impossible to do so, and in spite of herself she said:

‘It’s lovely to see you again.’

He smiled briefly and made some comments on the purchase of antiques with particular reference to the porcelain items dotted about the room. Then he said:

‘I shall soon be leaving you for an extended period. We are travelling via Cologne to Berlin, and then onward from there.’

She felt her throat tighten.

‘When will you be leaving?’ she asked mechanically.

‘In a few days.’

‘And you will be going all the way to Petersburg, to Moscow?’

‘Yes.’

‘Does Russia attract you?’

He responded somewhat absently, in short, halting sentences. Listening to him, she had to fight back her tears, and his words came to her in a blur when she heard him say, as though interrupting himself:

‘But there is something I wanted to ask you. I wanted to ask you to think of me once in a while, during my absence.’

‘Of course I’ll think of you!’ she said tremulously. ‘You have been so good to me, so kind — and I shall always remember you with pleasure.’

‘Thank you,’ he said softly. ‘It is sad, I find, having to say goodbye so soon to a new acquaintance with whom one has a sympathetic rapport.’

‘Yes, but then life is filled with disappointments, is it not?’

‘I know what you are going to say,’ he went on, following his own train of thought. ‘You are going to say that I can stay in Brussels as long as I please, because I’m travelling for pleasure and can alter my plans at will. Actually, I might even prefer so stay in Brussels.’

She began to tremble all over, but recovered herself in time to murmur:

‘Why should you alter your plans? Why not see what you can of the world?’

‘Because I love you,’ he said calmly, fixing her with his penetrating gaze. ‘And because I dread having to part from you. I would like to remain with you for ever, to care for you and protect you. I shudder to think of leaving you behind, as if something might happen to you while I’m away.’

‘But that’s impossible!’

‘Why impossible?’ he retorted. ‘Why is it impossible for me to be with you for ever, or rather, for you to be with me for ever? Tell me, Eline, why?’

‘Because it cannot be so,’ she replied, weeping.

‘Yes it can! It can, if you love me. You could come with me and I could take care of you; you would be my wife.’

‘And I would make you unhappy!’ she wept.

‘No, no. On the contrary, I would do everything in my power to make you happy, and I am certain I would succeed. Listen to me. I cared about you even before we met, because of what Vincent had told me about you. The first time I saw you I felt sorry for you, because it was so clear to me that you had suffered some terrible grief. I tried to think of some way of making you happy again, but found nothing. Only, during our conversations together I thought you were beginning to look and sound slightly more cheerful. It might have been my imagination, but that was my impression. I also imagined, perhaps out of vanity, that I might have had a hand in lifting your spirits a little. I watched you talking with other people, but with them you appeared to be cool and reserved, whereas with me you seemed quite happy to talk; you even grew confidential. That is when I felt a great longing to dedicate myself entirely to you, because I thought, if I can do that, she might be able shake off her gloomy view of life and be happy again. My darling Elly, you’re still so young, and you think it’s too late for things to change. Don’t think like that any more; put your trust in me, then we can set out together to discover whether life really is as dismal as you believe. Tell me, Elly, will you? Will you let me show you that you have a whole new life waiting for you?’