Louis Couperus - Eline Vere

He sighed with a hopeless expression. She was ever a mystery to him.

‘Let’s go down,’ he said, and as they descended the stairs together she leant heavily on his arm, shivering from the cold that had now truly overtaken her.

. .

Winter came to an end and Eline’s condition remained unchanged. It was May, and although the weather had been wintry only the previous week, the summer season had burst forth with soaring temperatures. Eline lay on her couch, felled by the heat.

‘Don’t you think it would do you good to spend some time in the country this summer?’ suggested Reijer. ‘I don’t mean travelling from one place to another, that would be too tiring. I am thinking along the lines of a holiday in some cool, shady retreat, a place where you would find a caring environment.’

She thought of De Horze. Oh, if only she had married Otto! Then she would have had all the cool shade and loving care she needed!

‘I wouldn’t know where to go,’ she answered dully.

‘I might be able to help you there. I know some people in Gelderland, a most agreeable couple who run a small country estate with a fine wood of pine trees nearby.’

‘Not pine trees, for Heaven’s sake!’ cried Eline with passion.

‘The country air would agree with you.’

‘Nothing will agree with me. I do wish you’d stop nagging, Dr Reijer.’

‘Have you been sleeping well lately?’

‘Oh yes, very well.’

It was not true; she did not sleep at all at night, only dozed off from time to time during the day. The drops no longer sent her to sleep; instead, they left her in a permanent state of hazy exaltation, a crazed semi-consciousness veering between extreme lassitude and mortal fear, during which she had spells of becoming an actress moaning and writhing in agony on the floor.

Reijer regarded her intently.

‘Miss Vere, pray tell me the truth. Have you been taking any other medicines besides the ones I have prescribed?’

‘Why do you ask?’

‘I should like an honest answer, Miss Vere.’

‘Of course I haven’t! How could you think I would do such a thing! I wouldn’t dare! No, no, you may rest quite assured about that.’

Reijer left, and in his carriage he forgot about his notebook for a moment while reflecting on the plight of Miss Vere. Then he heaved a sigh of defeat.

No sooner had he gone than Eline stood up; her room was unbearably hot and stuffy, even though the door to the balcony was open. She wore only a thin grey peignoir carelessly draped over her emaciated frame. Standing before the mirror, she plunged her hands into her loose hair. It had grown very thin, and she laughed as she twisted a strand between her fingers. Then she flung herself on the floor.

I refuse to see him again! she thought to herself. That Reijer! He only makes me feel worse. I can’t stand him. I shall write and tell him he’s discharged .

But she knew she would not have the spirit to do this, and remained crouched down, tracing the floral patterns on the carpet with her finger. She began to hum to herself.

The sun shining in through the open balcony door cast a rectangle of gold on the floor, with myriad dust particles dancing above it. The glare disturbed Eline, and she drew back.

‘The sun!’ she whispered inaudibly, with strangely staring, glazed eyes. ‘How I hate the sun! I want the rain and the wind, cold rain and cold wind, I want to feel the rain trickling down the décolletage of my black tulle dress.’

Suddenly she scrambled to her feet and wrung her hands on her chest as though holding the sides of a cloak to prevent the wind from tearing it from her shoulders.

‘Jeanne, Jeanne,’ she moaned in her delirium. ‘Please let me in, I beg you. I have run away from home, because Betsy’s so horrid to me, you see, and during dinner at Hovel’s this evening she said all sorts of hateful things about Vincent. And you know how much I love Vincent. It was because of him that I broke off my engagement, my engagement to St Clare. Oh, he bored me to tears with his calmness. So calm he was, for ever calm. It drove me mad! But truly, Henk, I shall go to Lawrence and ask his pardon, only don’t hit me, Henk. Oh, Lawrence, I beg you, I love you so much, don’t be angry with me, Lawrence — Lawrence! See if I don’t love you! Look, I have your portrait right here! I keep it with me all the time.’

She fell to her knees by the sofa and lifted her face, as if she had seen someone, then gave a violent start and rose unsteadily to her feet.

‘Oh God, there it is again!’ she thought, recovering herself.

She felt as if there was a war going on inside her brain, with her powers of reason fighting a losing battle against the madness assailing her. She groped for a book that was lying on the table, and opened it, to force herself to be sensible and to read. It was the score of Le Tribut de Zamora , which she had bought long ago, during her passion for Fabrice.

She dared not look up, fearing that her madness would take some hideous form before her eyes. She dared not move, out of terror for herself, and in her wandering mind salvation would come if only she could pass out of her body, as it were, and into the sunlight, which was now flooding her entire room, rippling over the satin curtains and bathing the delicate Japanese porcelain and polished brass ornaments in a golden glow.

Softly she began to sing, without thinking what, in a voice hoarse and raw with endless coughing. But there was a knock at the door.

‘Who’s there?’ she asked anxiously

‘It’s me, Miss,’ a voice cried. ‘Bringing you your lunch.’

‘Thank you, Sophie, but I have no appetite. Dr Reijer said I wasn’t to eat too much.’

‘Shall I take it away then, Miss?’

‘Yes, take it away.’

‘You will ring if you want anything, won’t you?’

‘Yes, yes.’

She heard the rattle of plates and glasses on the tray as the maid descended the stairs, and tried to focus her mind on Xaïma’s score. She drew herself up, held her head high and made a regal gesture with her hand as she broke into song, only to crumple up in a fit of coughing.

There was another knock at the door.

‘Oh, what is it now?’ cried Eline, greatly perturbed.

‘May I come in a moment, Miss Vere?’ It was a different voice, affable and genteel.

Eline thought hard a moment, then closed the songbook and sank down on the couch. She lay back against the cushions and half-closed her eyes.

‘Yes you may,’ she answered graciously.

The door opened and the proprietress, a buxom lady dressed entirely in black, stepped into the room.

‘I just popped in to see how you are,’ she said with warm civility. ‘Are you not well?’

‘No, I am not!’ groaned Eline, closing her eyes. ‘I feel very weak.’

In reality she was feeling full of nervous, manic energy which she was minded to express by means of song, but it had become a habit to say that she felt weak when people asked after her health.

‘Won’t you have a bite to eat?’

‘Dr Reijer said—’ Eline began.

The proprietress shook her head.

‘My dear Miss Vere, shame on you for trying to mislead me. I just heard from Dr Reijer that you would benefit from a cup of hot broth.’

‘I am afraid hot broth would make me nauseous.’

‘But you must eat something, Miss Vere.’

‘I assure you, I feel too ill to eat now.’

‘Well, later then. May I prepare a wholesome meal for you? What would you fancy?’

‘Do whatever you like. My appetite may come back to me, I suppose. But in the meantime would you be so kind as to tell any callers, including my sister, that I cannot receive them? I feel very low this afternoon. I can’t tell you how low.’