Читать книгу The Later Life - Louis Marie-Anne Couperus - Страница 9

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CHAPTER V

She tried tyrannically to monopolize her son, so that Van der Welcke became very jealous. It was the next day, Wednesday afternoon.

"Are you coming with me to Granny's?"

"I promised Papa to go cycling."

"You've had seven weeks for cycling with Papa."

"I promised him yesterday that I would go for a long ride to-day."

She was angry, offended:

"The first day that I'm home! . . ." she began. He kissed her, with a shower of tiny little kisses, tried to appease her wrath:

"I promised!" he said. "We don't go cycling together often. You will have me to yourself all the evening. Be sensible now and nice; and don't be so cross."

She tried to be reasonable, but it cost her an effort. She went alone to Mrs. van Lowe's. She saw two umbrellas in the hall:

"Who is with mevrouw?" she asked the maid.

"Mrs. van Naghel and Mrs. van Saetzema."

She hesitated. She had not seen her sisters since that awful Sunday-evening. She had gone abroad five days after. But she wanted to show them . . .

She went upstairs. Her step was no longer as ​timid as when she climbed those stairs ten months ago, when she first came back among them all. She did not wish to seem arrogant, but also she did not wish to be too humble. She entered with a smile:

"Mamma!" she cried, gaily, kissing her mother.

Mrs. van Lowe was surprised:

"My child!" she exclaimed, trembling. "My child! Are you back? Are you back again? What a long time you've been abroad!"

"I’ve enjoyed myself immensely. How d'ye do, Bertha? How d'ye do, Adolphine?"

She did not shake hands, but just nodded to them, almost cordially, because of her mother, who looked anxiously at her three daughters. Bertha and Adolphine nodded back. Carelessly and easily, she took the lead in the conversation and talked about Nice. She tried to talk naturally, without bragging; but in spite of herself there was a note of triumph in her voice:

"Yes, I felt I wanted to go abroad a bit . . . Not nice of me to run away without saying good-bye, was it, Mamma dear? Well, you see, Constance sometimes behaves differently from other people . . . I had a very pleasant time at Nice: full season, lovely weather."

"Weren’t you lonely?"

"No, for on the very first day I met some of our Rome friends at the hotel . . ."

She felt that Bertha started, blinked her eyes, ​disapproved of her for daring to speak of Rome. And she revelled in doing so, casually and airily, thought it delicious to dazzle Adolphine with a list of her social triumphs, very naturally described:

"People we used to know in Rome: Comte and Comtesse d'Azigny. He was French ambassador in those days. They recognized me at once and were very kind; and through the introduction I went to a glorious ball at the Duchesse de Rivoli's. And, Mummy, here's a portrait of your daughter in her ball—dress."

She showed the photograph, enjoyed giving the almost too-well-executed portrait to Mamma, not to her sisters, while letting them see it. She described her dress, described the ball, bragging a little this time, saying that, after all, parties abroad were always much grander than that "seeing a few friends" in Holland, addressing all her remarks to Mamma and, in words just tinged with ostentation, displaying no small scorn for Bertha's dinners and Adolphine's "little evenings:"

"Everything here is on such a small scale," she continued. "There, the first thing you see is a suite of twelve rooms, all with electric light . . . or, better still, all lit up with wax—candles . . . Yes, our little social efforts at the Hague cut a very poor figure beside it."

She gave a contemptuous little laugh to annoy ​her sisters, while Mamma, always interested in the doings of the great, did not notice the contempt and was glad enough to see that the sisters behaved as usual to one another. And now Constance went on to say that everything had gone on so well at home, that Truitje had looked after everything, even though Constance had gone away indefinitely, an unprecedented thing, so unlike a Dutch housewife! Then she turned to her sisters with an indifferent phrase or two; and they answered her almost cordially, out of respect for Mamma . . .

Adolphine was the first to leave, exasperated by Constance' insufferable tone, by all that talk about Nice, all those counts and dukes whom Constance had mentioned; and, when Constance said good-bye, Bertha also left and they went down the stairs together.

"Constance," said Bertha, "can I speak to you a minute in the cloak-room?"

Constance looked up haughtily, surprised; but she did not like to refuse. They went into the little cloak-room.

"Constance," said Bertha, "I do so want to say that I am sorry for what happened between us. Really, it pained me very much. And I want to tell you also that Van Naghel greatly appreciated Van der Welcke's writing to him to apologize. He has written to Van der Welcke to say so. But we should both like to call on you one day, to show ​you how glad we should be to come back to the old terms once more."

"Bertha," said Constance, a little impatiently and wearily, "I am prepared to receive your visit, but I should really like to know what is the good of it and why you suggest it. Do let us have some sincerity . . . when there is no occasion for hypocrisy. Sometimes one has to be insincere . . . but there is no need for that between us now. We both know that our mutual sympathy, if it ever existed, is dead. We never meet except at Mamma's and we don't let her see our estrangement. Apart from that, it seems to me that things are over between us."

"So you would rather that Van Naghel and I did not come?"

"It's not for me to decide, Bertha: I shall speak about it to Van der Welcke and write you a line."

"Is that cold answer all you have to say to me, Constance?"

"Bertha, a little time ago, I was not backward in showing my affection for you all. Perhaps I asked too much in return; but, in any case, I was repulsed. And now I retire. That is all."

"Constance, you don't know how sorry we all are that the old aunts . . . spoke as they did. They are foolish old women, Constance; they are in their second childhood. Mamma had to take to ​her bed, her nerves are still quite upset; she can't bear to see her sisters now; and it sometimes sends her almost out of her mind. I have never seen her like it before. And we are all of us, all of us, Constance, very, very sorry."

"Bertha, those two old women only yelled out at the top of their voices, as deaf people do, what the rest of you thought in your hearts."

"Come, Constance, don't be so bitter. You are hard and unjust. I swear that you are mistaken. It is not as you think. Let me show it to you in the future, let me prove it to you . . . and please speak to Van der Welcke and write and tell me a day when we shall find you at home, so that Van Naghel can shake hands with Van der Welcke. He is not a young man, Constance, and your husband is under forty. It's true, Van der Welcke has apologized and Van Naghel appreciates it, but that doesn't prevent him from wishing to shake hands with Van der Welcke."

"I'll tell my husband, Bertha. But I don't know that he will think it so necessary to shake hands, any more than I do. We live very quietly now, Bertha, and people, Hague people, no longer concern us. And Van Naghel only wants to shake hands because of people."

"And because of the old friendship."

"Very well, Bertha," said Constance, coldly, "because of the old friendship: a vague term that says ​very little to me. What I wished for was brotherly and sisterly affection, cordial companionship. That is no longer possible: it was a foolish fancy of mine, which has gone forever. But, as I said, I shall speak to Van der Welcke."

They came out into the hall; the maid was waiting at the door. It was raining. Bertha's carriage was outside, had been sent to fetch her.

"Shall I drop you on my way, Constance?"

"No, thank you, Bertha; the fresh air will do me good; I'd rather walk."

And, as she walked, she thought:

"Oh, why did I go on like that to annoy them? And why didn't I welcome Bertha's visit at once? . . . It's all so small, so petty . . ."

And she shrugged her shoulders under her umbrella, laughed at herself a little, because she had shown herself so petty.