Eline Vere

by Louis Couperus

  ‘We’re not, but I can’t say a thing without you taking it amiss. And the fact that I’m not working at the moment can’t be the only reason why you’re so cool towards me. Go on, out with it, what else is there?’

  She felt somewhat embarrassed, but tried not to show it.

  ‘As I told you before,’ she said, ‘what bothers me sometimes is your flippancy, and your patronising tone. You can sound awfully arrogant, you know. Like the other day, when you were talking about Georges and Lili.’

  ‘You mean because I thought it absurd – and I still do – that they should want to live together while they’re as poor as church mice? It’s entirely up to them what they do, of course, but why should it be arrogant to say what I think?’

  ‘Because not everyone is a millionaire, Paul.’

  He looked at her intently.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘It’s hardly difficult to understand, surely!’ she retorted with a short laugh.

  ‘You’re not saying I’m arrogant about not being penniless myself, are you?’

  ‘Well, yes I am, in a way.’

  ‘Oh come now, don’t be silly!’

  ‘Well, you do seem to be throwing your money around. You have a circle of friends, I gather, who take advantage of your purse, and you hold orgies with them at home, too, making it impossible for your poor mama to get any sleep.’

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘You seem to forget that I have a brother who’s in the same set as you. And that your mama sometimes needs to let off steam.’

  ‘Oh, I’m planning to move out in any case. I’ll find a place of my own. It’s hard being young and having to adjust to a socalled orderly household. Actually, I’ve seen an apartment that looks suitable, so Mama needn’t be kept awake by my orgies any longer.’

  ‘An apartment? Well, if I were you I’d take an entire hotel, with plenty of rooms for all your penniless friends.’

  ‘I wish you’d stop harping on my penniless friends! Who do you mean, anyway? Hijdrecht isn’t penniless, nor is Oudendijk!’

  ‘Those two are the only decent chaps in your set.’

  ‘You haven’t met the others, Frédérique.’

  ‘No, thank goodness I haven’t!’

  ‘So what do you know of them? How can you judge them if you don’t even know them?’

  ‘What I do know is that they are parasites, only after your money.’

  ‘Oh, is that what you think? I expect Etienne happened to mention that there’s someone I used to help out now and then. Etienne ought to know better than to tell tales about his friends. It’s perfectly normal for young men to lend each other small sums of money when they need it. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.’

  ‘If you say so. Let’s drop the subject then, shall we?’

  There were sounds in the salon, and the gas light was turned up. Frédérique rose.

  ‘So we have not made peace, then?’ asked Paul, likewise rising.

  ‘We were not at war, Paul,’ responded Frédérique. ‘You said you wanted to talk with me, and you have. If I have offended you in any way, please just forget we ever had this conversation. As I said, I have no right to reproach you, and I wouldn’t have said anything if you hadn’t asked. You’re old enough to make your own decisions. What would I know about anything, anyway? You don’t need any advice from a young girl, I’m sure.’

  She went into the salon, where Georges and Lili had been joined by Madame Verstraeten and Marie. Just then Dien came in with the tea tray, and Lili asked Frédérique what had kept her.

  ‘Paul and I were in the conservatory, waiting for teatime. I’m dying for a cup,’ replied Freddie.

  Paul, however, took his leave. He would seek out Etienne and his friends after all, he said with a defiant edge to his voice.

  ‘Until tomorrow, then. Goodbye, everyone! Goodbye, Freddie!’

  ‘Goodbye, Paul, I hope you enjoy yourself. Till tomorrow,’ Freddie replied coolly, her fingers barely touching his outstretched hand.

  …

  Feeling not a bit pleased with himself, Paul made his way along Prinsessegracht. He tried hard to shake off his unease, initially without success, for it had cast a grey shroud over his usually carefree attitude, and the more he struggled to free himself from its hampering folds the more constricted he became. There was no reason why he should be so bothered by Frédérique’s disapproval: after all, she was just a girl who happened to have heard some gossip about what he got up to with his friends and who had got quite carried away, imagining him to be leading a life of romantic dissolution, complete with rivers of champagne, showers of gold coins and ladies with beckoning arms. What had Frédérique’s criticism amounted to, really? That he was not at present gainfully employed? What was wrong with enjoying life if he could afford it? And what was the use of looking for a position which he did not need, and which, if taken by him, meant denying some poor chap the opportunity of earning his living? That would be rather unfair, wouldn’t it? He for his part would be glad to work in congenial surroundings, but interesting positions were few and far between, and so Frédérique should by rights be commending him for his unselfishness instead of lecturing him about his bad behaviour. As for his socalled penniless friends, Frédérique had quite rightly observed that not everybody was a millionaire, so she could hardly expect him to consort exclusively with nabobs! What was wrong with helping one’s friends when they were in need, if all it took was a visit to his banker? But what a blabbermouth Etienne was when it came to matters which one did not discuss with ladies or relatives! He badly needed telling off for his indiscretion, the young blackguard! Little did Frédérique know that Etienne himself was no better: for ever asking him for small sums of money, and sometimes quite large ones, too.

  Squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin, he went on his way in the gathering dusk. A devil-may-care glint came into his eyes. What a burden it was to be rich, he thought to himself, chuckling under his breath. It was too bad the way one was under pressure from some to spend freely and from others to keep a tight rein on one’s purse. Still, it made for a certain popularity, especially among ladies with daughters of marriageable age, such as Madame Eekhof, who seemed determined to pair him off with Ange or Léonie, and Madame Oudendijk, who invited him at least once a week and then left him alone with Françoise for hours on end, and now that Cateau was coming of age Madame van der Stoor had likewise taken to fawning on him. So many mamas with so many daughters to be married off – he saw them file past in his mind’s eye, a procession of matrons all wreathed in smiles, presenting to him their appropriately blushing daughters as though he were a Pasha with a mind to forming a harem. He had only to put out his hand and he would have ten comely fortune-hunters clinging to each finger. Oh, the burden of being rich!

  He turned into the Korte Voorhout, feeling much better for the entertaining vision of eager matrons vying with each other to extol their wares. He would have none of it, of course; he had no intention of giving up his freedom for a long time yet. Supposing he were poor, though, how many of those pretty young things would still want him? Françoise would, he thought, because she was always making eyes at him as if she were truly smitten. Then there were Ange and Léonie with their trim little figures, who kept hovering around him wanting to play catch-me-if-you-can: had he gone after them they would certainly have swooned away in his arms. And then there was Cateau, the youngest of them all and the only one to put on airs with him.

  While he was thus reviewing all their charms with affectionate derision, his thoughts drifted to Frédérique, who appeared to him as a lone princess towering above the ranks of mere odalisques. For her he felt no derision, nor was she attended by a matron offering her for sale. She stood alone, regarding him with calm self-assurance; she would not have fallen into his arms or knelt at his feet like the others. For her he felt respect.

  ‘At least I didn’t leave her cold, or she would not have been annoyed with me,�
�� he mused as he went past the theatre and turned into Houtstraat. ‘It’s all very well her saying that she doesn’t care what I do or don’t do, whether I live in this way or that, but if it really made no difference to her then why was she so cool towards me? Why did she bother to tell me what she thought? Ah well, we have known each other for such a long time, so I suppose it’s hardly surprising that she should take an interest. And she obviously hears an awful lot of bad things about me from Mama and Aunt and the cousins. She’s a sweet, sensible girl, and I like her very much indeed.’

  He almost felt flattered that such a sweet and sensible girl should have taken it upon herself to voice her criticism of him, and he looked forward to a reprise of their tête-à-tête beneath the overhanging palm fronds in the conservatory.

  ‘Of course, she’s quite young, and so she knows nothing about the world apart from what she reads in novels, probably bad ones at that, but what she said about those parasites being after my money was rather clever. She’s bound to have read that somewhere! She sounded just like a professor! Little Miss Know-it-all … I think I’ll call her “professor” from now on.’

  He began to laugh inwardly once more, but for all that he was tickled by what he saw as Frédérique’s pompousness, in his fancy she remained on her pedestal, aloof from the other girls who were being pressed into his arms by their eager mammas.

  As he approached the Witte club where he would join his friends, he could not help thinking again, with secret relish, oh, what a burden it was to be rich!

  …

  The dance party at the Verstraetens’ the following evening was very animated. As only friends and relations had been invited, the atmosphere had the relaxed familiarity of a family gathering, notwithstanding the lavish decorations and the formality of the young people’s dress: floaty evening gowns for the ladies and white tie and tails for the men. Most of the guests knew each other quite intimately, and so it was that both young and old indulged in lighthearted chitchat and sparkling repartee.

  Paul’s late arrival meant that he was too late for the polonaise and the polka, and when he greeted the bride with a stiff little bow, she responded by berating him.

  ‘Naughty man, keeping away from my party for so long! I hope you’ll be punished for your sins, you horrid boy!’

  He apologised with his laughing eyes and mocking mouth, sniffed her splendid white bouquet in its lace foil, tucked his opera hat under his arm and pulled at the fingers of his pearl-grey gloves. He thought she looked almost ethereal in the white froth of her tulle and orange blossom, with her pale, delicate features and the pouting lips of a spoilt child.

  ‘I hope every single girl is taken for the next dance, so that you’ll be left all by yourself!’ she said, rising to her feet.

  ‘Ah, what a severe bride you are! Will you wager with me that I shall not be left by myself, and that I shall be dancing all evening?’ he murmured in her ear, imitating her high voice.

  ‘No, not a wager! I know you – getting up to mischief as usual! You’d better behave yourself this evening, I warn you!’ she said, wagging her finger at him.

  Just then Paul spotted Cateau van der Stoor standing with her back to some azaleas, in conversation with a tall, spindly young man whom he did not know. From across the room he gave her a cheery, indulgent nod, as if she were a small child, to which her only response was a stony look. The little minx! He resolved not to ask her to dance all evening; he might even ignore her entirely, just to teach her a lesson.

  He was in the mood for larking about, and his eyes lit on Frédérique and Marie, both in pink tulle.

  ‘Well I never! A fine best man you make!’ exclaimed Marie. ‘I’m surprised that you even dare to show your face at this late hour. Are you blushing?’

  Ignoring Marie’s reprimand, he turned to Freddie. She had promised him several dances, so he reminded her, and he was wondering about the next waltz.

  ‘Of course!’ said Freddie. ‘I thought you’d forgotten all about me.’

  From the conservatory came the opening strains of Invitation à la valse.

  ‘And we’ll carry on with last night’s philosophical discussion while we dance, shall we, Freddie?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh no, no more philosophy please! I just want to dance and enjoy myself.’

  She sounded happy, elated even, and smiled at him so winsomely that his heart began to beat apace. No cold shoulders now, thank goodness. How lovely she looked this evening, her face aglow with the rosy reflection of her pink toilette, her eyes sparkling with fun! Oh, she was prettier than all the others, to be sure, prettier even than the pale young bride across the room. He felt an urge to enfold her in his arms, but gazed into her eyes instead.

  ‘You’ve kept the polka before the intermission for me, haven’t you? And the waltz after supper? And the cotillion, too, I hope?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve kept them all for you,’ she replied, colouring. ‘Not that you deserve it by any means. But I always keep my word. As you can see, all my other dances are already taken.’

  She showed him her dance-card. Grinning broadly, he scrawled a large capital P in each of the remaining blanks.

  The waltz had already started, and just as he curved his arm around Frédérique’s waist he caught sight of Cateau dancing with the spindly young man. He gave her another patronising nod, noting to his considerable satisfaction that her cheeks were on fire as she glared at him over her lanky cavalier’s shoulder. After that he no longer thought of her, but only of Freddie.

  He could not recall ever having enjoyed a waltz as much as now, with Freddie floating in his arms as they glided among the other dancing couples. He could not resist drawing her close, pressing her lightly to his chest, and his laughing eyes slid down her throat to her lovely, firm shoulders. The whirling pink froth of her skirts made him feel quite giddy, and with his head almost leaning on her shoulder, he fastened his gaze on the silken tendrils of hair curled against the nape of her neck. Miss Know-it-all had vanished without trace, so had the little professor; it was only Freddie now, dancing like a dream.

  This is the life, he thought to himself, a long, sweet waltz going round and round in a soft, mesmerizing rhythm, on and on, the pretty little head at his shoulder, the graceful creature in his arms, the pink whirlwind of rustling pleats like a flurry of rose petals, the silky tendrils of hair, the gentle curve of her lily-white shoulder, on and on …

  ‘Paul, you needn’t hold me so tight, I am not about to run away, you know!’ she whispered, smiling. He gazed into her shining eyes but did not relax his hold, and she resigned herself to his embrace with good grace. They fell silent.

  When the music stopped he felt as if he were waking from a wonderful dream.

  ‘Oh, Freddie, can’t we go on waltzing together for ever and ever, until our dying day?’

  She smiled and murmured a reply, which he did not hear, for in his fancy they were off again, dancing the waltz.

  …

  For the lancers Paul was on the same side as the bride, Frédérique, Marie, Cateau, Georges, Etienne and young Jan, and each time his hand touched Cateau’s he gave her fingers a little squeeze. He had been teasing her all evening with his mocking glances, and Cateau now looked daggers at him. He could not think why he was feeling so waggish this evening, but he simply could not resist pulling everyone’s leg. He was now playing the dandy, surrounded by a bevy of girls, treating each of them in turn to an impertinent remark which only made them giggle. He pretended to ignore Françoise Oudendijk when she posed some comical questions, then suddenly spun round to gaze into her eyes, his face a grimace of incredulity.

  ‘I say, Paul, how you’ve changed! You’re so mad nowadays! What’s come over you?’ she said, reaching out to touch the gardenia in his buttonhole.

  ‘Can’t you guess?’ he retorted in an undertone, batting his eyelashes flirtatiously. ‘Can’t you guess?’

  ‘Me? No, how could I?’

  ‘May I tell you the reason later? May I?’ h
e begged.

  ‘Oh yes, please!’

  ‘Well then, join me for half a dance-conversation during the Scottish reel,’ he said quickly.

  ‘What do you mean by half a dance-conversation?’

  ‘I hereby promote the first Scottish to a dance-conversation with two ladies, but I shan’t be talking first with the one and then with the other, but with both at the same time. My first partner is Léonie Eekhof, so if you will be my second, I promise I’ll tell you the reason for my madness. What do you say?’

  She stared at him a moment, unsure whether she should take offence or not.

  ‘If that’s all you have to offer, then no thank you!’ she rejoined, affecting indignation.

  ‘As you wish!’ he concluded, giving her such a mocking look that she turned her back on him.

  The other girls were still chattering nineteen to the dozen.

  ‘My dear children, I fear you are making me quite deaf!’ he said pompously, pushing them out of his way as he made for the drawing room. It was time for a lark with the mammas sitting in a row at the back admiring their daughters, but he was checked by Betsy, who was having a conversation with Emilie.

  ‘Hello, gadfly!’ said Betsy, touching his sleeve. ‘Where are you gadding off to now?’

  ‘To the old wallflowers,’ he whispered in reply. ‘And what about you – not dancing? This is not an invitation, mind; I am only showing an interest.’

  She promptly took up the gauntlet, assailing him with reproach for his impertinence, whereupon they launched into a hilarious exchange that brought tears of laughter to Emilie’s eyes. Betsy beamed; she too was impressed by the startling transformation he had undergone: he had become so dashing, no wonder he was doted on by all the women! It had taken him rather a long time to shake off his old lethargy, and he had roused himself at an age when his peers were already settling down, but there was something about him, a touch of the Don Juan with his tawny hair and brazen grey-blue eyes, something that would play on the heartstrings of every girl. She watched as Paul made his way towards the matrons in the drawing room. He bowed to Madame Eekhof and Madame van der Stoor, seated side by side on the sofa.