Small Souls Part 2

"Oh, mustn't I talk about Constance? There's always something in our family one mustn't talk about.... It's beyond me!"

And Uncle began to stride up and down the rooms again, rubbing his hands, which were still cold.

Two very old aunts entered. They were the Miss Ruyvenaers, very old ladies, turned eighty and looking more than that, unmarried sisters of Uncle and of Mrs. van Lowe. Their names were Dorine and Christine; but the younger generations called them Auntie Rine and Auntie Tine:

"So nice of you," said Mrs. van Lowe. "So nice...."

"What?" asked Auntie Rine.

"So nice of you, Dorine!" screamed Mrs. van Lowe in her ear.

"Marie says," screamed Auntie Tine, "it's so nice of you ... to come to-night.... Dorine is so deaf, Marie.... Really, she's getting unbearable...."

Auntie Tine was the young one, the tetchy one, the bitter one; Auntie Rine was the older one, the good-natured, deaf one. Outwardly, the two old ladies resembled each other and looked like old prints in their antiquated dresses; they wore black lace caps on the grey hair that framed their faces, which were wrinkled like a walnut.

The old ladies went and sat far apart; and it was strange to see them sitting at either end of the drawing-room, quietly, watching attentively, not saying much....

Now the others came, gradually. The first to arrive were the Van Saetzemas: Adolphine, her husband, Floortje, Caroline, Marietje and three noisy boys, all younger than their sisters; next came Gerrit and his wife Adeline: their children were still in the nursery; next, Karel and Cateau, still digesting their good dinner and their good wine; Ernst entered, gloomy, timid, queer and shy, as usual; Paul followed: he was the youngest son, thirty-five, good-looking, fair-haired and excessively well-dressed; last came the Van Naghels, Bertha and her husband, the colonial secretary, with their children: the three elder girls, Louise, Emilie, with Van Raven, her future husband, and Marianne; young Karel; and another Marietje: the two undergraduates were away, this time, at Leiden. There was a general humming and buzzing: the uncles, aunts, nephews and nieces exchanged greetings; many of them had not seen one another all the week; but they made it a rule to meet at Mamma's Sundays. And this evening there was great excitement among them all, though they restrained it for Mamma's sake: a mutual whispering and asking of opinions, because Constance was returning to the Hague, to her family, after twenty years' absence.

Adolphine overwhelmed her eldest sister, Bertha van Naghel van Voorde, with a torrent of whispered words:

"It's Mamma's wish," said Bertha, laconically, blinking her eyes.

"But what do you think? What does Van Naghel think? You surely can't think it pleasant...."

"Constance is our sister...."

"Our sister, our sister! If my sister misconducts herself...."

"Adolphine, Constance has been married to Van der Welcke for fourteen years; and there comes a time when one overlooks...."

"But what are you going to do? Will you have her at your house?"

"Yes, of course."

Adolphine had it at the tip of her jealous tongue to say, "And I suppose you'll ask her to your big dinners," but she restrained herself.

The younger nephews and nieces were also busily talking:

"Isn't she here yet?"

"No, she's coming later."

"Is she old?"

"She's between Uncle Gerrit and Aunt Adolphine...."

"How nervous Grandmamma is!"

"Oh, she doesn't strike me so!..."

"Why is she so late?"

"To make a triumphal entry...."

"Oh, triumphal!" said Floortje, Adolphine's daughter. "That would be the finis.h.i.+ng touch!"

"There she is!"

"Yes, I hear some one on the stairs."

"Granny's gone outside to meet her."

"And Aunt Dorine, too."

"I'm awfully curious to...."

"Yes, but we mustn't stare like that," said Marianne van Naghel to the boys.

"Why shouldn't I, if I want to?" asked Piet Saetzema.

"Because it's ill-bred," said Marianne, angrily.

"Oh, indeed? It's you that's ill-bred."

"And you're a boor!" cried Marianne, losing her temper.

"Marianne!" said her sister Emilie, soothingly.

"It's those horrid boys of Aunt Adolphine's!" muttered Marianne, in her indignation.

"Then don't take any notice of them."

"Here comes Aunt Constance...."

Mrs. van Lowe had gone to meet her daughter in the pa.s.sage; she embraced her there. The door was open; the brothers, sisters, nephews, nieces looked out and at once began to talk busily to one another, in artificial tones. Then Mamma came in, leading Constance by the hand. On her face was a smile of quiet content, but she was trembling with nervousness. She remained standing for a moment, looking through the crowded room. Constance van der Welcke, holding her mother's hand, also stopped. She was still a pretty woman, very pale, with hair beginning to go grey around her young and charming face, in which the dark eyes loomed big with anxiety; she still had the figure of a young woman; and she wore a black-satin gown.... There was a wait of a few seconds at the door, a pause just perceptible, yet poignant, as though a stubborn situation were being forced into the easier groove of polite manners and kind words, because of this sister's home-coming. But then Bertha came up and smiled, and found the kind word and the polite manner. She kissed her younger sister, said something charming. Mrs. van Lowe beamed. The other sisters and brothers followed, the nephews, the nieces. At last, one by one, they had all welcomed her. Constance had kissed them, or shaken hands; and she was deathly pale; and her black eyes trembled, misty with tears. Her voice broke, her hands shook, she felt a sinking at her knees. A pa.s.sion of weeping was rising to her eyes; and she found it almost impossible to control herself. She kept hold of her mother's hand, like a child, sat down by her, tried to smile and to behave normally. Her words almost choked her; her breath throttled her. Her black eyes started from their sockets, quivering, in her deathly-pale face, and she s.h.i.+vered as though in a fever. She tried to do her best, to talk as though she had only been away a year. But it was no use. She had not set foot in those rooms since the day, twenty years ago, when she married De Staffelaer, the Dutch envoy at Rome.... Since then, so much had happened in Rome, oh, so much! Her life had happened, her life of mistake upon mistake. How could she talk the usual commonplaces now?

She saw herself here, twenty years ago, coming back from church, in her white bridal dress; she saw her father, now dead; she saw De Staffelaer; she saw herself, after she had changed into her travelling-dress, saying good-bye, going away with De Staffelaer.... Since then ... since then, she had never been back! Since then, her father had died! Since then, she had only twice seen her dear mother, for a moment, at Brussels. Oh, since then!... Since then, all her brothers and sisters had become strangers to her; and she herself had been a stranger, never in Holland, always abroad, always an alien.... Now ... now she was back! Was it possible? Was it a dream?...

Her brother-in-law, Van Naghel, the cabinet-minister, came up to her:

"We are very glad to see you at the Hague, Constance."

"Thank you, Van Naghel."

"And shall we soon be making Van der Welcke's acquaintance?"

There was something in his words as though he were forcing the situation, for Mamma van Lowe's sake.

"He has some business to settle in Brussels. He will be here in a week."