Small Souls Part 37

Gerrit shrugged his shoulders, a little angrily, a little uncomfortably, and stretched his long legs across the carpet.

"Gerrit," said Constance, "I'm glad you said what you did."

"It's all nonsense," growled Gerrit. "There is a tendency, not only in Paul,--he's a humbug--but in all sorts of people in our set, Constance, of which you were speaking so scornfully just now, to run Holland down, to think nothing Dutch good, to think our language ugly, to think everything French, English or German better than Dutch. Those are your smart Dutch people, Constance, your Hague people, whom you meet in Bertha's drawing-room, Constance. If they go abroad for a couple of months, they've forgotten their mother-tongue when they come back; but let them be three years without going to Paris, London or Berlin, they'll never, never, never forget their French, their English or their German! Oh, they know their foreign languages so well!"

"Gerrit," said Paul, "what you say is true; but just try and say it in fine Dutch, Gerrit!"

"And, Sis," continued Gerrit, stammering a little, but full of mettle, "that is why I think it so nice that you, a woman like you, who have lived for years in Rome, in just that smart, cosmopolitan world where patriotism tends to disappear, that you, who have been away from your country for twenty years, that just you have felt awaken in yourself...."

"Bravo!" cried Paul. "His words are coming!"

"A feeling for your country, for your motherland, that made you long to see Holland again. I would never have suspected it in you; and that, Sissy, is why I should almost like to kiss you ... but we're at a party...."

"And a party of Adolphine's into the bargain. And Adelientje is jealous."

"No, I'm not!" said Adeline, good-naturedly.

"Well, then, Connie, here goes!"

And Gerrit gave his sister an offhand kiss.

"You're a couple of pastoral characters!" said Paul. "I can't compete with you."

"And now, Constance, a gla.s.s of champagne ... to drink to all the family and to our native land," said Gerrit; and, with Constance on his arm, he walked across the room to the buffet.

"Adelientje," said Paul, "was there ever such a madman as your husband?"

But Adolphine approached triumphant, trailing her satin train, which she thought magnificent, and, radiant with self-complacency, asked:

"Adeline, tell me now, what do you think of _my_ party?"

"Oh, beautiful, Adolphine!" said Adeline.

"Adolphine," said Paul, "your party is simply dazzling. I have been to many parties in my life, but one like to-night's, never!"

"And a good dinner, wasn't it?"

"The dinner was so good, it couldn't have been better."

"How do you like my new dress, Adeline? Just see how it fits."

She pa.s.sed her hands over her bosom.

"It's a very charming dress, Adolphine," said Adeline.

"Adolphine," said Paul, "that velvet on the collar of Saetzema's coat...."

"Yes?..."

"That's _good_ velvet."

"Yes, they're his new dress-clothes, from Teunissen's."

"And that satin of Floortje's dress...."

"Yes?..."

"That's _good_ satin."

"Oh, what do you know about satin?"

"Every one's saying so."

"Really?"

"Yes, I heard them saying so all over the room."

"Not really?"

"Yes, as I moved about among the people, I heard it whispered on every side, like a rumour: 'Have you noticed the satin of Floortje's dress?...

I say, did you notice the satin of Floortje's dress?...'"

Adolphine looked vaguely in front of her, not knowing what to believe:

"Well, that frock cost ... a hundred and twenty guilders!" she said, lying to the extent of forty guilders; and, radiant, she went on and talked to Mrs. Bruys, the wife of the editor of the _Fonograaf:_

"And, mevrouw, what do you say to _my_ party?"

"Paul," said Adeline, in gentle reproach, "I was really frightened that Adolphine would notice...."

CHAPTER XXV

Constance was happy. She began to realize more and more that she now had what she had missed for years: her family; she held it a privilege dearer every day that she was back in her own country, in Holland. It was as though she became more and more penetrated with the consciousness that she had found all her near ones again, that they had one and all forgiven her the past; and sometimes she imagined that it was not really twenty years since she went away: those twenty years seemed to shrink.

In her brothers and sisters she recognized by degrees all the peculiarities of former days, just as though they had grown no older; and Mamma had remained exactly the same. Nor could she but admire secretly the almost childlike simplicity of Van der Welcke, who moved about calmly in the midst of her relations, though they were all utter strangers to him and though he; of course, could have no family-feeling for any of them. He was most intimate with Paul and oftenest in his company. Constance would have liked to see more of Bertha, but it was true, they lived at some distance from each other; and yet they found each other again, as sisters, in that conversation shortly after Emilie's marriage. Constance indeed was surprised that an open-hearted talk such as this was not more often renewed between Bertha and herself; but, in any case, they now felt as sisters. As for Karel and Cateau, no, they remained distant and strangers, were hardly more intimate with her than if they had been remote acquaintances; but Gerrit had conceived a sort of pa.s.sion for Constance; and, inasmuch as she had shown so much tolerance towards Adolphine, the latter really seemed a little more gently disposed to her, for Adolphine remembering all Constance'

admiration and praise of Floortje's trousseau, had been heard to say:

"She's not so bad, Constance; Constance can be rather nice when she pleases."

It was summer now; and Constance felt happy. Bertha and her children went to Switzerland, where Van Naghel was to join them in August, and Adolphine went for a month to the Rhine, but Mamma remained at the Hague; and Constance was delighted to see her mother every day. They often drove out together; and they would leave the carriage in the Scheveningen "Woods" or in the Hague "Wood" and walk along the paths.

And Mamma always talked about the children, or the grandchildren, or the two great-grandchildren: the children of Otto and Frances, who had gone to Switzerland with the others. As Bertha was not at the Hague that summer, the old woman had transferred her partiality to Gerrit's children, thinking them nice because they were so young. And so she and Constance often went to Gerrit's and found him in the little morning-room, ready to go out, in uniform, rattling his sword, clinking his spurs; fair-haired and heavy and strong in his tight uniform and varnished riding-boots, while two small girls and two small boys, all fair-haired, flaxen-haired, with soft, pink cheeks, climbed over him where he sprawled in his big easy-chair: Gerdy and Adeletje and Alex and little Guy; while the eldest, Marietje, eight years old, lifted the little baby heavily in her arms, and a bigger baby crawled among the legs of the table and chairs in search of a broken doll. In the midst of this fair-haired medley--all the children delicately built like dolls, with their flaxen curls and their soft, pink blushes--Gerrit was like a giant, looked still taller and stronger; his uniform filled the room as he moved; romping with his children, he seemed able, with one movement, to send them all--Guy and Alex and Adeletje and Gerdy, who hung on to his arms and hands--tumbling over the floor, to the terror of Grandmamma, who thought him too rough; but Adeline was always very calm, herself also fair, softly-smiling, she too, with her delicate little fair face, her figure already a.s.suming the rather matronly proportions of a little wife who has many children and who, although young, has lost all coquetry in regard to slenderness. She was simple and gentle, just a small, fair little woman, for ever bearing children to her great, heavy husband, as a duty of which she did not think much, because Gerrit wished it: a nature of smiling resignation, always pleasant and calm, never excited or upset because of her turbulent little brood and always calmly performing her motherly little duties. She was expecting her eighth in November; and there seemed to be always room in the small house for more and more turbulent, fair-haired children. Then Mamma van Lowe, who had come with Constance after lunch, would ask:

"Well, who's coming for a drive with Granny?..."

And usually it was so arranged that, besides Adeline herself, some four fair-haired little ones were taken into the landau: three of the children were crowded inside and Alex went on the box, entrusted to the special care of the coachman. Then Mamma van Lowe's face beamed with joy, while a long drive was taken through Voorburg, Wa.s.senaar or Voorschoten, and the children were regaled on milk, if the opportunity offered. Or else they merely drove to Scheveningen; and Mrs. van Lowe made quite a stir at Berenbak's, every one staring at the carriage out of which, besides the three ladies, came the three little children, while Alex scrambled down from the box. The waiter would put two tables together; and ices and pastry were ordered. And, whereas, at the Van Naghels' house, the old woman enjoyed above all the veneer of state which distinguished their life, the life that reminded her of her own great days, she enjoyed herself in a different way amid that little brood of Adeline's, enjoyed all that fair-haired, merry, natural youthfulness, where there were no pretensions whatever to state: she was no longer the worldly grandmamma, interested in official dinners and receptions and the Russian minister, but the radiant grandmamma, who rejoiced at having so many dear little grandchildren, all so young. It was pleasant, she would say to Constance, that Gerrit had married rather late--he was thirty-five when he married--because through that, she said, she had so many young grandchildren. And it was nice, she said, that they were Van Lowes, the only little Van Lowes, three little sons to keep the name alive, for Karel had no children; and Ernst and Paul were sure never to marry, she thought. And, though she did not care much for the name and reckoned all grandchildren as profit, as so much to the good, she nevertheless felt most for the little Van Lowes, for the three little boys especially, for the heirs of the name which she had married.

And so, while winter was the time which she enjoyed at the Van Naghels', she devoted her summer at the Hague to Gerrit and Adeline. She helped Adeline, who had to be very careful with a moderate income and such a large troop of little ones, and regularly, in the summer, the old lady dressed the fair-haired little children, gave them all something, saw that they had pretty clothes to go about in.