The Twilight of the Souls Part 39

"He drowned himself and he was quite blue?..."

"No, Uncle, he was murdered: stabbed with a dagger.... Mamma is bearing up, Papa writes, but she is terribly overwrought ... on Emilie's account also. Emilie is quite beside herself. Papa fortunately is keeping calm: he is doing all that has to be done; he has been to the legation....

But, Uncle, you're not at all well; you're s.h.i.+vering; you've caught a chill. Oughtn't you to go home and get into bed?..."

"Yes, yes, I'm going home."

"Then you'll be better in the morning...."

"Yes, of course, of course.... I shall be better...."

"Then will you come to the station too, early to-morrow morning, and meet the train from Paris?"

"To-morrow morning early ... yes, certainly, certainly...."

"You oughtn't to have gone out."

"No, no ... but I'm going home now ... going to bed.... Good-bye.

To-morrow morning early."

"Good-bye, Uncle."

Gerrit went away.

Above the Woods, on one side, the low sky sank lower and lower, heavy with grey clouds, such heavy grey clouds that they did not seem light enough to continue hovering there, seemed bound to fall ... and to Gerrit they were, in the dim hues of his fevered vision, like purple pieces falling from the dragon's body, which was cut up by the express.

The whole sky was full of purple dragon's blood; and it now streamed down like pouring rain. The blood streamed in a violent downpour and appeared intent upon drowning everything....

Gerrit had now turned in the direction of the cemetery; and, impelled by instincts and forces outside himself, he walked in and, vaguely, asked the porter some question, he did not know what. The man seemed to understand him, however, and led the way: Gerrit followed ... brrr, brrr!... Nevertheless, it was as though his fever abated; and, in that sudden cooling, he all at once felt and knew the truth. It must be so: it was _she_. The water, the policemen, _she_. Who else could it be?...

He walked on, following the porter....

On either side, the silent graves, with their tombstones, the lettering blurred and melancholy in the rain.... Yonder, on the left, the family-grave. Gerrit recognized it in the purple rain of dragon's blood: a sombre mausoleum of brick, like a small house; and it looked larger to him than the toy-villa of just now. What a huge building it was, that family-tomb of theirs! It was like a great palace: it would be able to contain all their dead within its walls. For the present, Papa was living alone there, quietly; but he was waiting, waiting for all of them, waiting for all of them ... until the shadows had deepened into thick darkness around all of them and they came to him, in that huge sepulchral palace.... Lord, Lord, how small he was now: he was walking like a dwarf past the tomb, which stuck its steeple into the clouds, high as a cathedral....

What was that strangeness in the air?... How long had he been walking?... Was life no longer ordinary?... Were there not, as usual, houses, people, things: the barracks ... his children ... Adeline?...

Who was that man who went before and led the way?... Was it a real man, that porter?... Or was it a dead man, walking?... Wasn't everything dead here?... Was it morning or was it evening?... Was it life or death?...

Was he alive or was he dead?... Brrr, how cold he felt again!... Was that the cold of death?... What was this building which they now entered?... What a huge place!... Was it a church or was it only a tomb?... Where was he and why was he alone, alone with that dead man, that ghost showing him the way?... Where on earth was Constance and where was Van der Welcke?... Hadn't they brought it back from Paris, Pauline's blue body?... Was that Pauline?...

The coffin was open, covered only with a sheet; he lifted it, the sheet.... Brrr, brrr, how cold he was!... He remembered: Paris; yes, yes, he remembered: Paris; poor fellow; poor Henri!... But this, this wasn't Henri.... Who was it, who could it be?... Wasn't it Henri the policemen found?... What had become of those policemen?... When was it he met some policemen?... It was years since he met those policemen ...

and her body had turned quite blue.... What was the matter now?... What was that porter saying, hovering round him like a ghost?...

Yes, everything was dead, for the s.h.i.+vering cold which he felt could only be the cold s.h.i.+ver of death....

Blue, was she blue?... The man lifted a corner of the sheet: Gerrit saw a face, pale as that of a mermaid whose features had blossomed up out of the icy stillness of a tragic pool.... The eyes were open.... What sad golden eyes those were!.... Had they not always laughed ... with golden gleams of mockery?... Then why did he now for the first time see them weeping ... in death ... see them mournfully staring ... in death?...

Had they never laughed?... Had they always gazed mournfully ... even though they gleamed golden and mocked ... or seemed to ... seemed to?...

Then what was real?... Was everything ... was everything dead then?...

Did he ... dead ... want to bring her his gift ... what she had asked for so strangely ... the portrait ... the portrait of his children?...

He had it here: he felt it lying on his chest ... hard and heavy ...

like a plank, like a plank.... He had it here....

"Gerrit, dear, are you coming?"

Who was calling him from so very far away?... Wasn't it his sister?...

His favourite sister?...

"Come along, Gerrit!"

Who were those calling him away from that woman?... What were those voices, which he vaguely recognized?... Was it not the voice of his favourite sister, was it not the voice of her husband, of the two of them, who had brought Pauline's body back from Paris?... Yes, he recognized them, it was....

"Come on, Gerrit, old man, you're not well.... What are you doing here, beside this woman, beside this corpse? She's all blue, drowned in the lake in the Bois de Boulogne.... Did you know the woman?..."

Yes, yes, he had known the woman....

"Come along, old chap!"

"Gerrit, dear, won't you come?"

"Constance," whispered Gerrit, "you brought her from Paris...."

"Beg pardon, sir?" asked the porter.

"Yes, there she lies, there she lies, dead...."

"Gerrit, come away!" cried the voices.

"Lay your flowers over her now!... Constance, lay your flowers over her.... She is lying so cold and all alone ... and it is all so big here ... big as a church ... she is lying ... as if in a cold, damp church.... Lay flowers beside her...."

"What do you say, sir?"

"Yes ... lay flowers beside her ... lay flowers beside her ...

Constance...."

"Won't you come away now?"

"Yes, yes, I'm coming...."

There, there she lay ... covered all over, with the sheet. She was nothing but a blue, motionless woman's shape ... under a sheet. Now ...

flowers lay over the sheet: all the white flowers of his imagination.

Now his fingers tore into little pieces the plank which he carried on his heart and strewed them in between the flowers: into such little, little pieces that they were as the petals of flowers ... and nothing more ... over the woman....

The voices called him.

"Yes, yes, I'm coming ... I'm coming...."

The voices lured him home, to bed; and he jogged on through the streets raining with dragon's blood....

When he reached home, Adeline at once sent for the doctor.... It was typhoid fever.