The Twilight of the Souls Part 9

Under the arm which she had at once put round Emilie, the old woman felt a shudder pa.s.s through the dainty little doll, who had knelt down beside her so impulsively and affectionately; but she did not understand:

"Well, where is Eduard?"

"Why, Granny," cried Emilie, "you know that we're divorced!"

The old woman now shuddered in her turn and closed her eyes and sat rigid. What was this? Was she becoming old, like her old sisters Christine and Dorine, who always muddled up all the children, who never knew anything correctly about their big family? What was this? Was she getting confused? And was this the first time that she had utterly forgotten things ... or had it happened before, that she had doted like an old, old woman?

She opened her eyes sadly and the tears ran down her cheeks:

"Ah, Emilietje, my child, my child ... don't be cross with Granny! She's growing old, dear. She had forgotten it for a moment. Yes, yes, she had forgotten all about it.... Of course, child, you got a divorce. Oh, it's very sad! You oughtn't to have done it so soon, you should have gone on being patient. You see, child, a divorce in a family is always a very sad thing. You know, there was Aunt Constance.... Well, she had had a lot of trouble. You had plenty of trouble too. He used to strike you: yes, Granny knows. But you ought not to have let the world know about it. You were quite right not to let him strike you. But you should have shown him, by remaining gentle and dignified, that he was doing wrong.... No man strikes a woman, my child, if she preserves her dignity. But you used to lose your temper, child, and stamp your foot and call him names and invite scenes. Yes, yes, Granny knows all about it, Granny remembers everything. Mamma used to say it was all right, but Granny knew, Granny saw that it was far from right.... If you had not lost your dignity, child, he would never have dared to strike you. And who knows: you might gradually have made him gentler, have made him respect you ... and you might still have had a very tolerable life. You see, dear, there's always something, in marriage. It's not as young girls imagine, when they are in love. There are always difficulties: you have to get used to each other, to fall into each other's ways. Do you think that Grandmamma never had any differences with Grandpapa? Oh, there were ever so many ... and later on even, after years of marriage!

How often didn't Grandmamma and Grandpapa differ about poor Aunt Constance!... And Mamma and Papa: do you think they always agreed?...

Temper, Emilie, is a thing we all have in our family, but one has to keep it under. A woman must preserve her dignity towards her husband.

What a pity, what a pity it was!... Well, child, and where are you living now? Not with Mamma at Baarn, I know."

"I'm living in Paris, Granny, with Henri."

"What do you say? In Paris? Are you living in Paris? With Henri? Well, you see, Henri too--yes, Granny isn't quite in her dotage yet--leaving Leiden like that! For shame! Why not have finished his college course and gone to India?... And what do you do there, in Paris? It's very nice, for the two of you to be together; but it's not natural, Emilietje. Yes, I remember now: they told me you were living in Paris. I had heard it before. But that's no sort of life: to go running through the bit of money which your poor father left you, in Paris! What will people say! For shame!... No, Grandmamma isn't pleased with you. Instead of remaining quietly with your husband ... instead of Henri's quietly finis.h.i.+ng his time at the university! What does it all mean, what you and he have done?"

The old woman rejected Emilie's caresses:

"No, child, don't kiss me; Granny is vexed; she doesn't want to be kissed.... The family isn't what it was. It is a _grandeur dechue_, child, a regular _grandeur dechue_. The Van Lowes were something once.

There was never much money, but we didn't care about money and we always managed. But the family used to count ... in India, at the Hague. Which of you will ever have a career like your Grandpapa's, like your Papa's?

No, we shall never see another governor-general in the family, nor yet a cabinet-minister. It's a _grandeur dechue_, a _grandeur dechue_.... Ah, child, Granny has too much trouble to bear, too much trouble in her old age! Your Papa's death was a great blow to Granny; Mamma has changed so much since, changed so much. And Granny never sees Mamma now, never.

Otto and Frances, once in a way, and dear Louise; but the rest of you are all scattered, you are all independent of one another. Oh, it is so nice to keep together, one big family together! Why need Mamma have gone to Baarn? There's nothing but rich tradespeople there, not our cla.s.s at all.... And now--have you heard, dear?--poor Uncle Ernst.... Yes, child ... it's quite true: isn't it sad, poor fellow? And hasn't Granny really too much to bear in her old age?... Dear Aunt Constance is taking him to Nunspeet to-day: ah, where should we have been without Aunt Constance?... Addie now is a great consolation to Granny. _He_ is a dear, clever boy; and he works hard; and he will enter the diplomatic service: he is the hope of the family. Yes, yes, I know, Frans is doing well; but Henri, Emilietje, has done the wrong thing, going to Paris ...

with you.... No, child, don't kiss Granny; she's vexed.... And Karel isn't behaving at all well, so Uncle van Naghel says. They don't always tell Granny; but Granny hears, when they think she's deaf and whisper things to one another. Ah, child, it would be better if Granny died!

She's getting too old, dear, she's getting too old.... She could have borne all this trouble once, but she can't do it now, Emilietje, she can't bear it now...."

And the old woman sobbed quietly; the tears flowed without ceasing. She now let Emilietje embrace her pa.s.sionately; and she listened to all the caressing words with which her grand-daughter overwhelmed her.

Constance entered; and Mamma knew her at once:

"Connie! Connie! Have you taken him there? Have you come back?"

Constance, surprised at seeing Emilie, first kissed her and then said:

"Yes, Mamma, I've taken Ernst down, with Dr. van der Ouwe and Dr.

Reeuws. He was quite quiet. We had reserved a _coupe_-compartment; and he travelled down with us very nicely. He did not speak; and he held my hand the whole time. He pities me, I don't know why.... Mamma, don't cry: he's really quiet; and he is very comfortable there. He has a pleasant room, with a bright outlook; Dr. van der Heuvel and his wife are kind, homely people. He will not be by himself: he has his meals with the other patients. It is hard on him to have to do without his books and curios. He misses his books particularly; but the doctor does not want him to read. And he must walk...."

"But walk, Connie, walk? Alone? How can he walk? All alone, on that enormous heath? He'll lose his way, he's not responsible, he'll step into a ditch and be drowned!"

"No, Mamma, we shall look after him."

"How do you mean, child?"

"It will soon be Addie's holidays: Addie and I are going to Nunspeet and we shall be with Ernst."

"Oh, how kind of you, Connie!... But I shall miss you."

"I shall come and see you regularly, Mamma: Nunspeet is not far."

"Oh, child, child, what should I do without you? Thank G.o.d, dear, that you returned to us at last!... And what will your husband do without his boy?"

"He will come down occasionally. And he is going away for a holiday with Van Vreeswijck.... I only came back to tell you that Ernst is all right.

I'm going back to Nunspeet this afternoon. And from there I shall look Bertha up, at Baarn."

"I'm going to Mamma's too," said Emilie, softly.

When they saw that the old woman was tired, Constance and Emilie rose:

"We must go, Mamma...."

"Yes, child. But don't leave me too long alone. When shall I see you again?"

"In three days."

"So long?"

"The others will come and see you: Aunt Lot, Dorine, Adolphine...."

"Yes, but I am too much alone. I can't understand it: I never used to be alone. I don't like being alone. I'm not accustomed to it. What do all of you do?..."

"Suppose you took Dorine to live with you, Mamma?..."

"No, no ... not to live with me, not to live with me. Every one should be free. But they might come and see me sometimes. I never see Adeline's children now...."

"Why, Mamma, I know they were here two days ago!"

"No, no, it's longer ... it's longer than that. I never see your boy either."

"I'll send him this afternoon."

"Yes, do. Why are we all so separated now? It never used to be like that, never.... Well, good-bye, dear. Will you send Addie? Will you come yourself soon?"

"You must wait a day or two."

"Yes, very well, stay with poor Ernst. You are doing a good work. And tell Adeline too that she is neglecting me and that I _never_ see the children now, _never_...."

They both kissed the old woman. When their mother and grandmother was alone, she nodded her head up and down, looked out at the rain; and the tears ran down her cheeks, without stopping ... without stopping....

Emilie had a cab waiting:

"I'll drive you home, Auntie."

They stepped in.

"It's months since we saw you, child."

"Yes, Auntie. I've come straight from Paris. I'm going to see Mamma at Baarn."