Small Souls Part 62

"Constance...."

"Let me speak to Van Naghel, I say!"

"Don't make a scene."

"I shan't make a scene; but let me speak to Van Naghel. I see your husband is getting up: he has finished playing. Tell him I want to speak to him. Let Van der Welcke be present at our conversation. Paul, you must be there too...."

"But, Constance, why, why speak to him? I am so afraid Mamma will notice...."

"No, Mamma will see nothing. I want to give her as little pain as possible. But I must speak to your husband, in your presence and Van der Welcke's. I must, Bertha, and I will. Call your husband. And we'll go into the boudoir."

She rose, trembling. She was shaking all over; and, as she almost fell where she stood, a sudden thought arose in her and paralyzed all her energies:

"Why am I talking like this, thinking like this, wis.h.i.+ng this? How small I am, how small my conduct is! Really, what does it all matter: people; and what they think; and what they write and say? Is that life? Is that all? Is there nothing else?..."

But another thought gave her fresh zest, fresh courage. She remembered the conversation which she had had with her husband a little while ago, she remembered his reproach that she was not thinking of her son, that she was doing nothing for her son, that she would let herself take root in the shade, continue to vegetate, in her disgrace, in her corner, withdrawn into herself, in her own rooms, would continue to sit "cursing her luck" in her Kerkhoflaan. No, she felt fresh zest, fresh courage; and she almost pushed Bertha as she repeated:

"Call your husband.... Paul, will you please call Van der Welcke and ask him to come to the boudoir?..."

She could hardly walk, she was pale as a corpse; and her black eyes quivered. She went alone to the little boudoir. There was no one there.

Decanters, gla.s.ses, cakes and sandwiches were put out, as usual. She looked up at her father's portrait: Oh, what an ugly daub it seemed to her: hard, with the hard, expressionless eyes and all that false glitter on the yellow-and-white stars of the decorations! It stared at her like an implacable spectre, grim and unforgiving. It stared at her almost as though it wished to speak:

"Go. Go away. Go out of my house of honour, of greatness and decency.

Go. Go away. Go out of my town. Go away from me and mine. Go. It was you who murdered me. You caused my long illness, you caused my death, you, you! Go!"

The little room stifled her. She would have liked to run away, but Van der Welcke and Paul entered.

"What do you want to do, Constance?" asked Van der Welcke.

"To speak to Van Naghel."

"Not an explanation?"

"I don't know. He's annoyed at my visit of Tuesday last."

"Annoyed!" Van der Welcke seethed. "Annoyed at your visit!"

"For G.o.d's sake, Van der Welcke!" cried Paul, terrified. "Don't always fly out like that. Do remember...."

"Annoyed!" foamed Van der Welcke. "Annoyed!"

"Henri, _please!_" cried Constance. "I thank you for resenting the insult offered to your wife. But restrain yourself: he'll be here in a minute. Restrain yourself, for Addie's sake...."

"Restrain myself! Restrain myself!" shouted Van der Welcke, like a madman.

The door opened. Van Naghel and Bertha entered.

"Do you want to speak to me, Constance?" asked Van Naghel.

"I should very much like to speak to you for a moment, Van Naghel," said Constance, while Paul made signs to Van der Welcke as though begging him to control himself. "Bertha tells me that you are sorry that I called at your house on Tuesday, on her reception-day."

"Constance," Van Naghel began, cautiously, trying to be diplomatic, "I...."

"Forgive me for interrupting you, Van Naghel. I ask you kindly, let me finish and say what I have to say. It is simply this: I regret that I went to your house, on Bertha's at-home day, without first asking if I should be welcome. I admit, it was a mistake. I oughtn't to have done it. I ought first to have spoken to the two of you as I am glad to be speaking to you now, Van Naghel, to explain my position and my wishes, in the hope that you will show some indulgence to your wife's sister and consent to help her fulfil a natural desire. You see, Van Naghel, when I arrived here, eight months ago, I had no other thought than to live here quietly, in my corner, with a little affection around me, a little affection from my brothers and sisters, whom I had not seen for so long.

It is true, I had no particular claim to that affection; but, when I felt within myself a wish, a longing, a yearning for Holland, for the Hague, for all of you, I cherished the illusion that there would be something--just a little--of that feeling in my brothers and sisters. I don't know how far I was mistaken; I won't go into that now. Bertha has just told me that she feels to me as to a sister; and I accept that gratefully. Van Naghel, I cannot expect that you, my brother-in-law, should have any sort of family feeling for me; but, as Bertha's husband, I ask you, I beg of you, try to be a brother to me. Help me. Don't resent that I paid you a visit without notice and, in so doing, shocked and surprised you. But allow me, allow me--I ask it as a favour, Van Naghel, for my son's sake--allow me, in your house first of all, to try and attain ... to attain a sort of rehabilitation, in the eyes of our acquaintances, in the eyes of all the Hague. I stand here entreating you, Van Naghel: grant me this and help me. Allow me to come on your wife's days, even though I do meet friends and relations of De Staffelaer's. Good Heavens, Van Naghel, what harm, what earthly harm can it do you to exercise your authority and protect me a little and defend me against mean and petty slanders? If you show some magnanimity and help me to make people ... to make people forget what I did fifteen, fifteen years ago, they will drop their slanders; and I shall be rehabilitated, in your house, Van Naghel, just because of your high position and the consideration which you enjoy and your many connections and your power to carry out what you set your mind on. Van Naghel, if only you would help me: if not for my own sake, for my son's! It's to help him, later, in his career, which he will take up at his father's wish and his grandparents': the same career as his father's, which I ruined. I am asking so little of you, Van Naghel; and because you are you, it means so little for you to consent to my request. Van Naghel, Papa helped you, in the old days: I ask you now to help me, his child and your wife's sister. Let me come to Bertha's receptions. You know Mrs. van Eilenburgh: help me to prepare people for my intention--which they were really the first to suggest--to be presented at Court; and ask us, this winter, once, just once, to one of your official dinners."

She stood before her brother-in-law, pale and trembling, almost like a supplicant; and, while she besought him, the thought flashed through her mind:

"What am I begging for? How base and small I am making myself: dear G.o.d, how terribly small! And is that, seriously, life? Is that the only life?

Or is there something else?..."

She looked around her. While she stood in front of Van Naghel, Bertha had sunk into a chair, trembling with nervous excitement, while Van der Welcke and Paul, as though in expectation, listened breathlessly to Constance' words, which came in broken jerks from her throat. Then, at last, slowly, as though he were speaking in the Chamber, Van Naghel's voice made itself heard, softly, with its polite, rather affected and pompous intonation:

"Constance, I shall certainly do my best to satisfy all your wishes, all your requests. I will help you, as far as I can, if you really think that I can be of use to you. Certainly I owe a great deal to Papa; and, if, later, I can possibly do anything for your son, I a.s.sure you--and you, too, Van der Welcke--I shall not fail to do so. I give you my hand on it, my hand. I shall certainly, gladly, with all my heart, help Addie in the career which he selects: you may be sure of that. But, Constance, what you ask me so frankly, to ... to invite you and Van der Welcke to one of our dinners, at which you would meet people who really, really would have no attraction for you: oh, you wouldn't care for it, Constance, I a.s.sure you, you really wouldn't care for it! And, if you want my honest opinion, honestly, as between brother and sister, I should say to you, candidly, Constance, don't insist on coming to our official dinners: they're no amus.e.m.e.nt; they're an awful bore, sometimes: boring, aren't they, Bertha? Very tedious, very tedious, sometimes. And the receptions, at which you are always likely to meet people you wouldn't care for: well, if you take my advice...."

"Is that all, Van Naghel, that you have to say, when I lay bare my soul to you, here, between brothers and sisters, and, without any diplomatic varnish, ask you, as far as you can, to rehabilitate me in your house?"

"But, Constance, what a word! What a word to use!..."

"It's the right word, Van Naghel; there is no other word: I want my rehabilitation."

"Constance, really, I am prepared to help you in all you ask: and whatever is in my power...."

But Van der Welcke flared up:

"Van Naghel, please keep those non-committal expressions for the Chamber. My wife asked you and I now ask you: will you receive us this winter in a way that will make your set, which was once ours, take us up, even though we rub shoulders with De Staffelaer's nephews and nieces and even though people talk about what happened fifteen years ago?"

"Van der Welcke," said Van Naghel, nettled, "the expressions I choose to employ in the Chamber are my own affair."

"Answer my question!"

"Henri!" Constance implored.

"Answer my question!" insisted Van der Welcke, full of suppressed rage, feeling ready to smash everything to pieces.

"Well then, no!" said Van Naghel, haughtily.

"No?..."

"It's impossible! I have too many attacks to endure as it is, in the Chamber, in the press, everywhere; and I can't do what you ask. You have made yourself impossible, to our Hague society, you and your wife, the wife of your former chief; and it's simply impossible that I should receive you in my house on the same footing as my friends, acquaintances and colleagues. That is no reason why we should not continue to be brothers and sisters."

"And do you think I would wish for or accept your brotherliness on those terms?"

"Then refuse it!" cried Van Naghel, himself losing his temper and forgetting to pick his words. "Refuse it; and all the better for me! I shall be only too glad to have nothing more to do with you. Your wife compromised me the other day by coming to Bertha's reception, as if it were a matter of course...."

Van der Welcke clenched his fists:

"My wife," he echoed, "compromised you? By coming to...?"