CHAPTER XV.
The severity of the winter relaxed, and spring-time drew near, bringing with it rain and chill mists, which enveloped the leafless trees in damp cold shrouds. And everybody talked about Otto van Erlevoort, who was so full of attention for Eline Vere. Oh yes; it would certainly end in an engagement, thought the Eekhofs, the Hydrechts, the van Larens, and Madame van der Stoor. Henk had been to Gelderland with Etienne; they had stayed at the Huis ter Horze, the seat of the Erlevoort family, where Theodore, the eldest son, lived summer and winter, with his wife and children; and during that time Otto had been a frequent visitor at the Nassauplein, being, ’tis true, mostly invited to spend the evening there, in company with others; but still, was it not very [[134]]strange that he who generally led such a quiet life and went out so little, should all at once visit the van Raats so frequently? However, should it come to an engagement, it would be a capital match. Otto was a nice boy, and had a good position; Eline was most charming, elegant, rich, as was thought; they were cut out for each other; and besides, Eline would be glad to get a baron for her husband. In fact people thought them so well matched that they felt rather sorry at finding nothing much to say against it, and they searched until at last they found something. It was really Betsy’s doings, you see, for she did not get along too well with her sister, and would not be sorry to see her leave the house decently. Betsy encouraged Otto; it was true Eline seemed willing, but if it had not been for Betsy, neither he nor she would have thought of it. Oh yes; Betsy, she was all right in company, but in the house a maîtresse femme? No, no; worse than that—a vixen! Good stout Henk she had entirely under her slipper, and if Eline were not so firm, and showed her teeth a little less, she too would have got under her thumb. On the face of it, it seemed so nice, so kind, to take a younger sister, an orphan, into the house, but to people who were so wealthy as the van Raats that meant nothing. Besides that, the Veres had money too, and nobody believed that it was all couleur de rose in the house. Therefore, Betsy found it was time that Eline should marry. She could have had the chance often enough already; but she was pretty and hard to please, and so forth. Anyhow, it was her business, was it not?
Eline was well aware that people talked about her in that way, but in her calm dignity she troubled herself precious little about it. She believed so too; Otto would propose to her, and she thought she had better accept him. She felt no love, ’twas true—in the way that she understood its meaning—for van Erlevoort, but there was not the slightest objection to him. It would be a capital match; she might have liked a larger fortune, but she thought that with her refined frugality she would have sufficient tact to spread a semblance of luxury about her.
But to say that Betsy encouraged Otto was going a little too far. Betsy, although she looked upon such a marriage as very desirable, felt no personal sympathy for Otto, who was too formal and precise to please her; and she was polite and friendly towards him, but never betrayed the slightest sign that she thought him a desirable brother-in-law. [[135]]
At the van Erlevoorts’, too, some rather indiscreet questions had now and then been put; but Frédérique merely shrugged her shoulders. She knew of nothing; Eline had been engaged so often already—in the eyes of her acquaintances at least—why then should she not be engaged for once to Otto? she asked, so ironically that they could not guess at the truth. And still she was aware that mysterious interviews sometimes took place at home between Madame van Erlevoort, Mathilde, and Otto, a sort of family council that seemed never to come to a decision. She felt herself a little pushed aside, and she was too proud, now that they despised her advice, and did not seem to care for her opinion, to force herself upon them. Once even, when she had mamma, her sister, and brother together after dinner, and had noticed they had suddenly ceased speaking when she entered, while her hand was still on the handle of the door—they had looked at her with some embarrassment—she had disappeared, without saying a word, softly closing the door behind her, in silent grief and chagrin. With Otto, too, after their conversation about the fan, she sought no further confidence, for did he not look upon her as a mere child? Very well, she would not trouble him with her childishness. And only to Lili and Marie she gave herself vent about Eline, that vain coquette, without a spark of feeling in all her smiles and poses; but when Paul was present she was silent. He took her part, too, another victim to Eline’s coquetry, just the same as Etienne, who would not hear a word against her! What did all those boys see in her? She could not understand it; she thought Eline nothing but artificiality and affectation, an actress; in short, Eline was acting. And although Etienne’s pleading for Eline annoyed her, she felt herself, now that he was away at the Horze, lonely without him, in the midst of the bustle of the little van Ryssels and the barking of Hector, betwixt which Miss Frantzen made desperate efforts to restore peace and quietness.
It was Sunday, and Paul van Raat sat before his easel, upon which there lay a half-finished picture, representing some old Delft ware, an old Bible, an antique Rhine wine-glass, and a silver ewer, that of Vincent’s, which he had taken after all—the whole loosely arranged on a broad, crumpled Smyrna table-cover. But the work proceeded very slowly; the light was and remained faint, however he might raise or drop his curtains, and he regretted to find that his fingers could with much more ease arrange the objects [[136]]tastefully, than they could afterwards depict them on the canvas. It was all the fault of the weather! with such a rainy sky there could sparkle no light in the wine-glass, whilst it gave the silver ewer the appearance of tin. And he laid aside his brush, and with his hands in his pockets, and whistling to himself, walked up and down his studio, a little annoyed at his want of energy. He would so gladly have finished it, but he could not, exert himself though he might.
His room was one artistic chaos, even as his amateurish temperament was a chaos, out of which a creation rarely came forth. Above a carved oak cupboard hung a trophy of ancient weapons; the walls, up to the ceiling, were covered with china, paintings, engravings, and etchings, and female figures in marble and terra-cotta seemed to surround him, as with a harem of milk-white and amber-coloured beauties. Books were scattered about everywhere, out of untied portfolios peeped forth sketches and engravings; on the ground, round about the easel, lay a medley of brushes, pencils, and tubes. A large ash-tray was full of ashes, and everywhere there was dust and rubbish. Leentje, the parlour-maid, was seldom permitted to enter this room.
And whilst in his disappointment he walked up and down, it seemed to him as though it would be a relief to clear away all this artistic rubbish, throw his easel in the lumber-room, and never more think of a brush. It seemed to him that when once his room were cleared of art, he himself would have no further longing for art, and therefore suffer no more disappointments. It was only a waste of time; he could find better amusement than that eternal dabbling. And he thought how he would re-arrange his room, simple and comfortable, so that one could move about without throwing down a statue here, or stumbling over an Eastern rug there. Still, the thought was tinged with sadness; it was all illusion, long since shattered and cast down from its pedestal, the last remnants of which he was now about to clear away.
All at once he heard Eline’s laughing voice in the hall, and he went down-stairs into the back sitting-room, and kissed his mother; she had come with Ben. Betsy invited Madame van Raat to come round that evening; there would be no one there besides Madame Eekhof and her two daughters, Ange and Léonie, Frédérique and her two brothers, and Vincent.