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LOUIS
COUPERUS
ECSTASY:
A STUDY OF HAPPINESS
THE BOOKS OF THE
.
SMALL SOULS
By
LOUIS COUPERUS
Translated by
ALEXANDER TEIXEIRA de MATTOS
I.
SMALL SOULS.
II.
THE LATER LIFE.
III.
THE TWILIGHT OF THE SOULS.
IV.
E?R. ADRIAAN.
ECSTASY:
A STUDY OF HAPPINESS
A NOVEL
BY
LOUIS COUPERUS
Author of "Small Souls," "Old People
and the Things that Pass," etc.
TRANSLATED BY
ALEXANDER TEIXEIRA DE MATTOS
NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
1919
Copyright, 1919
By DODD. mead and COMPANY, Inc.
VAIL-BALLOU COMPANY
SINOMAMTON AND NCW rOMR
TRANSLATOR'S NOTE
This delicate story is Louis Couperus'
third novel. It appeared in the original
Dutch some twenty-seven years ago and
has not hitherto been published in Amer-
ica. At the time when it was written, the
author was a leading member of what was
then known as the ''sensitivist" school of
Dutch novelists; and the reader will not
be slow in discovering that the story pos-
sesses an elusive charm of its own, a
charm marking a different tendency from
that of the later books.
Alexander Teixeira de Mattos
Chelsea, 2 June, 1919
Digitized by the Internet Archive
in 2007 with funding from
IVIicrosoft Corporation
http://www.archive.org/details/ecstasystudyofhaOOcoupuoft
ECSTASY:
A STUDY OF HAPPINESS
ECSTASY:
A STUDY OF HAPPINESS
CHAPTER I
DOLE VAN ATTEMA, in the
course of an after-dinner stroll,
had called on his wife's sister,
Cecile van Even, on the Scheveningen
Road. He was waiting in her little
boudoir, pacing up and down, among the
rosewood chairs and the vieux rose moire
ottomans, over and over again, with three
or four long steps, measuring the width of
the tiny room. On an onyx pedestal, at
the head of a sofa, burned an onyx lamp,
glowing sweetly within its lace shade, a
great six-petalled flower of light.
Mevrouw was still with the children,
2 ECSTASY
putting them to bed, the maid had told
him; so he would not be able to see his
godson, little Dolf, that evening. He
was sorry. He would have liked to go up-
stairs and romp with Dolf where he lay in
his little bed; but he remembered Cecile's
request and his promise on an earlier oc-
casion, when a romp of this sort with
his uncle had kept the boy awake for
hours. So Dolf van Attema waited, smil-
ing at his own obedience, measuring the
little boudoir with his steps, the steps of a
firmly-built man, short, broad and thick-
set, no longer in his first youth, showing
symptoms of baldness under his short
brown hair, with small blue-grey eyes,
kindly and pleasant of glance, and a
mouth which was firm and determined, in
spite of the smile, in the midst of the
ruddy growth of his crisp Teutonic beard.
A log smouldered on the little hearth of
nickel and gilt; and two little flames flick-
ECSTASY 3
ered discreetly : a fire of peaceful intimacy
in that twilight atmosphere of lace-
shielded lamplight. Intimacy and dis-
creetness shed over the whole little room
an aroma as of violets ; a suggestion of the
scent of violets nestled, too, in the soft
tints of the draperies and furniture — rose-
wood and rose moire — and hung about the
corners of the little rosewood writing-
table, with its silver appointments and its
photographs under smooth glass frames.
Above the writing-table hung a small
white Venetian mirror. The gentle air of
modest refinement, the subdued and al-
most prudish tenderness which floated
about the little hearth, the writing-table
and the sofa, gliding between the quiet
folds of the faded hangings, had some-
thing soothing, something to quiet the
nerves, so that Dolf presently ceased his
work of measurement, sat down, looked
around him and finally remained staring
4 ECSTASY
at the portrait of Cecile's husband, the
minister of State, dead eighteen months
back.
After that he had not long to wait before
Cecile came in. She advanced towards
him smiling, as he rose fron his seat,
pressed his hand, excused herself that the
children had detained her. She always
put them to sleep herself, her two boys,
Dolf and Christie, and then they said
their prayers, one beside the other in their
little beds. The scene came back to Dolf
as she spoke of the children ; he had often
seen it.
Christie was not well, she said; he was
so listless ; she hoped it might not turn out
to be measles.
There was motherliness in her voice, but
she did not seem a mother as she reclined,
girlishly slight, on the sofa, with behind
ECSTASY 5
her the soft glow of the lace flower of
light on its stem of onyx. She was still in
the black of her mourning. Here and
there the light at her back touched her
flaxen hair with a frail golden halo; the
loose crape tea-gown accentuated the
maidenly slimness of her figure, with the
gently curving lines of her, long neck and
somewhat narrow shoulders; her arms
hung with a certain weariness as her hands
lay in her lap; gently curving, too, were
the lines of her girlish youth of bust and
slender waist, slender as a vase is slender,
so that she seemed a still expectant flower
of maidenhood, scarcely more than adoles-
cent, not nearly old enough to be the
mother of her children, her two boys of
six and seven.
Her features were lost in the shadow —
the lamplight touching her hair with gold
— and Dolf could not at first see into her
eyes; but presently, as he grew accustomed
6 ECSTASY
to the shade, these shone softly out from
the dusk of her features. She spoke in
her low-toned voice, a little faint and
soft, like a subdued whisper; she spoke
again of Christie, of his god-child Dolf
and then asked for news of Amelie, her
sister.
*'We are all well, thank you," he re-
plied. ''You may well ask how we are:
we hardly ever see you."
*1 go out so little," she said, as an ex-
cuse.
''That is just where you make a mistake :
you do not get half enough air, not half
enough society. Amelie was saying so
only at dinner to-day; and that's why I've
looked in to ask you to come round to us
to-morrow evening."
"Is it a party?'
"No; nobody."
"Very well, I will come. I shall be
very pleased."
ECSTASY 7
"Yes, but why do you never come of
your own accord?"
'1 can't summon up the energy."
'Then how do you spend your even-
ings?"
'1 read, I write, or I do nothing at all.
The last is really the most delightful: I
only feel myself alive when I am doing
nothing^
He shook his head :
''You're a funny girl. You really
don't deserve that we should like you as
much as we do."
"How?" she asked, archly.
"Of course, it makes no difference to you.
You can get on just as well without us."
"You mustn't say that; it's not true.
Your affection means a great deal to me,
but it takes so much to induce me to go
out. When I am once in my chair, I sit
thinking, or not thinking; and then I find
it difficult to stir."
8 ECSTASY
''What a horribly lazy mode of life!"
''Well, there it is! . . . You like me so
much: can't you forgive me my laziness?
Especially when I have promised you to
come round to-morrow."
He was captivated :
"Very well," he said, laughing. "Of
course you are free to live as you choose.
We like you just the same, in spite of
your neglect of us."
She laughed, reproached him with using
ugly words and rose slowly to pour him
out a cup of tea. He felt a caressing soft-
ness creep over him, as if he would have
liked to stay there a long time, talking
and sipping tea in that violet-scented at-
mosphere of subdued refinement: he, the
man of action, the politician, member of
the Second Chamber, every hour of whose
day was filled up with committees here and
committees there.
"You were saying that you read and
ECSTASY 9
wrote a good deal: what do you write?"
he asked.
"Letters."
"Nothing but letters T
"I love writing letters. I write to my
brother and sister in India."
"But that is not the only thing?"
"Oh, no!"
"What else do you write then?"
"You're growing a bit indiscreet, you
know."
"Nonsense!" he laughed back, as if he
were quite within his right. "What is it?
Literature?"
"Of course not! My diary."
He laughed loudly and gaily:
"You keep a diary ! What do you want
with a diary? Your days are all exactly
alike!"
"Indeed they are not."
He shrugged his shoulders, quite non-
plussed. She had always been a riddle to
10 ECSTASY
him. She knew this and loved to mystify
him:
''Sometimes my days are very nice and
sometimes very horrid."
''Really?" he said, smiling, looking at
her out of his kind little eyes.
But still he did not understand.
"And so sometimes I have a great deal to
write in my diary," she continued.
"Let me see some of it."
"By all means . . . after I'm dead."
A mock shiver ran through his broad
shoulders :
"Brr! How gloomy!"
"Dead! What is there gloomy about
that?" she asked, almost merrily.
But he rose to go :
"You frighten me," he said, jestingly.
"I must be going home; I have a lot to
do still. So we see you to-morrow?"
"Thanks, yes : to-morrow."
He took her hand; and she struck a little
ECSTASY 11
silver gong, for him to be let out. He
stood looking at her a moment longer, with
a smile in his beard :
''Yes, you're a funny girl, and yet . . .
and yet we all like you !" he repeated, as if
he wished to excuse himself in his own
eyes for this affection.
And he stooped and kissed her on the
forehead : he was so much older than she.
'1 am very glad that you all like me,"
she said. 'Till to-morrow, then. Good-
bye."
3
He went; and she was alone. The
words of their conversation seemed still to
be floating in the silence, like vanishing
atoms. Then the silence became com-
plete; and Cecile sat motionless, leaning
back in the three little cushions of the sofa,
black in her crape against the light of the
lamp, her eyes gazing out before her. All
12 ECSTASY
around her a vague dream descended as of
little clouds, in which faces shone for an
instant, from which low voices issued with-
out logical sequence of words, an aim-
less confusion of recollection. It was the
dreaming of one on whose brain lay no
obsession either of happiness or of grief,
the dreaming of a mind filled with peace-
ful light: a wide, still, grey Nirvana, in
which all the trouble of thinking flows
away and the thoughts merely wander
back over former impressions, taking them
here and there, without selecting. For
Cecile's future appeared to her as a
monotonous sweetness of unruffled peace,
in which Dolf and Christie grew up into
jolly boys, young undergraduates, men,
while she herself remained nothing but
the mother, for in the unconsciousness of
her spiritual life she did not know herself
entirely. She did not know that she was
more wife than mother, however fond she
ECSTASY 13
might be of her children. Swathed in the
clouds of her dreaming, she did not feel
that there was something missing, by rea-
son of her widowhood; she did not feel
loneliness, nor a need of some one beside
her, nor regret that yielding air alone
flowed about her, in which her arms might
shape themselves and grope in vain for
something to embrace. The capacity for
these needs was there, but so deep hidden
in her soul's unconsciousness that she did
not know of its existence nor suspect that
one day it might assert itself and rise up
slowly, up and up, an apparition of more
evident melancholy. For such melancholy
as was in her dreaming seemed to her to
belong to the past, to the memory of the
dear husband whom she had lost, and
never, never, to the present, to an un-
realized sense of her loneliness.
Whoever had told her now that some-
thing was wanting in her life would have
14 ECSTASY
roused her indignation; she herself ima-
gined that she had everything that she
wanted; and she valued highly the calm
happiness of the innocent egoism in which
she and her children breathed, a happi-
ness which she thought complete. When
she dreamed, as now, about nothing in par-
ticular—little dream-clouds fleeing across
the field of her imagination, with other
cloudlets in their wake — sometimes great
tears would well into her eyes and trickle
slowly down her cheek; but to her these
were only tears of an unspeakably vague
melancholy, a light load upon her heart,
barely oppressive and there for some rea-
son which she did not know, for she had
ceased to mourn the loss of her husband.
In this manner she could pass whole
evenings, simply sitting dreaming, never
wearying of herself, nor reflecting how the
people outside hurried and tired them-
selves, aimlessly, without being happy.
ECSTASY 15
whereas she was happy, happy in the
cloudland of her dreams.
The hours sped and her hand was too
slack to reach for the book upon the table
beside her; slackness at last permeated
her so thoroughly that one o'clock arrived
and she could not yet decide to get up and
go to her bed.
CHAPTER II
NEXT evening, when Cecile en-
tered the Van Attemas' draw-
ing-room, slowly with languor-
ous steps, in the sinuous black of her crape,
Dolf at once came to her and took her
hand :
'1 hope you won't be annoyed.
Quaerts called; and Dina had told the
servants that we were at home, I'm
sorry . . ."
'It doesn't matter!" she whispered.
Nevertheless, she was a little irritated,
in her sensitiveness, at unexpectedly meet-
ing this stranger, whom she did not re-
member ever to have seen at Dolf's and
who now rose from where he had been
sitting with Dolf's great-aunt, old Mrs.
Hoze, Amelie and the two daughters,
i6
ECSTASY 17
Anna and Suzette. Cecile kissed the old
lady and greeted the rest of the circle in
turn, welcomed with a smile by all of
them. Dolf introduced:
"My friend Taco Quaerts. . . . Mrs.
van Even, my sister-in-law."
They sat a little scattered round the
great fire on the open hearth, the piano
close to them in the corner, its draped back
turned to them, and Jules, the youngest
boy, sitting behind it, playing a romance
by Rubinstein and so absorbed that he had
not heard his aunt come in.
'^Jules! . . ." Dolf called out.
''Leave him alone," said Cecile.
The boy did not reply and went on
playing. Cecile, across the piano, saw his
tangled hair and his eyes abstracted in
the music. A feebleness of melancholy
slowly rose within her, like a burden, like
a burden that climbed up her breast and
stifled her breathing. From time to time,
i8 ECSTASY
forte notes falling suddenly from Jules'
fingers gave her little shocks in her throat;
and a strange feeling of uncertainty
seemed winding her about as with vague
meshes: a feeling not new to her, one in
which she seemed no longer to possess
herself, to be lost and wandering in search
of herself, in which she did not know what
she was thinking, nor what at this very
moment she might say. Something
melted in her brain, like a momentary
weakness. Her head sank a little; and,
without hearing distinctly, it seemed to
her that once before she had heard this
romance played so, exactly so, as Jules was
now playing it, very, very long ago, in
some former existence ages agone, in just
the same circumstances, in this very circle
of people, before this very fire. . . . The
tongues of flame shot up with the same
flickerings as from the logs of ages back;
and Suzette blinked with the same ex-
ECSTASY 19
pression which she had worn then on that
former occasion. . . .
Why was it that Cecile should be sitting
here again now, in the midst of them all?
Why was it necessary, to sit like this round
a fire, listening to music*? How strange
it was and what strange things there were
in this world! . . . Still, it was pleasant
to be in this cosy company, so agreeably
quiet, without many words, the music be-
hind the piano dying away plaintively,
until it suddenly stopped.
Mrs. Hoze's voice had a ring of sympa-
thy as she murmured in Cecile's ear :
"So we are getting you back, dear?
You are coming out of your shell again?"
Cecile pressed her hand, with a little
laugh :
"But I never hid myself from you! I
have always been in to you!"
"Yes, but we had to come to you. You
always stayed at home, didn't you?"
20 ECSTASY
"You're not angry with me, are you?''
*'No, darling, of course not; you have
had such a great sorrow."
"Oh, I have still: I seem to have lost
everything!"
How was it that she suddenly realized
this? She never had that sense of loss
in her own home, among the clouds of her
day-dreams,*but outside, among other peo-
ple, she immediately felt that she had
lost everything, everything. • . .
"But you have your children."
"Yes."
She answered faintly, wearily, with a
sense of loneliness, of terrible loneliness,
like one floating aimlessly in space, borne
upon thinnest air, in which her yearning
arms groped in vain.
Mrs. Hoze stood up. Dolf came to
take her into the other room, for whist.
"You too, Cecile?" he asked.
"No, you know I never touch a card!"
ECSTASY 21
He did not press her; there were
Quaerts and the girls to make up.
''What are you doing there, Jules?" he
asked, glancing across the piano.
The boy had remained sitting there,
forgotten. He now rose and appeared,
tall, grown out of his strength, with
strange eyes.
''What were you doing*?
"I ... I was looking for something
... a piece of music."
"Don't sit moping like that, my boy!"
growled Dolf, kindly, with his deep voice.
"What's become of those cards again,
Amelie?"
"I don't know," said his wife, looking
about vaguely. "Where are the cards,
Anna?"
"Aren't they in the box with the count-
ers?"
"No," Dolf grumbled. "Nothing is
evei where it ought to be,"
22 ECSTASY
Anna got up, looked, found the cards
in the drawer of a buhl cabinet. Amelie
also had risen, stood arranging the music
on the piano. She was for ever ordering
things in her rooms and immediately for-
getting where she had put them, tidying
with her fingers and perfectly absent in
her mind.
''Anna, come and draw a card too.
You can play in the next rubber," cried
Dolf , from the other room.
The two sisters remained alone, with
Jules.
The boy had sat down on a stool at Ce-
cile's feet :
"Mamma, do leave my music alone."
Amelie sat down beside Cecile :
"Is Christie better?"
"He is a little livelier to-day."
"I'm glad. Have you never met
Quaerts before?"
"No."
ECSTASY 23
"Really? He comes here so often."
Cecile looked through the open folding-
doors at the card-table. Two candles
stood upon it. Mrs. Hoze's pink face was
lit up clearly, with its smooth and stately
features; her hair gleamed silver-grey.
Quaerts sat opposite her: Cecile noticed
the round, vanishing silhouette of his
head, the hair cut very close, thick and
black above the glittering white streak of
his collar. His arms made little move-
ments as he threw down a card or gathered
up a trick. His person had something
about it of great power, something ener-
getic and robust, something of every-day
life, which Cecile disliked.
*'Are the girls fond of cards*?"
''Suzette is, Anna not so very : she's not
so brisk."
Cecile saw that Anna sat behind her
father, looking on with eyes which did not
understand.
24 ECSTASY
*'Do you take them out much now-
adays?" Cecile asked next.
"Yes, I have to. Suzette likes going
out, but not Anna. Suzette will be a
pretty girl, don't you think?"
''Suzette's an awful flirt!" said Jules.
"At our last dinner-party . . ."
He stopped suddenly:
"No, I won't tell you. It's not right
to tell tales, is it. Auntie?"
Cecile smiled:
"No, of course it's not."
"I want always to do what's right."
"That is very good."
"No, no!" he said deprecatingly.
"Everything seems to me so bad, do you
know. Why is everything so bad,
Auntie?"
"But there is much that is good too,
Jules."
He shook his head :
"No, no!" he repeated. "Everything
ECSTASY 25
is bad. Everything is very bad. Every-
thing is selfishness. Just mention some-
thing that's not selfish!"
'Tarents' love for their children."
But Jules shook his head again :
"Parents' love is ordinary selfishness.
Children are a part of their parents, who
only love themselves when they love their
children."
''Jules!" cried Amelie. ''Your re-
marks are always much too decided. You
know I don't like it: you are much too
young to talk like that. One would think
you knew everything!"
The boy was silent.
"And I always say that we never
know anything. We never know any-
thing, don't you agree, Cecile? I, at
least, never know anything, never.
...
She looked round the room absently.
Her fingers smoothed the fringe of her
26 ECSTASY
chair, tidying. Cecile put her arm softly
round Jules' neck.
It was Quaerts' turn to sit out from
the card-table; and, though Dolf pressed
him to go on playing, he rose :
"I want to go and talk to Mrs. van
Even," Cecile heard him say.
She saw him come towards the big draw-
ing-room, where she was still sitting with
Amelie — Jules still at her feet — engaged
in desultory talk, for Amelie could never
maintain a conversation, always wander-
ing and losing the threads. She did not
know why, but Cecile suddenly assumed a
most serious expression, as though she were
discussing very important matters with her
sister; and yet all that she said was:
"Jules ought really to take lessons in
harmony, when he composes so nicely.
ECSTASY 27
Quaerts had approached; he sat down
beside them, with a scarcely perceptible
shyness in his manner, a gentle hesitation
in the brusque force of his movements.
But Jules fired up :
"No, Auntie, I want to be taught as lit-
tle as possible ! I don't want to be learn-
ing names and principles and classifica-
tions. I couldn't do it. I only compose
like this, like this. . . ." And he suited
his phrase with a vague movement of his
fingers.
"Jules can hardly read, it's a shame!"
said Amelie.
"And he plays so nicely," said Cecile.
"Yes, Auntie, I remember things, I pick
them out on the piano. Oh, it's not really
clever: it just comes out of myself, you
know!"
"But that's so splendid!"
"No, no ! You have to know the names
and principles and classifications. You
28 ECSTASY
want that in everything. I shall never
learn technique; I'm no good."
He closed his eyes for a moment; a look
of sadness flitted across his restless face.
''You know a piano is so ... so big,
a great piece of furniture, isn't it? But a
violin, oh, how delightful! You hold
it to you like this, against your neck, al-
most against your heart; it is almost part
of you; and you stroke it, like this, you
could almost kiss it! You feel the soul
of the violin quivering inside its body.
And then you only have just a string or
two, two or three strings which sing every-
thing. Oh, a violin, a violin !"
*'Jules . . ." Amelie began.
''And, oh. Auntie, a harp ! A harp, like
this, between your legs, a harp which you
embrace with both your arms: a harp is
exactly like an angel, with long golden
hair. . . . Ah, I've never yet played on
a harp!"
ECSTASY 29
"Jules, leave off!" cried Amelie,
sharply. ''You drive me silly with that
nonsense ! I wonder you're not ashamed,
before Mr. Quaerts."
Jules looked up in surprise :
''Before Taco ? Do you think I've any-
thing to be ashamed of, Taco?"
"Of course not, my boy."
The sound of his voice was like a caress.
Cecile looked at him, astonished; she
would have expected him to make fun
of Jules. She did not understand him,
but she disliked him exceedingly, so
healthy and strong, with his energetic face
and his fine, expressive mouth, so different
from Amelie and Jules and herself.
"Of course not, my boy."
Jules glanced at his mother with a slight
look of disdain, as if to say that he knew
better :
"You see ! Taco's a good fellow."
He turned his footstool round towards
30 ECSTASY
Quaerts and laid his head against his knee.
"Jules!"
'Tray let him be, mevrouw."
*'Every one spoils that boy . . ."
'^Except yourself," said Jules.
'1! I!" cried Amelie, indignantly. "I
spoil you out and out ! I wish I knew how
not to give way to you! I wish I could
send you to Kampen or Deli ! ^ That
would make a man of you! But I can't
do it by myself; and your father spoils
you too. . . . Ican't think what's going to
become of you!"
"What is going to become of you,
Jules?" asked Quaerts.
"I don't know. I mustn't go to college,
I am too weak a doll to do much work."
"Would you like to go to Deli some
day?"
"Yes, with you. . . . Not alone ; oh, to
* Two military staff-colleges in Holland and Java re-
spectively.
ECSTASY 31
be alone, always alone! You will see:
I shall always be alone; and it is so terrible
to be alone!"
"But, Jules, you are not alone now!"
said Cecile, reproachfully.
''Oh, yes, yes, in myself I am alone, al-
ways alone . . ."
He pressed himself against Quaerts'
knee.
''Jules, don't talk so stupidly," cried
Amelie, nervously.
"Yes, yes!" cried Jules, with a sudden
half sob. "I will hold my tongue ! But
don't talk about me any more; oh, I beg
you, don't talk about me!"
He locked his hands and implored them,
with dread in his face. They all stared
at him, but he buried his face in Quaerts'
knees, as though deadly frightened of
something.
k. • • •
32 ECSTASY
3
Anna had played execrably, to Suzette's
despair : she could not even remember the
winning trumps !
Dolf called out to his wife :
''Amelie, do come in for a rubber; that
is, if Quaerts doesn't want to. You can't
give your daughter many points, but still
you're not quite so bad!"
'1 would rather stay and talk to Mrs.
van Even," said Quaerts.
*'Go and play without minding me, if
you prefer, Mr. Quaerts," said Cecile, in
the cold voice which she adopted towards
people whom she disliked.
Amelie dragged herself away with an
unhappy face. She did not play a bril-
liant game either; and Suzette always lost
her temper when she made mistakes.
'1 have so long been hoping to make
your acquaintance, mevrouw, that I should
ECSTASY 33
not like to miss this opportunity," Quaerts
replied.
She looked at him : it troubled her that
she could not understand him. She knew
him to be something of a Lothario. There
were stories in which the name of a married
woman was coupled with his. Did he
wish to try his blandishments on her?
She had no particular hankering for this
sort of pastime; she had never cared for
flirtations.
*'Why *?" she asked, calmly, immediately
regretting the word; for her question
sounded like coquetry and she intended
anything but that.
"Why?' he echoed.
He looked at her in slight surprise as
he sat near her, with Jules on the ground
between them, against his knee, his eyes
closed.
''Because . . . because," he stammered,
"because you are my friend's sister, I
34 ECSTASY
suppose, and I had never met you
here. . . ."
She made no answer: in her seclusion
she had forgotten how to talk and she did
not take the least trouble about it.
'1 used often to see you at the theatre,"
said Quaerts, "when Mr. van Even was
still alive."
''At the opera," she said,
"Yes."
"Really? I didn't know you then."
"No."
"I have not been out in the evenmg for
a long time, because of my mourning."
"And I always choose the evening to
come to Dolf's."
"So that explains why we have never
met."
They were silent for a moment. It
seemed to him that she spoke very coldly.
"I should love to go to the opera!" mur-
mured Jules, without opening his eyes.
ECSTASY 35
"Or no, after all, I think I would rather
not."
''Dolf told me that you read a great
deal," Quaerts continued. ''Do you keep
in touch with modern literature?"
"A little. I don't read so very much."
"No?"
"Oh, no! I have two children; that
leaves me very little time for reading.
Besides, it has no particular fascination for
me : life is much more romantic than any
novel."
"So you are a philosopher?"
"I? Oh, no, I assure you, Mr. Quaerts !
I am the most commonplace woman in the
world."
She spoke with her wicked little laugh
and her cold voice : the voice and the laugh
which she employed when she feared lest
she should be wounded in her secret sen-
sitiveness and when therefore she hid deep
within herself, offering to the outside
36 ECSTASY
world something very different from what
she really was. Jules had opened his
eyes and sat looking at her; and his steady
glance troubled her.
''You live in a charming house, on the
Scheveningen Road."
''Yes."
She realized suddenly that her cold-
ness amounted to rudeness; and she did
not wish this, even though she did dislike
him. She threw herself back negligently;
she asked at random, quite without con-
cern, merely for the sake of conversation :
"Have you many relations in The
Hague?"
"No; my father and mother live at Velp
and the rest of my family at Arnhem
chiefly. I never fix myself anywhere; I
can't stay long in one place. I have spent
a good many years in Brussels."
"You have no occupation, I believe?"
ECSTASY 37
"No. As a boy, my one desire was to
enter the navy, but I was rejected on ac-
count of my eyes."
Involuntarily she looked into his eyes:
small, deep-set eyes, the colour of which
she could not determine. She thought
they looked sly and cunning.
"I have always regretted it," he con-
tinued. "I am a man of action. I am
always longing for action. I console my-
self as best I can with sport."
''Sport?" she repeated, coldly.
"Yes."
"Oh!"
"Quaerts is a Nimrod and a Centaur
and a Hercules rolled into one, aren't you,
Quaerts?" said Jules.
"Ah, so you're 'naming' me!" said
Quaerts, with a laugh. "Where do you
really 'class' me?"
"Among the very few people that I
38 ECSTASY
really like!" the boy answered, ardently
and without hesitation. 'Taco, when
are you going to teach me to ride?"
''Whenever you like, my son."
"Yes, but you must fix the day for us
to go to the riding-school. I won't fix a
day; I hate fixing days."
''Well, shall we say to-morrow? To-
morrow will be Wednesday."
"Very well."
Cecile noticed that Jules was still star-
ing at her. She looked at him back.
How was it possible that the boy could
like this man ! How was it possible that
it irritated her and not him, all that
health, that strength, that power of muscle
and rage of sport! She could make no-
thing of it; she understood neither Quaerts
nor Jules; and she herself drifted away
again into that mood of half-conscious-
ness, in which she did not know what she
thought nor what at that very moment she
ECSTASY 39
might say, in which she seemed to be lost
and wandering in search of herself.
She rose, tall, slender and frail in her
crape, like a queen who mourns, with little
touches of gold in her flaxen hair, where a
small jet aigrette glittered like a black
mirror.
'I'm going to see who's winning," she
said and moved to the card-table in the
other room.
She stood behind Mrs. Hoze, appeared
to be interested in the game; but across
the light of the candles she peered at
Quaerts and Jules. She saw them talk-
ing together, softly, confidentially, Jules
with his arm on Quaerts' knee. She saw
Jules looking up, as if in adoration, into
the face of this man; and then the boy
suddenly threw his arms around his friend
in a wild embrace, while the other pushed
him away with a patient gesture.
CHAPTER III
NEXT evening, Cecile revelled
even more than usual in the
luxury of being able to stay at
home.
It was after dinner; she was sitting on
the sofa in her little boudoir with Dolf
and Christie, an arm thrown round each
of them, sitting between them, so young,
like an elder sister. In her low voice she
was telling them :
"Judah came near to him, and said, O
my Lord, let me abide a bondman instead
of the lad. For our father, who is such
an old man, said to us, when we left with
Benjamin, My son Joseph I have already
lost; surely he is torn in pieces by the wild
beasts. And if ye take this also from me
and mischief befall him, ye shall bring
40
ECSTASY 41
down my grey hairs with sorrow to the
grave. Then (Judah said) I said to our
father that I would be surety for the lad
and that I should bear the blame if I did
not bring Benjamin home again. And
therefore I pray thee, O my lord, let me
abide a bondman, and let the lad go up
with his brethren. For how shall I go up
to my father if the lad be not with me?
• • •
"And Joseph, mamma, what did Joseph
say*?" asked Christie.
He had nestled closely against his
mother, this poor little slender fellow of
six, with his fine golden hair and his eyes
of pale forget-me-not blue ; and his little
fingers hooked themselves nervously into
Cecile's gown, rumpling the crape.
*Then Joseph could not refrain him-
self before all them that stood by him
and he caused every man to leave him.
And Joseph made himself known unto his
42 ECSTASY
brethren. And he wept aloud and said,
I am Joseph."
But Cecile could not continue the story,
for Christie had thrown himself on her
neck in a frenzy of despair and she heard
him sobbing against her.
"Christie! Darling!"
She was greatly distressed; she had
grown interested in her own recital and
had not noticed Christie's excitement; and
now he was sobbing against her in such
violent grief that she could find no word
to quiet him, to comfort him, to tell him
that it ended happily.
''But, Christie, don't cry, don't cry! It
ends happily."
"And Benjamin, what about Ben-
jamin T'
"Benjamin returned to his father; and
Jacob went down into Egypt to live with
Joseph."
The child raised his wet face from her
ECSTASY 43
shoulder and looked at her deliberately:
''Was it really like that? Or are you
only making it up?"
''No, really, darling. Don't, don't cry
anymore. . . ."
Christie grew calmer, but he was evi-
dently disappointed. He was not satis-
fied with the end of the story; and yet it
was very pretty like that, much prettier
than if Joseph had been angry and put
Benjamin in prison.
"What a baby, Christie, to go crying
like that!" said Dolf. "Why, it's only a
story."
Cecile did not reply that the story had
really happened, because it was in the
Bible. She had suddenly become very
sad, in doubt of herself. She fondly dried
the child's sad eyes with her pocket-
handkerchief :
"And now, children, bed! It's late!"
she said, faintly.
44 ECSTASY
She put them to bed, a ceremony which
lasted a long time; a ceremony with an
elaborate ritual of undressing, washing,
saying of prayers, tucking in and kissing.
When, an hour later, she was sitting
downstairs again alone, she realized for
the first time how sad she felt.
Ah, no, she did not know ! Amelie was
quite right: one never knew anything,
never! She had been so happy that day;
she had found herself again, deep in the
recesses of her secret self, in the essence
of her soul ; all day she had seen her dreams
hovering about her as an apotheosis; all
day she had felt within her that consuming
love of her children. She had told them
stories out of the Bible after dinner; and
suddenly, when Christie began to cry, a
doubt had arisen within her. Was she
really good to her little boys? Did she
ECSTASY 45
not, in her love, in the tenderness of her
affection for them, spoil and weaken
them? Would she not end by utterly un-
fitting them for practical life, with which
she did not come into contact, but in which
the children, when they grew up, would
have to move? It flashed through her
mind : parting, boarding-schools, her child-
ren estranged from her, coming home
big, rough boys, smoking and swearing,
with cynicism on their lips and in their
hearts: lips which would no longer kiss
her, hearts in which she would no longer
have a place. She pictured them already
with the swagger of their seventeen or
eighteen years, tramping across her rooms
in their cadet's and midshipman's uni-
forms, with broad shoulders and a hard
laugh, flicking the ash from their cigars
upon the carpet. . . . Why did Quaerts'
image suddenly rise up in the midst of
this cruelty? Was it chance or a logical
46 ECSTASY
consequence? She could not analyse it;
she could not explain the presence of this
man, rising up through her grief in his
atmosphere of antipathy. But she felt
sad, sad, sad, as she had not felt sad since
Van Even's death; not vaguely melan-
choly, as she so often felt, but sad, un-
doubtedly sorrowful at the thought of
what must come. . . . Oh ! to have to part
with her children ! And then, to be alone.
. . . Loneliness, everlasting loneliness!
Loneliness within herself: that feeling of
which Jules had such a dread! With-
drawn from the world which had no charm
for her, sinking away alone into empti-
ness ! She was thirty, she was old, an old
woman. Her house would be empty, her
heart empty! Dreams, clouds of dream-
ing, which fly away, which lift like smoke,
revealing only emptiness. Emptiness,
emptiness, emptiness! The word each
time fell hollowly, with hammer strokes,
ECSTASY 47
upon her breast. Emptiness, empti-
ness I
"Why am I like this?" she asked her-
self. ''What ails me? What has al-
tered?"
Never had she felt that word emptiness
throb within her in this way: that very
afternoon she had been gently happy, as
usual. And now! She saw nothing be-
fore her: no future, no life, nothing but
one great darkness. Estranged from her
childen, alone within herself. . . .
She rose with a little moan of pain and
walked across the boudoir. The discreet
twilight troubled her, oppressed her.
She turned the key of the lace-covered
lamp : a golden gleam crept over the rose
folds of the silk curtains like glistening
water. A strange coolness wafted away
something of that scent of violets which
hung about everything. A fire burned on
the hearth, but she felt cold.
48 ECSTASY
She stopped beside the low table; she
took up a visiting-card, with one corner
turned down, and read:
"T. H. Quaerts."
There was a five-balled coronet above
the name.
"Quaerts!"
How short it sounded! A name like
the smack of a hard hand. There was
something bad, something cruel in the
name :
"Quaerts, Quaerts! . . ."
She threw down the bit of pasteboard,
was angry with herself. She felt cold and
not herself, just as she had felt at the
Van Attemas' last evening:
"I will not go out again. Never again,
never!" she said, almost aloud. '1 am
so contented in my own house, so con-
tented with my life, so beautifully happy.
. . . That card ! Why should he leave a
ECSTASY 49
card? What do I want with his
card? . . ."
She sat down at her writing-table and
opened her blotting-book. She thought
of finishing a half- written letter to India;
but she was in quite a different mood from
when she had begun it. So she took from
a drawer a thick manuscript-book, her
diary. She wrote the date, then reflected
a moment, tapping her teeth nervously
with the silver penholder. . . .
But then, with a little ill-tempered
gesture, she threw down the pen, pushed
the book aside and, letting her head fall
into her hands on the blotting-book,
sobbed aloud.
CHAPTER IV
CECILE was astonished at her un-
usually long fit of abstraction,'
that it should continue for days
before she returned to her usual condi-
tion of serenity, the delightful abode from
which she had involuntarily wandered.
But she compelled herself, with gentle
compulsion, to recover the treasures of her
loneliness; and she ended by recovering
them. She argued with herself that it
would be some years before she would have
to part from Dolf and Christie : there was
time enough to grow accustomed to the
idea of separation. Besides, nothing had
altered either about her or within her; and
so she let the days glide slowly over her,
like gently flowing water.
so
ECSTASY 51
In this way, gently flowing by, a fort-
night had elapsed since the evening which
she spent at Dolf s. It was a Saturday
afternoon ; she had been working with the
children — she still taught them herself —
and she had walked out with them; and
now she was sitting in her favourite room
waiting for the Van Attemas, who came to
tea every Saturday at half-past four.
She rang for the servant, who lighted the
blue flame of methylated spirit. Dolf
and Christie were with her; they sat upon
the floor on footstools, cutting the pages
of a children's magazine to which Cecile
subscribed for them. They were sitting
quietly, looking very good and well-bred,
like children who grow up in soft sur-
roundings, in the midst of too much refine-
ment, too pale, with hair too long and too
fair, Christie especially, whose little tem-
ples were veined as if with azure blood.
Cecile stepped by them as she went to
52 ECSTASY
glance over the tea-table; and the look
which she cast upon them wrapped the
children in a warm embrace of devotion.
She was in her calmly happy mood : it was
so pleasant to think that she would soon
see the Van Attemas come in. She liked
these hours of the afternoon, when her
silver tea-kettle hissed over the blue flame.
An exquisite intimacy filled the room; she
had in her long, shapely feminine fingers
that special power of witchery, that gentle
art of handling by which everything over
which they merely glided acquired a look
of herself, an indefinable something, of
tint, of position, of light, which the things
had not until the touch of those fingers
came across them.
There was a ring. She thought it
rather early for the Van Attemas, but she
rarely saw any one else in her seclusion
from the outer world; therefore it must be
they. In a second or two, however, Greta
ECSTASY , 53
entered, with a card: was mevrouw at
home and could the gentleman see her?
Cecile recognized the card from a dis-
tance: she had seen one like it lately.
Nevertheless she took it up, glanced at it
discontentedly, with drawn eyebrows.
What an idea, she reflected. Why did
he do it ? What did it mean ?
But she thought it unnecessary to be im-
polite and refuse to see him. After all,
he was a friend of Dolf s. But such per-
sistence . . •
''Show meneer in," she said, calmly.
Greta went; and it seemed to Cecile as
though something trembled in the in-
timacy which filled the room, as if the
objects over which her fingers had just
passed took on another aspect, a look of
shuddering. But Dolf and Christie had
not changed; they were still sitting look-
ing at the pictures, with occasional re-
marks falling softly from their lips.
54 ECSTASY
The door opened and Quaerts entered
the room. As he bowed to Cecile, he had
his air of shyness in still greater measure
than before. To her this air was incom-
prehensible in him, who seemed so strong,
so determined.
'1 hope you will not think me indiscreet,
mevrouw, in taking the liberty to come
and call on you."
''On the contrary, Mr. Quaerts," she
said, coldly. "Pray sit down."
He took a chair and placed his tall hat
on the floor beside him :
'1 am not disturbing you, mevrouw?"
''Not in the least; I am expecting Mrs.
van Attema and her daughters. You
were so kind as to leave a card on me;
but, as I dare say you know, I see no-
body."
"I knew that, mevrouw. Perhaps it is
ECSTASY S5
to that very reason that you owe the* in-
discretion of my visit."
She looked at him coldly, politely, smi-
lingly. There was a feeling of irritation
in her. She felt inclined to ask him
bluntly what he wanted with her.
''How so?" she asked, with her man-
nerly smile, which converted her face into
a mask.
"I was afraid that I might not see you
for a very long time; and I should con-
sider it a great privilege to be allowed to
know you better."
His tone was in the highest degree re-
spectful. She raised her eyebrows, as if
she did not understand; but the accent of
his voice was so very courteous that she
could not even find a cold word with which
to answer him.
"Are these your two children"?" he
asked, with a glance towards Dolf and
Christie.
56 ECSTASY
''Yes," she replied. "Get up, boys, and
shake hands with meneer."
The children approached timidly and
put out their little hands. He smiled,
looked at them penetratingly with his
small, deep-set eyes and drew them to him :
''Am I mistaken, or is the little one very
like you?'
"They both resemble their father," she
replied.
It seemed to her she had set a protecting
shield around herself, from which the
children were excluded, within which she
found it impossible to draw them. It
troubled her that he was holding them so
tight, that he looked at them as he did.
But he released them; and they went
back to their little stools, gentle, quiet,
well-behaved.
"Yet they both have something of you,"
he insisted.
"Possibly," she said.
ECSTASY 57
"Mevrouw," he resumed, as if he had
something important to say to her, '1 wish
to ask you a direct question : tell me hon-
estly, quite honestly, do you think me in-
discreet'?"
'Tor calling to see me? No, I assure
you, Mr. Quaerts. It is very kind of you.
Only ... if I may be candid . . ."
She gave a little laugh.
"Of course," he said.
"Then I will confess that I fear you will
find little in my house to amuse you. I
never see people . . ."
"Ihave not called on you for the sake
of the people I might meet at your house."
She bowed, smiling, as if he had paid
her a compl iment :
"Of course I am very pleased to see
you. You are a great friend of Dolf 's, are
you not?"
She tried each time to say something
different from what she actually did say,
58 ECSTASY
to speak more coldly, more aggressively;
but she had too much breeding and could
not bring herself to do it.
''Yes," he replied, ''Dolf and I have
known each other ever so long. We have
always been great friends, though we are
quite unlike."
"I'm very fond of him; he's always very
kind to us."
She saw him look at the low table and
smile. A few reviews were scattered on
it, a book or two. On the top of these lay
a little volume of Emerson's essays, with
a paper-cutter marking the page.
"You told me you were not a great
reader!" he said, mischievously. "I
should think . . ."
And he pointed to the books.
"Oh," said she, carelessly, with a slight
shrug of her shoulders, "a little . . ."
She thought him very tiresome: why
should he remark that she had hidden her-
ECSTASY 59
self from him? Why, indeed, had she
hidden herself from him?
**EmersonI" he read, bending forward
a little. 'Torgive me," he added quickly.
*1 have no right to spy upon your pur-
suits. But the print is so large; I read it
from here."
''You are far-sighted?" she asked,
laughing.
"Yes."
His courtesy, a certain respectfulness, as
if he would not venture to touch the tips
of her fingers, placed her more at her ease.
She still disliked him, but there was no
harm in his knowing what she read.
"Are you fond of reading?" asked Ce-
cile.
"I do not read much: it is too great a
delight for that; nor do I read every-
thing that appears. I am too hard to
please."
"Do you know Emerson?''
6o ECSTASY
"No. . . ."
"I like his essays very much. They are
written with such a wide outlook. They
place one on such a deliciously exalted
level. . . ."
She suited her phrase with an expansive
gesture; and her eyes lighted up.
Then she observed that he was follow-
ing her attentively, with his respectful-
ness. And she recovered herself; she no
longer wanted to talk to him about Emer-
son.
It is very fine indeed," was all she said,
to close the conversation, in the most com-
monplace voice that she was able to as-
sume. ''May I give you some tea?"
''No, thank you, mevrouw; I never take
tea at this time."
"Do you look upon it with so much
scorn T' she asked, jestingly.
He was about to answer, when there
was a ring at the bell ; and she cried :
ECSTASY 61
"Ah, here they are!"
Amelie entered, with Suzette and Anna.
They were a little surprised to see Quaerts.
He said he had wanted to call on Mrs. van
Even. The conversation became general.
Suzette was very merry, full of a fancy-
fair, at which she was going to assist, in a
Spanish costume.
"And you, Anna?"
"Oh, no, Auntie!" said Anna, shrink-
ing together with fright. "Imagine me at
a fancy- fair I I should never sell any-
body anything."
"Ah, it's a gift!" said Amelie, with a
far-away look.
Quaerts rose: he was bowing with a
single word to Cecile, when the door
opened. Jules came in, with some books
under his arm, on his way home from
school.
"How do you do. Auntie? Hallo,
Taco, are you going just as I arrive?"
62 ECSTASY
'*You drive me away," said Quaerts,
laughing.
''Oh, Taco, do stay a little longer!"
begged Jules, enraptured to see him and
lamenting that he had chosen just this
moment to leave.
''Jules, Jules!" cried Amelie, thinking
it was the proper thing to do.
Jules pressed Quaerts, took his two
hands, forced him, like a spoilt child.
Quaerts only laughed. Jules in his ex-
citement knocked a book or two off the
table.
"Jules, be quiet, do!" cried Amelie.
Quaerts picked up the books, while
Jules persisted in his bad behaviour. As
Quaerts replaced the last book, he hesi-
tated a moment; he held it in his hand,
looked at the gold lettering: "Emer-
son."
Cecile watched him:
ECSTASY 63
'If he thinks I'm going to lend it him,
he's mistaken," she thought.
But Quaerts asked nothing: he had re-
leased himself from Jules and said good-
bye. With a quip at Jules he left.
3
"Is this the first time he has been to
see you?" asked Amelie.
"Yes," replied Cecile. "An uncalled-
for civility, don't you think?"
"Taco Quaerts is always very correct
in matters of etiquette," said Anna, de-
fending him.
"Still, this visit was hardly a matter of
etiquette," said Cecile, laughing merrily.
"But Taco Quaerts seems to be quite in-
fallible in the eyes of all of you."
"He waltzes divinely!" cried Suzette.
"The other day, at the Eekhofs'
dance . . ."
Suzette chattered on; there was no re-
64 ECSTASY
straining Suzette that afternoon; she
seemed already to hear the castanets rat-
tling in her little brain.
Jules had a peevish fit on him, but he
remained quietly at a window, with the
boys.
''You don't much care about Quaerts, do
you. Auntie?" asked Anna.
'1 don't find him attractive," said
Cecile. "You know, I am easily influ-
enced by my first impressions. I can't
help it, but I don't like those very healthy,
robust people, who look so strong and
manly, as if they walked straight through
life, clearing away everything that stands
in their way. It may be morbid of me,
but I can't help it; I always dislike any
excessive display of health and physical
force. Those strong people look upon
others who are not so strong as themselves
much as the Spartans used to look upon
their deformed children."
ECSTASY 65
Jules could control himself no longer:
'If you think that Taco is no better than
a Spartan, you know nothing at all about
him," he said, fiercely.
Cecile looked at him, but, before Amelie
could interpose, he continued:
''Taco is the only person with whom I
can talk about music and who understands
every word I say. And I don't believe I
could talk with a Spartan."
"Jules, how rude you are!" cried Su-
zette.
"I don't care!" he exclaimed, furiously,
rising suddenly and stamping his foot.
*'I don't care ! I won't hear Taco abused;
and Aunt Cecile knows it and only does it
to tease me. And I think it very mean to
tease a boy, very mean. . . ."
His mother and sisters tried to bring
him to reason with their authority. But
he caught up his books :
"I don't care! I won't have it!"
66 ECSTASY
He was gone in a moment, furious, slam-
ming the door, which groaned with the
shock. Amelie was trembling in every
nerve :
'*0h, that boy!" she hissed out, shiver-
ing. 'That Jules, that Jules! . . ."
'It's nothing," said Cecile, gently, ex-
cusing him. ''He is just a little exci-
table. . . ."
She had turned rather paler and glanced
at her boys, Dolf and Christie, who had
looked up in dismay, their mouths wide
open with astonishment.
"Is Jules naughty, mamma *?" asked
Christie.
She shook her head, smiling. She felt
a strange, an unspeakably strange weari-
ness. She did not know what it meant;
but it seemed to her as if very distant
vistas were opening before her eyes and
fading into the horizon, pale, in a great
light. Nor did she know what this meant;
ECSTASY 67
but she was not angry with Jules and it
seemed to her as if he had lost his temper,
not with her, but with somebody else. A
sense of the enigmatical depth of life, the
soul's unconscious mystery, like to a fair,
bright endlessness, a far-away silvery
light, shot through her in silent rapture.
Then she laughed :
"Jules is so nice," she said, "when he
gets excited."
Anna and Suzette, upset at the incident,
played with the boys, looking over their
picture-books. Cecile spoke only to her
sister. But Amelie's nerves were still
quivering.
"How can you defend those ways of
Jules'?" she asked, in a choking voice.
"I think it nice of him to stand up for
people he likes. Don't you think so
too?"
Amelie grew calmer. Why should she
be put out if Cecile was not?
68 ECSTASY
"I dare say," she replied. '1 don't
know. He has a good heart I believe, but
he is so unmanageable. But, who knows,
perhaps it's my fault: if I understood
things better, if I had more tact . . ."
She grew confused ; she sought for some-
thing more to say and found nothing, wan-
dering like a stranger through her own
thoughts. Then, suddenly, as if struck
by a ray of certain knowledge, she said:
''But Jules is not stupid. He has a
good eye for all sorts of things and for
persons too. Personally, I think you
judge Taco Quaerts wrongly. He is a
very interesting man and a great deal more
than a mere sportsman. I don't know
what it is, but there's something about him
different from other people, I can't say ex-
actly what. . . ."
She was silent, seeking, groping.
"I wish Jules got on better at school.
As I say, he is not stupid, but he learns
ECSTASY 69
nothing. He has been two years now in
the third class. The boy has no applica-
tion. He makes me despair of him/'
She was silent again ; and Cecile also did
not speak.
"Ah," said Amelie, "I dare say it is not
his fault I Very likely it is my fault.
Perhaps he takes after me. . . ."
She looked straight before her : sudden,
irrepressible tears filled her eyes and fell
into her lap.
''Amy, what's the matter?" asked Ce-
cile, kindly.
But Amelie had risen, so that the girls,
who were still playing with the children,
might not see her tears. She could not
restrain them, they streamed down and she
hurried away into the adjoining drawing-
room, a big room in which Cecile never sat.
''What's the matter. Amy?" Cecile re-
peated.
She had followed Amelie out and now
70 ECSTASY
threw her arms about her, made her sit
down, pressed Amelie's head against her
shoulder.
''How do I know what it is?" Amelie
sobbed. ''I don't know, I don't know.
. . . I am wretched because of that feeling
in my head. It is more than I can bear
sometimes. After all, I am not mad, am
I? Really, I don't feel mad, or as if I
were going mad ! But I feel sometimes as
if everything had gone wrong in my head,
as if I couldn't think. Everything runs
through my brain. It's a terrible feel-
ing!"
''Why don't you see a doctor?" asked
Cecile.
"No, no, he might tell me I was mad;
and I'm not. He might try to send me to
an asylum. No, I won't see a doctor. I
have every reason to be happy otherwise,
have I not? I have a kind husband and
dear children ; I have never had any great
ECSTASY 71
sorrow. And yet I sometimes feel pro-
foundly miserable, desperately miserable !
It is always as if I wanted to reach some
place and could not succeed. It is always
as if I were hemmed in. . . .'*
She sobbed violently; a storm of tears
rained down her face. Cecile's eyes, too,
were moist; she liked her sister, she felt
sorry for her. Amelie was only ten years
older than she ; and already she had some-
thing of an old woman about her, some-
thing withered and shrunken, with her
,hair growing grey at the temples, under
her veil.
"Cecile, tell me, Cecile," she said, sud-
denly, through her sobs, ''do you believe in
God?"
"Why, of course I do. Amy!"
"I used to go to church sometimes, but
it was no use. . . . And I've stopped go-
ing. . . . Oh, I am so unhappy! It is
very ungrateful of me. I have so much to
72 ECSTASY
be grateful for. . . . Do you know, some-
times I feel as if I should like to go to
God at once, all at once, just like that!"
''Come, Amy, don't excite yourself
so."
"Ah, I wish I were like you, so calm!
Do you feel happy?"
Cecile smiled and nodded. Amelie
sighed; she remained lying for a moment
with her head against her sister's shoul-
der. Cecile kissed her, but suddenly
Amelie started:
''Be careful," she whispered, "the girls
might come in. There . . . there's no
need for them to see that I've been cry-
Rising, she arranged her hat before the
looking-glass, carefully dried her veil
with her handkerchief:
"There, now they won't know," she
said. "Let's go in again. I am quite
calm. You're a dear thing. . . ."
ECSTASY 73
They went back to the boudoir :
''Come, girls, it's time to go home," said
Amelie, in a voice which was still a little
unsettled.
''Have you been crying, Mamma?"
Suzette at once asked.
"Mamma was a bit upset about Jules,"
said Cecile, quickly.
CHAPTER V
CECILE was alone; the children
had gone upstairs to tidy them-
selves for dinner. She tried to
get back her distant vistas, fading into
the pale horizon; she tried to recover the
silvery endlessness which had shot through
her as a vision of light. But instead her
brain was all awhirl with a kaleidoscope
of very recent petty memories: the child-
ren, Quaerts, Emerson, Jules, Suzette,
Amelie. How strange, how strange life
was ! . . . The outer life ; the coming and
going of people about us; the sounds of
words which they utter in strange accents ;
the endless interchange of phenomena; the
concatenation of those phenomena, one
with the other; strange, too, the presence
of a soul somewhere inside us, like a god
74
ECSTASY 75
within us, never to be known in our own
essence. Often, as indeed now, it seemed
to Cecile that all things, even the most
commonplace things, were strange, very
strange, as if nothing in the world were
absolutely commonplace, as if everything
were strange: the strange form and out-
ward expression of a deeper life that lies
hidden behind everything, even the mean-
est objects; as if everything displayed it-
self under an appearance, a mask of pre-
tence, while the reality, the very truth, lay
underneath. How strange, how strange
life was I . . . For it seemed to her as if
she, under that very usual afternoon tea,
had seen something very unusual ; she did
not know what, she could not express it
nor even think it thoroughly; it seemed to
her as if beneath the coming and going of
those people something had glittered: a
reality, an ultimate truth under the ap-
pearance of that casual afternoon tea.
76 ECSTASY
''What is it? What is itT she won-
dered. "Am I deluding myself, or is it
so? I feel that it is so. ..."
It was all very vague and yet so very
clear. ... It seemed to her as though
there were a vision, a haze of light be-
hind all that had happened there, behind
Amelie and Jules and Quaerts and the
book which he had picked up from the floor
and held in his hand for a moment. . . .
Did that vision, that haze of light mean
anything, or . . .
But she shook her head :
'1 am dreaming, I am giving way to
fancy," she laughed, within herself. 'It
was all very simple; I only make it com-
plex because it amuses me to do so."
But she had no sooner thought this than
she felt something which denied the
thought absolutely, an intuition which
should have made her guess the essence
of the truth, but did not quite succeed.
ECSTASY 77
Surely there was something, something
behind it all, hiding away, lurking as the
shadow lurked behind the thing; and the
shadow appeared to her as a vision and
haze of light. ...
Her thoughts still wandered over all
those people and finally halted at Taco
Quaerts. She saw him sitting there again,
bending slightly forward in her direction,
his hands folded and hanging between his
knees, as he looked up to her. A barrier
of aversion had stood between them like
an iron bar. She saw him sitting there
again, though he was gone. That again
was past: how quickly everything moved;
how small was the speck of the present!
She rose, sat down at her writing-table
and wrote :
"Beneath me flows the sea of the past;
above me drifts the ether of the future;
and I stand midway upon the one speck of
78 ECSTASY
reality, so small that I must press my feet
firmly together lest I lose my hold. And
from the speck of the present my sorrow
looks down upon the sea and my longing
up to the sky.
'It is scarcely life to stand upon this
speck, so small that I hardly appreciate it,
hardly feel it beneath my feet; and yet
to me it is the one reality. I am not
greatly occupied about it: my eyes only
follow the rippling of those waves towards
distant horizons, the gliding of those
clouds towards distant spheres, vague
manifestations of endless change, trans-
lucent ephemeras, visible incorporeities.
The present is the only thing that is, or
rather that seems to be. The speck is, or
at least appears to be, but not the sea be-
low nor the sky above, for the sea is but a
memory and the air but an illusion. Yet
memory and illusion are everything : they
are the wide inheritance of the soul, which
ECSTASY 79
alone can escape from the speck of the
moment to float upon the sea towards the
horizons which retreat, to drift upon the
clouds towards the spheres which retreat
and retreat. ..."
Then she reflected. How was it that
she had written all this and why? How
had she come to write it"? She went back
upon her thoughts : the present, the speck
of the present, which was so small. . . .
Quaerts, Quaerts' very attitude, rising up
before her just now. Was he in any way
concerned with her writing down those
sentences? The past a sorrow; the fu-
ture an illusion. . . . Why, why illu-
sion?
"And Jules, who likes him," she
thought. "And Amelie, who spoke of
him . . . but she knows nothing. . . .
What is there in him, what lurks behind
him: his visionary image? Why did he
8o ECSTASY
come here? Why do I dislike him so?
Do I dislike him? I cannot see into his
eyes. . . ."
She would have liked to do this once;
she would have liked to make sure that
she disliked him or that she did not: one
or the other. She was curious to see him
once more, to know what she would think
and feel about him then. ...
She had risen from her writing-table and
now lay at full length on the sofa, with her
arms folded behind her head. She no
longer knew what she dreamt, but she felt
peacefully happy. She heard Dolf and
Christie come down the stairs. They
came in, it was dinner-time.
''Jules was really naughty just now,
wasn't he. Mummy?" Christie asked
again, with a grave face.
She drew the frail little fellow gently
to her, took him tightly in her arms and
ECSTASY 81
fondly kissed his moist, pale-raspberry
lips:
''No, really not, darling!" she said.
''He wasn't naughty, really.
5>
. a •
CHAPTER VI
CECILE passed through the long
hall, which was almost a gallery :
footmen stood on either side of
the hangings; a hum of voices came from
behind. The train of her dress rustled
against the leaves of a palm; and the
sound gave a sudden jar to the strung
cords of her sensitiveness. She was a lit-
tle nervous; her eyelids quivered slightly
and her mouth had a very earnest fold.
She walked in; there was much light,
but soft light, the light of candles only.
Two officers stepped aside for her as she
stood hesitating. Her eyes glanced round
in search of Mrs. Hoze ; she saw her stand-
ing among two or three of her guests, with
ECSTASY 83
her grey hair, her kindly and yet haughty
face, rosy and smooth, almost without a
wrinkle.
Mrs. Hoze came towards her:
'7 can't tell you how charming I think
it of you not to have played me false!"
she said, pressing Cecile's hand with ef-
fusive and hospitable urbanity.
She introduced people to Cecile here
and there; Cecile heard names the sound
of which at once escaped her.
'^General, allow me . . . Mrs. van
Even," Mrs. Hoze whispered and left her,
to speak to some one else.
Cecile drew a deep breath, pressed her
hand to the edge of her bodice, as though
to arrange something that had slipped
from its place, answered the general cur-
sorily. She was very pale; and her eye-
lids quivered more and more. She ven-
tured to throw a glance round the room.
84 ECSTASY
She stood next to the general, forcing
herself to listen, so as not to give answers
that would sound strikingly foolish. She
was very tall, slender, and straight, with
her shoulders, white as sunlit marble, blos-
soming out of a sombre vase of black : fine,
black, trailing tulle, sprinkled all over
with small jet spangles; glittering black
on dull transparent black. A girdle with
tassels of jet, hanging low, was wound
about her waist. So she stood, blonde:
blonde and black; a little sombre amid the
warmth and light of other toilettes; and,
for unique relief, two diamonds in her ears,
like dewdrops.
Her thin suede-covered fingers trembled
as she manipulated her fan, a black tulle
transparency, on which the same jet span-
gles glittered with black lustre. Her
breath came short behind the strokes of the
diaphanous fan as she talked with the ge-
neral, a spare, bald, distinguished-looking
ECSTASY 85
man, not in uniform, but wearing his
decorations.
Mrs. Hoze's guests walked about, greet-
ing one another here and there, with a con-
tinuous hum of voices. Cecile saw Taco
Quaerts come up to her; he bowed before
her; she bowed coldly in return, not of-
fering him her hand. He lingered by her
for a moment, spoke a word or two and
then passed on, greeting other acquaint-
ances.
Mrs. Hoze had taken the arm of an old
gentleman; a procession formed slowly.
The servants threw back the doors ; a table
glittered beyond, half-visible. The ge-
neral offered Cecile his arm, as she stood
looking behind her with a listless turn of
her neck. She closed her eyelids for a
second, to prevent their quivering. Her
brows contracted with a sense of disap-
pointment; but smilingly she laid the tips
of her fingers on the general's arm and
86 ECSTASY
with her closed fan smoothed away a
crease from the tulle of her train.
When Cecile was seated she found
Quaerts sitting on her right. Then her
disappointment vanished, the disappoint-
ment which she had felt at not being taken
in to dinner by him; but her look remained
cold, as usual. And yet she had what she
wished; the expectation with which she
had come to this dinner was fulfilled.
Mrs. Hoze had seen Cecile at the Van
Attemas' and had gladly undertaken to
restore the young widow to society. Ce-
cile knew that Quaerts was a frequent
visitor at Mrs. Hoze's ; she had heard from
Amelie that he was invited to the dinner;
and she had accepted. That Mrs. Hoze,
remembering that Cecile had met Quaerts
before, had placed him next to her was
easy to understand.
ECSTASY 87
Cecile was very inquisitive about her-
self. How would she feel? At least in-
terested : she could not disguise that from
herself. She was certainly interested in
him, remembering what Jules had said,
what Amelie had said. She already felt
that behind the mere sportsman there
lurked another, whom she longed to know.
Why should she? What concern was it
of hers? She could not tell; but, in any
case, as a matter of curiosity, as a puzzle,
it awoke her interest. And, at the same
time, she remained on her guard, for she
did not think that his visit to her was
strictly in order; and there were stories in
which the name of that married woman
was coupled with his.
She succeeded in freeing herself from
her conversation with the general, who
seemed to feel called upon to entertain
her, and it was she who spoke first to
Quaerts :
88 ECSTASY
"Have you begun to give Jules his ri-
ding-lessons?" she asked, with a smile.
He looked at her, evidently a little sur-
prised at her voice and her smile, which
were both new to him. He returned a
bare answer:
'*Yes, mevrouw, we were at the riding-
school yesterday. . . ."
She at once thought him clumsy, to let
the conversation drop like that; but he
enquired with that slight shyness which
became a charm in him who was so manly :
''So you are going out again, me-
vrouw?"
She thought — she had indeed thought
so before — that his questions were some-
times questions which people do not ask.
This was one of the strange things about
him.
"Yes," she replied, simply, not knowing
what else to say.
"Forgive me," he said, seeing that his
ECSTASY 89
words had embarrassed her a little. '1
asked, because . . ."
''Because?" she echoed, with wide-open
eyes.
He took courage and explained:
''When Dolf spoke of you, he used al-
ways to say that you lived so quietly. . . .
And I could never picture you to myself
returning to society, mixing with many
people ; I had formed an idea of you ; and
it now seems that this idea was a mistaken
one."
"An idea?' she asked. "What idea?'
"Perhaps you will be angry when I tell
you. Perhaps, even as it is, you are none
too well pleased with me!" he replied,
jestingly.
"I have not the slightest reason to be
either pleased or displeased with you," she
jested in return. "But tell me, what was
your idea?"
"Then you are interested in it?"
90 ECSTASY
'If you will answer candidly, yes. But
you must be candid!" and she threatened
him with her finger.
''Well," he began, "I thought of you as
a very cultured woman, as a very interest-
ing woman — I still think all that — and
... as a woman who cared nothing for
the world beyond her own sphere; and
this . . . this I can no longer think.
And I feel almost inclined to say, at the
risk of your looking on me as very strange,
that I am sorry no longer to be able to
think of you in that way. I would almost
rather not have met you here. . . ."
He laughed, to soften what might sound
strange in his words. She looked at him,
her eyelashes flickering with amazement,
her lips half-opened; and suddenly it
struck her that she was looking into his
eyes for the first time. She looked into
his eyes and saw that they were a dark,
very dark grey around the black depth of
ECSTASY 91
the pupil. There was something in his
eyes, she could not say what, but some-
thing magnetic, as though she could never
again take away her own from them.
"How strange you can be sometimes!"
she said mechanically : the words came in-
tuitively.
"Oh, please don't be angry!" he almost
implored her. "I was so glad when you
spoke kindly to me. You were a little
distant to me when I saw you last; and I
should be so sorry if I put you out. Per-
haps I am strange, but how could I possi-
bly be commonplace with you? How
could I possibly, even if you were to take
offence? . . . Have you taken offence?"
"I ought to, but I suppose I must for-
give you, if only for your candour!" she
said, laughing. "Otherwise your remarks
were anything but gallant."
"And yet I did not mean it ungal-
lantly."
92 ECSTASY
''Oh, no doubt!" she jested.
She remembered that she was at a big
dinner-party. The guests ranged before
and around her; the footmen waiting be-
hind; the light of the candles gleaming on
the silver and touching the glass with all
the hues of the rainbow; on the table prone
mirrors, like sheets of water surrounded
by flowers, little lakes amidst moss-roses
and lilies of the valley. She sat silent a
moment, still smiling, looking at her hand,
a pretty hand, like a white precious thing
upon the tulle of her gown: one of the
fingers bore several rings, scintillating
sparks of blue and white.
The general turned to her again; they
exchanged a few words; the general was
delighted that Mrs. van Even's right-hand
neighbour was keeping her entertained
and enabling him to get on quietly with his
dinner. Quaerts turned to the lady on his
right.
ECSTASY 93
Both of them were glad when they
were able to resume their conversa-
tion:
"What were we talking about just
now*?" she asked.
'1 know!" he replied, mischievously.
*'The general interrupted us."
''You were not angry with me I" he
jested.
*'Oh, of course," she replied, laughing
softly, "it was about your idea of me, was
it not? Why could you no longer picture
me returning to society?"
"I thought that you had become a per-
son apart."
"But why?"
"From what Dolf said, from what I my-
self thought, when I saw you."
"And why are you now sorry that I am
not 'a person apart,' as you call it?" she
asked, still laughing.
"From vanity; because I made a mis-
94 ECSTASY
take. And yet perhaps I have not made
a mistake. . . ."
They looked at each other; and both of
them, although each thought it in a differ-
ent way, now thought the same thing,
namely, that they must be careful with
their words, because they were speaking
of something very delicate and tender,
something as frail as a soap-bubble, which
could easily break if they spoke of it too
loudly; the mere breath of their words
might be sufficient. Yet she ventured to
ask:
''And why ... do you believe . . .
that perhaps . . . you are not mis-
taken?'
'1 don't quite know. Perhaps because
I wish it so. Perhaps, too, because it is
so true as to leave no room for doubt. Oh,
yes, I am almost sure that I judged rightly !
Do you know why? Because otherwise I
should have hidden myself and been com-
ECSTASY 95
monplace ; and I find this impossible with
you. I have given you more of myself
in this short moment than I have given
people whom I have known for years in
the course of all those years. Therefore
surely you must be a person apart."
''What do you mean by 'a person
apart'?'
He smiled, he opened his eyes; she
looked into them again, deeply.
"You understand, surely!" he said.
Fear for the delicate thing that might
break came between them again. They
understood each other as with a freema-
sonry of feeling. Her eyes were mag-
netically held upon his.
*'You are very strange!" she again said,
automatically.
"No," he said, calmly, shaking his head,
with his eyes in hers. "I am certain that
I am not strange to you, even though you
may think so for the moment."
96 ECSTASY
She was silent.
'1 am so glad to be able to talk to you
like this!" he whispered. 'It makes me
very happy. And see, no one knows any-
thing of it. We are at a big dinner; the
people next to us can even catch our
words; and yet there is not one among
them who understands us or grasps the
subject of our conversation. Do you
know the reason?"
"No," she murmured.
'1 will tell you; at least, I think it is
like this. Perhaps you know better, for
you must know things better than I, you
are so much subtler. I personally believe
that each person has a circle about him, an
atmosphere, and that he meets other peo-
ple who have circles or atmospheres about
them, sympathetic or antipathetic to his
own."
'This is pure mysticism!" she said.
"No," he replied, "it is quite simple.
ECSTASY 97
When the two circles are antipathetic,
each repels the other; but, when they are
sympathetic, they glide and overlap in
smaller or larger curves of sympathy. In
some cases the circles almost coincide, but
they always remain separate. . . . Do
you really think this so very mystical*?"
'*One might call it the mysticism of sen-
timent. But ... I have thought some-
thing of the sort myself. . . ."
"Yes, yes, I can understand that," he
continued, calmly, as if he expected it.
"I believe that those around us would not
be able to understand us, because we two
alone have sympathetic circles. But my
atmosphere is of a much grosser texture
than yours, which is very delicate."
She was silent again, remembering her
former aversion to him: did she still feel
it?
"What do you think of my theory?"
he asked.
98 ECSTASY
She looked up; her white fingers trem-
bled in the tulle of her gown. She made
a poor effort to smile :
'1 think you go too far!" she stam-
mered.
"You think I rush into hyperbole*?"
She would have liked to say yes, but
could not:
"No," she said; "not that."
"Do I bore you? . . ."
She looked at him, looked deep into his
eyes. She shook her head, by way of say-
ing no. She would have liked to say that
he was too unconventional just now; but
she could not find the words. A f aintness
oppressed her whole being. The table,
the people, the whole dinner-party ap-
peared to her as through a haze of light.
When she recovered herself again, she per-
ceived that a pretty woman opposite had
been staring at her and was now looking
away, out of politeness. She did not
ECSTASY 99
know how or why this interested her, but
she asked Quaerts :
''Who is the lady over there, in pale
blue, with the dark hair?"
She saw that he started.
"That is young Mrs. Hijdrecht!" he
said, calmly, a little distantly.
She too was perturbed; she turned pale;
her fan flapped nervously to and fro in her
fingers.
He had named the woman whom ru-
mour said to be his mistress.
3
It seemed to Cecile as though that
delicate, frail thing, that soap-bubble, had
burst. She wondered if he had spoken to
that dark-haired woman also of circles of
sympathy. So soon as she was able,
Cecile observed Mrs. Hijdrecht. She had
a warm, dull-gold complexion, dark,
glowing eyes, a mouth as of fresh blood.
100 ECSTASY
Her dress was cut very low; her throat
and the slope of her breast showed inso-
lently handsome, brutally luscious. A
row of diamonds encompassed her neck
with a narrow line of white flame.
Cecile felt ill at ease. She felt as if
she were playing with fire. She looked
away from the young woman and turned
to Quaerts, in obedience to some magnetic
force. She saw a cloud of melancholy
stealing over the upper half of his face,
over his forehead and his eyes, which be-
trayed a slight look of age. And she
heard him say :
"Now what do you care about that
lady's name? We were just in the
middle of such a charming conversa-
tion. . . ."
She too felt sad now, sad because of the
soap-bubble that had burst. She did not
know why, but she felt pity for him, a
sudden, deep, intense pity.
ECSTASY 101
"We can resume our conversation," she
said, softly.
''Ah no, don't let us take it up where we
left it!" he rejoined, with feigned airiness.
'1 was becoming tedious."
He spoke of other things. She an-
swered little; and their conversation lan-
guished. They each occupied themselves
with their neighbours. The dinner came
to an end. Mrs. Hoze rose, took the arm
of the gentleman beside her. The general
escorted Cecile to the drawing-room, in the
slow procession of the others.
4
The ladies remained alone; the men
went to the smoking-room with young
Hoze. Cecile saw Mrs. Hoze come to-
wards her. She asked her if she had not
been bored at dinner; they sat down to-
gether, in a confidential tete-a-tete.
Cecile made the necessary effort to re-
102 ECSTASY
ply to Mrs. Hoze; but she would have
liked to go somewhere and weep quietly,
because everything passed so quickly, be-
cause the speck of the present was so small.
Gone was the sweet charm of their con-
versation during dinner about sympathy,
a fragile intimacy amid the worldly show
about them. Gone was that moment,
never, never to return: life sped over it
with its constant flow, as with a torrent of
all-obliterating water. Oh, the sorrow
of it, to think how quickly, like an intan-
gible perfume, everything speeds away,
everything that is dear to us ! . . .
Mrs. Hoze left her; Suzette van Attema
came to talk to Cecile. She was dressed
in pink; and she glittered in all her aspect
as if gold-dust had poured all over her,
upon her movements, her eyes, her words.
She spoke volubly to Cecile, telling in-
terminable tales, to which Cecile did not
always listen. Suddenly, through Su-
ECSTASY 103
zette's prattle, Cecile heard the voices of
two women whispering behind her; she
only caught a word here and there :
''Emilie Hijdrecht, you know. . . ."
''Only gossip, I think; Mrs. Hoze does
not seem to heed it. ..."
"Ah, but I know it as a fact!"
The voices were lost in the hum of the
others. Cecile just caught a sound like
Quaerts' name. Then Suzette asked,
suddenly :
"Do you know young Mrs. Hijdrecht,
Auntie?'
"No."
"Over there, with the diamonds. You
know, they talk about her and Quaerts.
Mamma doesn't believe' it. At any rate,
he's a great flirt. You sat next to him,
didn't you?"
Cecile suffered severely in her inner-
most sensitiveness. She shrank into her-
self entirely, doing all that she could to
104 ECSTASY
appear different from what she was. Su-
zette saw nothing of her discomfiture.
The men returned. Cecile looked to
see whether Quaerts would speak to Mrs.
Hijdrecht. But he wholly ignored her
presence and even, when he saw Suzette
sitting with Cecile, came over to them to
pay a compliment to Suzette, to whom he
had not yet spoken.
It was a relief to Cecile when she was
able to go. She was yearning to be alone,
to recover herself, to return from her ab-
straction. In her brougham she scarcely
dared breathe, fearful of something, she
could not say what. When she reached
home she felt a stifling heaviness which
seemed to paralyse her; and she dragged
herself languidly up the stairs to her dress-
ing-room.
And yet, on the stairs, there fell over
her, as from the roof of her house, a haze
of protecting safety. Slowly she went
ECSTASY 105
up, her hand, holding a long glove, press-
ing the velvet banister of .the stairway.
She felt as if she were about to swoon :
''But, Heaven help me ... I am fond
of him, I love him, I love him!" she whis-
pered between her trembling lips, in sud-
den amazement.
It was as in a rhythm of astonishment
that she wearily mounted the stairs,
higher and higher, in a silent surprise of
sudden light.
"But I am fond of him, I love him, I
love him!"
It sounded like a melody through her
weariness.
She reached her dressing-room, where
Greta had lighted the gas; she dragged
herself inside. The door of the nursery
stood half open; she went in, threw back
the curtain of Christie's little bed, dropped
on her knees and looked at the child. The
boy partly awoke, still in the warmth of a
io6 ECSTASY
deep sleep; he crept a little from between
the sheets, laughed, threw his arms about
Cecile's bare neck:
"Mummy dear!"
She pressed him tightly in the embrace
of her slender, white arms; she kissed his
raspberry mouth, his drowsed eyes. And
meantime the refrain sang on in her heart,
right across the we'ariness which seemed
to break her by the bedside of her child :
''But I am fond of him, I love him, I love
him, I love him . . .!"
5
The mystery! Suddenly, on the stair-
case, it had beamed open before her in her
soul, like a great flower of light, a mystic
rose with glistening petals, into whose
golden heart she now looked for the first
time. The analysis to which she was so
much inclined was no longer possible : this
was the riddle of love, the eternal riddle.
ECSTASY 107
which had beamed open within her, trans-
fixing with its rays the very width of her
soul, in the midst of which it had burst
forth like a sun in a universe; it was too
late to ask the reason why; it was too late
to ponder and dream upon it; it could only
be accepted as the inexplicable phenome-
non of the soul ; it was a creation of senti-
ment, of which the god who created it
would be as impossible to find in the inner
essence of his reality as the God who had
created the world out of chaos. It was
light breaking forth from darkness ; it was
heaven disclosed above the earth. And it
existed : it was reality and not a fairy-tale I
For it was wholly and entirely within her,
a sudden, incontestable, everlasting truth,
a felt fact, so real in its ethereal incor-
poreity that it seemed to her as if, until
that moment, she had never known, never
thought, never felt. It was the begin-
ning, the opening out of herself, the dawn
io8 ECSTASY
of her soul's life, the joyful miracle, the
miraculous inception of love, love fo-
cussed in the midst of her soul.
She passed the following days in self-
contemplation, wandering through her
dreams as through a new country, rich with
great light, where distant landscapes paled
into a wan radiance, like fantastic meteors
in the night, quivering in incandescence on
the horizon. It seemed to her as though
she, a pious and glad pilgrim, were making
her way along paradisaical oases towards
those distant scenes, there to find even
more, the goal. . . . Only a little while
ago, the prospect before her had been nar-
row and forlorn — her children gone from
her, her loneliness wrapping her about like
a night — and now, now she saw stretching
in front of her a long road, a wide horizon,
glittering with light, nothing but light. . . .
That was, all that was! It was no fine
poets' fancy; it existed, it gleamed in her
ECSTASY 109
heart like a sacred jewel, like a mystic rose
with stamina of light! A freshness as of
dew fell over her, over her whole life : over
the life of her senses; over the life of out-
ward appearances; over the life of her
soul; over the life of the indwelling truth.
The world was new, fresh with young dew,
the very Eden of Genesis; and her soul
was a soul of newness, born anew in a
metempsychosis of greater perfection, of
closer approach to the e:oal, that distant
goal, far away yonder, hidden like a god
in the sanctuary of its ecstasy of light, as
in the radiance of its own being.
c
CHAPTER VII
ECILE did not go out for a few
days; she saw nobody. One
morning she received a note; it
ran:
''Mevrouw,
"I do not know if you were offended
by my mystical utterances. I cannot re-
call distinctly what I said, but I remember
that you told me that I was going too far.
I trust that you did not take my indiscret-
ion amiss.
(C
It would be a great pleasure to me to
come to see you. May I hope that you
will permit me to call on you this after-
noon?
''With most respectful regards,
"QUAERTS."
no
ECSTASY 111
As the bearer was waiting for a reply,
she wrote back in answer :
''Dear Sir,
'1 shall be very pleased to see you
this afternoon.
"Cecile van Even."
When she was alone, she read his note
over and over again; she looked at the
paper with a smile, looked at the hand-
writing :
"How strange," she thought. "This
note . . . and everything that happens.
How strange everything is, everything,
everything!"
She remained dreaming a long time,
with the note in her hand. Then she care-
fully folded it up, rose, walked up and
down the room, sought with her dainty fin-
gers in a bowl full of visiting-cards, taking
out two which she looked at for some time.
112 ECSTASY
''Quaerts." The name sounded differ-
ently from before. . . . How strange it
all was! Finally she locked away the
note and the two cards in a little empty
drawer of her writing-table.
She stayed at home and sent the child-
ren out with the nurse. She hoped that
no one else would call, neither Mrs. Hoze
nor the Van Attemas. And, staring be-
fore her, she reflected for a long, long
while. There was so much that she did
not understand: properly speaking, she
understood nothing. So far as she was
concerned, she had fallen in love with him :
there was no analysing that; it must sim-
ply be accepted. But he, what did he feel,
what were his emotions?
Her earlier aversion? Sport: he was
fond of sport she remembered. . . . His
visit, which was an impertinence: he
seemed now to be wishing to atone for it,
not to repeat his call without her permiss-
ECSTASY 113
ion. . . . His mystical conversation at
the dinner-party. . , . And Mrs. Hij-
drecht. . . .
"How strange he is!" she reflected. '1
do not understand him; but I love him, I
cannot help it. Love, love : how strange
that it should exist I I never realized that
it existed! I am no longer myself; I am
becoming some one else ! . . . What does
he want to see me for? . . . And how sin-
gular: I have been married, I have two
children! How singular that I should
have two children! I feel as if I had
none. And yet I am so fond of my little
boys ! But the other thing is so beautiful,
so bright, so transparent, as if that alone
were truth. Perhaps love is the only
truth. ... It is as if everything in and
about me were turning to crystal!"
She looked around her, surprised and
troubled that her surroundings should
have remained the same : the rosewood fur-
114 ECSTASY
niture, the folds of the curtains, the with-
ered landscape of the Scheveningen Road
outside. But it was snowing, silently and
softly, with great snow-flakes falling
heavily, as though they meant to purify
the world. The snow was fresh and new,
but yet the snow was not real nature to
her, who always saw her distant landscape,
like a fata morgana, quivering in pure in-
candescence of light.
»He came at four o'clock. She saw him
for the first time since the self-revelation
which had flashed upon her astounded
senses. And when he came she felt the
singularly rapturous feeling that in her
eyes he was a demigod, that he perfected
himself in her imagination, that every-
thing in him was good. Now that he sat
there before her, she saw him for the first
time and she saw that he was physically
ECSTASY 115
beautiful. The strength of his body was
exalted into the strength of a young god,
broad and yet slender, sinewed as with the
marble sinews of a statue; and all this
seemed so strange beneath the modernity
of his morning coat.
She saw his face completely for the first
time. The cut of it was Roman, the head
that of a Roman emperor, with its sensual
profile, its small, full mouth, living red
under the brown gold of his curly mous-
tache. The forehead was low, the hair
cut very close, like an enveloping black
casque; and over that forehead, with its
single furrow, hovered sadness, like a mist
of age, strangely contradicting the wanton
youthf ulness of his mouth and chin. And
then his eyes, which she already knew, his
eyes of mystery, small and deep-set, with
the depth of their pupils, which seemed
now to veil themselves and then again to
look out.
ii6 ECSTASY
But the strangest thing was that from
all his beauty, from all his being, from all
his attitude, as he sat there with his hands
folded between his knees, a magnetism
emanated, dominating her, drawing her ir-
resistibly towards him, as though she had
suddenly, from the first moment of her
self-revelation, become his^ to serve him
in all things. She felt this magnetism at-
tracting her so violently that every power
in her melted into listlessness and weak-
ness. A weakness as if he might take her
and carry her away, anywhere, wherever
he pleased; a weakness as if she no longer
possessed her own thoughts, as if she had
become nothing, apart from him.
She felt this intensely; and then, then
came the very strangest thing of all, as he
continued to sit there, at a respectful di-
stance, his eyes looking up to her in reve-
rence, his voice falling in reverential ac-
cents. This was the very strangest thing
ECSTASY 117
of all that she saw him beneath her, while
she felt him above her; that she wished to
be his inferior and that he seemed to con-
sider her higher than himself. She did
not know how she suddenly came to realize
this so intensely, but she did realize it; and
it was the first pain that her love gave
her.
'It is very kind of you not to be angry
with me," he began.
There was often something caressing in
his voice; it was not clear and was even
now and then a little broken, but this just
gave it a certain charm of quality.
"Why?' she asked.
'In the first place, I did wrong to pay
you that visit. In the second place, I was
ill-mannered at Mrs. Hoze's dinner."
''A whole catalogue of sins I" she
laughed.
"Surely!" he continued. ''And you
are very good to bear me no malice."
ii8 ECSTASY
"Perhaps that is because I always hear
so much good about you at Dolf's."
''Have you never noticed anything odd
in Dolf r' he asked.
''No. What do you mean?'
"Has it never struck you that he has
more of an eye for the great aggregate of
political problems as a whole than for the
details of his own surroundings*?"
She looked at him, with a smile of sur-
prise :
"Yes," she said. "You are quite right.
You know him well."
"Oh, we have known one another from
boyhood ! It is curious : he never sees the
things that lie close to his hand; he does
not penetrate them. He is intellectually
far-sighted."
"Yes," she assented.
"He does not know his wife, nor his
daughters, nor Jules. He does not see
what they have in them, He identifies
ECSTASY 119
each of them by means of an image which
he fixes in his mind; and he forms these
images out of two prominent character-
istics, which are generally a little op-
posed. Mrs. van Attema appears to him
a woman with a heart of gold, but not
very practical: so much for her; Jules,
a musical genius, but an untractable boy :
that settles himr
''Yes, he does not go very deeply into
character," she said. "For there is a
great deal more in Amelie . . ."
"And he is quite wrong about Jules,"
said Quaerts. "Jules is thoroughly tract-
able and anything but a genius. Jules
is nothing more than an exceedingly re-
ceptive boy, with a little rudimentary ta-
lent. And you ... he misconceives you
too!"
"Me?"
"Entirely! Do you know what he
thinks of you?"
120 ECSTASY
"No."
"He thinks you — let me begin by tell-
ing you this — very, very lovable and a
dear little mother to your boys. But he
thinks also that you are incapable of grow-
ing very fond of any one; he looks upon
you as a woman without passion and me-
lancholy for no reason, except that you are
bored. He thinks you bore yourself !"
She looked at him in utter dismay and
saw him laughing mischievously.
"I am never bored!" she said, joining in
his laughter, with full conviction.
"No, of course you're not!" he replied.
"How can you know?" she asked.
"I feel it!" he answered. "And, what
is more, I know that the basis of your char-
acter is not melancholy, not dark, but, on
the contrary, very light."
"I am not so sure of that myself," she
scarcely murmured, slackly, with that
weakness within her, but happy that he
ECSTASY 121
should estimate her so exactly. ''And do
you too," she continued, airily, "think me
incapable of loving any one very much?"
''Now that is a matter of which I am
not competent to judge," he said, with
such frankness that his whole countenance
suddenly grew younger and the crease dis-
appeared from his forehead. "How can
/telir
"You seem to know a great deal about
me otherwise," she laughed.
"I have seen you so often."
"Barely four times !"
"That is very often."
She laughed brightly:
"Is this a compliment?"
"It is meant for one," he replied.
"You do not know how much it means to
me to see you."
It meant much to him to see her ! And
she felt herself so small, so weak; and him
so great, so perfect. With what decision
122 ECSTASY
he spoke, how certain he seemed of it all!
It almost saddened her that it meant so
much to him to see her once in a while.
He placed her too high; she did not wish
to be placed so high.
And that delicate, fragile something
hung between them again, as it had hung
between them at the dinner. Then it had
been broken by one ill-chosen word. Oh,
that it might not be broken now !
''And now let us talk about yourself!"
she said, affecting an airy vivacity. ''Do
you know that you are taking all sorts of
pains to fathom me and that I know no-
thing whatever about you? That's not
fair."
"If you knew how much I have given
you already! I give myself to you en-
tirely; from others I always conceal my-
self."
"Why?"
"Because I am afraid of the others!"
ECSTASY 123
''You . . . afraid?'
"Yes. You think that I do not look as
if I could feel afraid? I have some-
thing . . ."
He hesitated.
"Well?' she asked.
"I have something that is very dear to
me and about which I am very much
afraid lest any should touch it."
"And that is . . .r
"My soul. I am not afraid of your
touching it, for you would not hurt it.
On the contrary, I know that it is very
safe with you."
She would have liked once more, me-
chanically, to reproach him with his
strangeness: she could not. But he
guessed her thoughts:
"You think me a very odd person, do
you not? But how can I be otherwise
with you?"
She felt her love expanding within her
124 ECSTASY
heart, widening it to its full capacity
within her. Her love was as a domain
in which he wandered.
'1 do not understand you yet; I do not
know you yet!" she said, softly. '1 do
not see you yet. . . ."
''Would you be in any way interested to
know me, to see me?"
"Surely."
"Let me tell you then; I should like to
do so; it would be a great joy to me."
"I am listening to you most atten-
tively."
"One question first: you cannot endure
people who go in for sport?"
"On the contrary, I like to see the dis-
play and development of strength, so long
as it is not too near me. Just as I like to
hear a storm, when I am safely within
doors. And I can even find pleasure in
watching acrobats,"
ECSTASY 125
He laughed quietly :
'^Nevertheless you held my particular
predilection in great aversion?"-
''Why should you think that?"
"I felt it."
"You feel everything," she said, almost
in alarm. "You are a dangerous per-
son.
"So many think that. Shall I tell you
why I believe that you took a special aver-
sion in my case?"
"Yes."
"Because you did not understand it in
me, even though you may have observed
that physical exercise is one of my hob-
bies."
"I do not understand you at all."
"I think you are right. . . . But don't
let me talk about myself like this : I would
rather talk of you."
"And I of you. So be nice to me for
126 ECSTASY
the first time in our acquaintance and
speak ... of yourself."
He bowed, with a smile:
"You will not think me tiresome?"
"Not at all. You were telling me of
yourself. You were speaking of your
love of exercise . . ."
"Ah, yes! . . . Can you understand
that there are in me two distinct indivi-
duals?"
"Two distinct . . ."
"Yes. My soul, which I regard as my
real self ; and then . . . there remains the
other."
"And what is that other?"
"Something ugly, something common,
something grossly primitive. In one
word, the brute."
She shrugged her shoulders lightly :
"How dark you paint yourself. The
same thing is more or less true of every-
body."
ECSTASY 127
"Yes, but it troubles me more than I can
tell you. I suffer; that brute within me
hurts my soul, hurts it even more than
the whole world hurts it. Now do you
know why I feel such a sense of security
when I am with you? It is because I
do not feel the brute that is in me. . . .
Let me go on a little longer, let me con-
fess; it does me good to tell you all this.
You thought I had only seen you four
times? But I used to see you so often
formerly, in the theatre, in the street,
everywhere. It was always rather
strange to me when I saw you in the midst
of accidental surroundings. And always,
when I looked at you, I felt as if I were be-
ing lifted to something more beautiful. I
cannot express myself more clearly.
There is something in your face, in your
eyes, in your movements, I don't know
what, but something better than in other
people, something that addressed itself.
128 ECSTASY
most eloquently, to my soul only. All
this is so subtle and so strange; I can
hardly put it more plainly. But you are
no doubt once more thinking that I am
going too far, are you not? Or that I
am raving?"
''Certainly, I should never have thought
you such an idealist, such a sensitivist,"
said Cecile, softly.
''Have I leave to speak to you like
this?"
"Why not?" she asked, to escape the
necessity of replying.
"You might perhaps fear that I should
compromise you. . . ."
"I do not fear that for an instant!" she
replied, haughtily, as in utter contempt
of the world.
They were silent for a moment. That
delicate, fragile thing, which might so
easily break, still hung between them, thin,
like a gossamer, lightly joining them to-
ECSTASY 129
gether. An atmosphere of embarrassment
hovered about them. They felt that the
words which had passed between them
were full of significance. Cecile waited
for him to continue ; but, as he was silent,
she boldly took up the conversation :
''On the contrary, I value it highly that
you have spoken to me like this. You
are right : you have indeed given me much
of yourself. I want to assure you that
whatever you have given me will be quite
safe with me. I believe that I understand
you better now that I see you better."
'1 want very much to ask you some-
thing," he said, ''but I dare not."
She smiled, to encourage him.
"No, really I dare not," he repeated.
"Shall I guess?" Cecile asked, jestingly.
''Yes; what do you think it is*?"
She glanced round the room until her
eye rested on the little table covered with
books.
130 ECSTASY
''The loan of Emerson's essays'?" she
hazarded.
But Quaerts shook his head and
laughed :
''No, thank you," he said. "I bought
the volume long ago. No, no, it is a much
greater favour than the loan of a book."
"Be brave then and ask it," Cecile went
on, still jestingly.
"I dare not," he said again. "I should
not know how to put my request into
words."
She looked at him earnestly, into his
eyes, which gazed steadily upon her; and
then she said :
"I know what you want to ask me, but
I will not say it. You must do that: so
seek your words."
"If you know, will you then permit me
to say it?"
"Yes, for, if it is what I think, it is no-
thing that you are not entitled to ask."
ECSTASY 131
"And yet it would be a great favour.
. . . But let me warn you beforehand that
I look upon myself as some one of a much
lower order than you."
A shadow passed across her face, her
mouth had a little contraction of pain and
she pressed him, a little unnerved :
"I beg you, ask. Just ask me simply."
'It is a wish, then, that sympathy
might be sealed between you and me.
Would you allow me to come to you when
I am unhappy? I always feel so happy
in your presence, so soothed, so different
from the state of ordinary life, for with
you I live only my better, my real self :
you know what I mean."
Everything within her again melted
into weakness and slackness; he was pla-
cing her upon too high a pedestal ; she was
happy, because of what he asked her, but
sad, that he felt himself so much lower
than she.
132 ECSTASY
"Very well," she said, nevertheless,
with a clear voice. 'It shall be as you
wish. Let us seal a bond of sympathy."
And she gave him her hand, her beauti-
ful, long, white hand, where on one white
finger gleamed the sparks of jewels, white
and blue. For a second, very reverently,
he pressed her finger-tips between his
own:
''Thank you," he said, in a hushed voice,
a voice that was a little broken.
"Are you often unhappy?" asked Cecile.
"Always," he replied, almost humbly
and as though embarrassed at having
to confess it. "I don't know why, but
it has always been so. And yet from my
childhoad I have enjoyed much that peo-
ple call happiness. But yet, yet ... I
suffer through myself. It is I who do my-
self the most hurt. And after that the
world . . . and I have always to hide my-
self. To the world, to people generally I
ECSTASY 133
only show the individual who rides and
fences and hunts, who goes into society and
is very dangerous to young married
women ..."
He laughed with his bad, low laugh,
looking aslant into her eyes; she remained
calmly gazing at him.
'^Beyond that I give them nothing. I
hate them; I have nothing in common with
them, thank God!"
'*You are too proud," said Cecile.
"Each of those people has his own sorrow,
just as you have: the one suffers a little
more subtly, the other a little more
coarsely; but they all suffer. And in that
they all resemble yourself."
'*Each taken by himself, perhaps. But
that is not how I take them : I take them
in the lump and therefore I hate them.
Don't you?"
"No," she said calmly. "I don't be-
lieve that I am capable of hating."
134 ECSTASY
''You are very strong within yourself.
You suffice unto yourself."
''No, no, not that, really not; but you
. . . you are unjust towards the world."
"Possibly; but why does it always give
me pain? Alone with you, I forget that it
exists, the outside world. Do you under-
stand now why I was so sorry to see you
at Mrs. Hoze's? You seemed to me to
have lowered yourself. And it was be-
cause . . . because of that special qua-
lity which I saw in you that I did not seek
your acquaintance earlier. The acquaint-
ance was fatally bound to come ; and so I
waited. . . ."
Fate? What would it bring her?
thought Cecile. But she could not pur-
sue the thought: she seemed to herself to
be dreaming of beautiful and subtle
things which did not exist for other peo-
ple, which only floated between them two.
And those beautiful things were already
ECSTASY 135
there: it was no longer necessary to look
upon them as illusions; it was as if she
had overtaken the future ! For one brief
moment only did this happiness endure;
then again she felt pain, because of his
reverence.
3
He was gone and she was alone, wait-
ing for the children. She neglected to
ring for the lamp to be lighted; and the
twilight of the late afternoon darkened
into the room. She sat motionless, look-
ing out before her at the leafless trees.
''Why should / not be happy?' she
thought. "He is happy with me; he is
himself with me only; he cannot be so
among other people. Why then can /
not be happy?'
She felt pain; her soul suffered and it
seemed to her as if her soul were suffering
for the first time, perhaps because now, for
136 ECSTASY
the first time, her soul had not been it-
self but another. It seemed to her as if
another woman and not she had spoken to
him, to Quaerts, just now. An exalted
woman, a woman of illusions ; the woman,
in fact, whom he saw in her and not the
woman that she was, a humble woman, a
woman of love. Ah, she had had to re-
strain herself not to ask him :
''Why do you speak to me like that?
Why do you raise up your beautiful
thoughts to me ? Why do you not rather
let them drip down upon me? For see,
I do not stand so high as you think; and
see, I am at your feet and my eyes seek
you above me."
Ought she to have told him that he
was deceiving himself? Ought she to
have asked him :
''Why do I lower myself when I mix
with other people? What do you see in
me after all? Behold, I am only a wo-
ECSTASY 137
man, a woman of weakness and dreams;
and I have come to love you, I don't know
why."
Ought she to have opened his eyes and
said to him :
''Look upon your own soul in a mirror;
look upon yourself and see how you are a
god walking the earth, a god who knows
everything because he feels it, who feels
everything because he knows it. . . ."
Everything? . . . No, not everything;
for he deceived himself, this god, and
thought to find an equal in her, who was
but his creature.
Ought she to have declared all this, at
the cost of her modesty and his happiness?
For his happiness— she felt perfectly as-
sured— lay in seeing her in the way in
which he saw her.
''With me he is happy!" she thought.
"And sympathy is sealed between us.
... It was not friendship, nor did he
138 ECSTASY
speak of love ; he called it simply sympa-
thy. . . . With me he feels only his real
self and not that other . . . the brute
that is within him! . . . The brute!
Then there came drifting over her a
gloom as of gathering clouds; and she
shuddered at something that suddenly
rolled through her: a broad stream of
blackness, as though its waters were filled
with mud, which bubbled up in troubled
rings, growing larger and larger. And
she took fear before this stream and tried
not to see it; but it swallowed up all her
landscapes — so bright before, with their
luminous horizons — now with a sky of ink
smeared above, like a foul night.
''How loftily he thinks, how noble his
thoughts are!" Cecile still forced herself
to imagine, in spite of it all. . . .
But the magic was gone : her admiration
of his lofty thoughts tumbled away into
ECSTASY 139
an abyss; then suddenly, by a lightning
flash through the night of that inky sky,
she saw clearly that this loftiness of
thought was a supreme sorrow to her in
him.
It was quite dark in the room. Cecile,
afraid of the lightning which revealed her
to herself, had thrown herself back upon
the cushions of the couch. She hid her
face in her hands, pressing her eyes, as
though she wished, after this moment of
self-revelation, to be blind for ever.
But demoniacally it raged through her,
a hurricane of hell, a storm of passion,
which blew out of the darkness of the
landscape, lashing the tossed waves of the
stream towards the inky sky.
''Oh I" she moaned. '1 am unworthy
of him . . . unworthy! . . ."
CHAPTER VIII
1
QUAERTS lived on the Plein,
above a tailor, where he oc-
. cupied two small rooms fur-
nished in the most ordinary style. He
could have had much better lodgings if
he chose, but he was indifferent to com-
fort: he never gave it a thought in his
own place; when he came across it else-
where, it did not attract him. But it dis-
tressed Jules that Quaerts should live in
this fashion; and the boy had long wanted
to improve the sitting-room. He was
now busy hanging some trophies on an
armour-rack, standing on a pair of steps,
humming a tune which he remembered
from some opera. But Quaerts paid no
heed to what Jules was doing: he lay
140
ECSTASY 141
without moving on the sofa, at full length,
in his pyjamas, unshorn, with his eyes
fixed upon the Renascence decorations of
the Law Courts, tracing a background of
architecture behind the leafless trees of
the Plein.
"Look, Taco, will this do?" asked Jules,
after hanging an Algerian sabre between
two Malay creeses and draping the folds of
a Javanese sarong between.
"Yes, beautifully," replied Quaerts.
But he did not look at the rack of arms
and continued gazing at the Law Courts.
He lay back motionless. There was no
thought in him, nothing but listless dis-
satisfaction with himself and consequent
sadness. For three weeks he had led a
life of debauch, to deaden consciousness,
or perhaps he did not know precisely what :
something that was in him, something that
was beautiful but tedious, in ordinary life.
He had begun by shooting over a friend's
142 ECSTASY
land in North Brabant. It lasted a
week; there were eight of them; sport in
the open air, followed by sporting dinners,
with not only a great deal of wine, cer-
tainly the best, but still more geneva, also
of the finest, like a liqueur. Ragging-
excursions on horseback in the neigh-
bourhood; follies at a farm — the peasant-
woman carried round in a barrel and
locked up in the cow-house — mischievous
exploits, worthy only of unruly boys and
savages and ending in a summons before a
magistrate, with a fine and damages.
Wound up to a pitch of excitement with
too much sport, too much oxygen and too
much drink, five of the pack, including
Quaerts, had gone on to Brussels, where
one of them had a mistress. There they
stayed nearly a fortnight, leading a life
of continual excess, with endless cham-
pagne and larking: a wild joy of living,
which, natural enough at first, had in the
ECSTASY 143
end to be screwed up and screwed up
higher still, to make it last a couple of
days longer; the last nights spent
weariedly over ecarte, with none but the
fixed idea of winning, the exhaustion of
all their violence already pulsing through
their bodies, like a nervous relaxation, and
their eyes gazing without expression at
the cards.
During that time Quaerts had only once
thought of Cecile; and he had not followed
up the thought. She had no doubt arisen
three or four times in his brain, as a vague
image, white and transparent, an appari-
tion which had vanished again immedi-
ately, leaving no trace of its passage. All
this time too he had not written to her;
and it had only once struck him that a
silence of three weeks, after their last con-
versation, must seem strange to her.
There it had remained. He was back
now; he had lain three days long at home
144 ECSTASY
on his bed, on his sofa, tired, feverish, dis-
satisfied, disgusted with everything, every-
thing; then, one morning, remembering
that it was Wednesday, he had thought of
Jules and his riding-lesson.
He sent for Jules, but, too lazy to shave
or dress, he remained lying where he was.
And he still lay there, realizing nothing.
There before him were the Law Courts,
with the Privy Council adjoining. At
the side he could see the Witte ^ and Wil-
liam the Silent standing on his pedestal
in the middle of the Plein: that was all
exceedingly interesting. And Jules was
hanging up trophies: also interesting.
And the most interesting of all was the
stupid life he had been leading. What a
tense effort to lull his boredom! Had he
really amused himself during that time?
No; he had made a pretence of being
amused: the episode of the peasant-
^ The leading club at The Hague.
ECSTASY 145
woman and the ecarte had excited him;
the sport was bad, the wine good, but he
had drunk too much of it. And then the
filthy champagne of that wench, at Brus-
sels! . . .
Well, what then? He had absolute
need of it, of a life like that, of sport
and wild enjoyment; it served to bal-
ance the other thing in him, which became
impossible in everyday life.
But why could he not preserve some
sort of mean in both? He was perfectly
well-equipped for ordinary life; and with
that he possessed something in addition,
something that was very beautiful in his
soul: why could he not remain balanced
between those two inner spheres? Why
was he always tossed from one to the other,
as a thing that belonged to neither?
How fine he could have made his life with
just the least tact, the least self-restraint!
How he might have lived in a healthy de-
146 ECSTASY
light of purified animal existence, tem-
pered by a higher joyousness of soul!
But tact, self-restraint: he had none of all
this; he lived according to his impulses,
always in extremes; he was incapable of
half-measures. And in this lay his pride
as well as his regret : his pride that he felt
this or that thing ''wholly," that he was
unable to compromise with his emotions;
and his regret that he could not com-
promise and bring into harmony the ele-
ments which for ever waged war within
him.
When he had met Cecile and had seen
her again and yet once again, he had felt
himself carried wholly to the one extreme,
the summit of exaltation, of pure crystal
sympathy, in which the circle of his at-
mosphere— as he had said — glided in sym-
pathy over hers, in a caress of pure chastity
and spirituality, as two stars, spinning
closer together, might mingle their at-
ECSTASY 147
mospheres for a moment, like breaths.
What smiling happiness had not been
within his reach, as it were a grace from
Heaven !
Then, then he had felt himself toppling
down, as if he had rocked over the bal-
ancing-point; and he had longed for
earthly pleasures, for great simplicity of
emotion, for primitive enjoyment of life,
for flesh and blood. He now remembered
how, two days ^fter his last conversation
with Cecile, he had seen Emilie Hijdrecht,
here, in these very rooms, where at length,
stung by his neglect, she had ventured to
come to him one evening, heedless of all
caution. With a line of cruelty round his
mouth he recalled how she had wept at
his knees, how in her jealousy she had com-
plained against Cecile, how he had ordered
her to be silent and forbidden her to pro-
nounce Cecile's name. Then, their mad
embrace, an embrace of cruelty: cruelty
148 ECSTASY
on her part against the man whom time
after time she lost when she thought him
secured for good, whom she could not un-
derstand and to whom she clung with all
the violence of her brutal passion, a purely
animal passion of primitive times; cruelty
on his part against the woman he despised,
while in his passion he almost stifled her
in his embrace.
Yes, what then? How was he to find
the mean between the two poles of his
nature? He shrugged his shoulders.
He knew that he could never find it. He
lacked some quality, or a certain power,
necessary to find it. He could do nothing
but allow himself to swing to and fro.
Very well then: he would let himself
swing; there was no help for it. For
now, in the lassitude following his out-
burst of savagery, he began to experience
ECSTASY 149
again a violent longing, like one who,
after a long evening passed in a ball-room
heavy with the foul air of gaslight and the
stifling closeness and mustiness of human
breath, craves a high heaven and width of
atmosphere : a violent longing for Cecile.
And he smiled, glad that he knew her, that
he was able to go to her, that it was now
his privilege to enter into the chaste sanc-
tuary of her environment, as into a tem-
ple ; he smiled, glad that he felt his long-
ing and proud of it, exalting himself above
other men. Already he tasted the pleas-
ure of confessing to her honestly how he
had lived during the last three weeks ; and
already he heard her voice, though he could
not distinguish the words. . . .
Jules climbed down the steps. He was
disappointed that Quaerts had not fol-
lowed his arranging of the weapons upon
the rack and his draping of the stuifs
around them. But he had quietly con-
150 ECSTASY
tinued his work and, now that it was fin-
ished, he climbed down and came and sat
on the floor quietly, with his head against
the foot of the couch on which his friend
lay thinking. Jules said never a word ; he
looked straight before him, a little sulk-
ily, knowing that Quaerts was looking at
him.
''Jules," said Quaerts.
But Jules did not answer, still staring.
'Tell me, Jules, what makes you like
me so much?"
"How should I know?" answered Jules,
with thin lips.
"Don't you know?"
"No. How can you know why you are
fond of any one?"
"You oughtn't to be so fond of me,
Jules. It's not good."
"Very well, I will be less so in the fu-
ture.
Jules rose suddenly and took his hat.
ECSTASY 151
He put out his hand; but Quaerts held
him back with a laugh :
''You see, scarcely any one is fond of
me, except . . . you and your father.
Now I know why your father likes me, but
not why you do."
"You want to know everything."
'Is that so very wrong?"
"Certainly. You'll never be satisfied.
Mamma always says that no one knows
anything."
"And you?"
"I? . . . Nothing. . . ."
"How do you mean, nothing?"
"I know nothing at all. . . . Let me
go."
"Are you cross, Jules?"
"No, but I have an engagement."
"Can't you wait till I'm dressed?
Then we can go together. I am going to
Aunt Cecile's."
Jules objected:
152 ECSTASY
"All right, provided you hurry/'
Quaerts got up. He now saw the ar-
rangement of the weapons, which he had
entirely forgotten :
''You've done it very nicely, Jules," he
said, in an admiring tone. 'Thank you
very much."
Jules did not answer; and Quaerts went
through into his dressing-room. The lad
sat down on the sofa, bolt upright, look-
ing out at the Law Courts, across the
bare trees. His eyes filled with great
round tears, which ran down his cheeks.
Sitting stiff and motionless, he wept.
CHAPTER IX
CECILE had passed those three
weeks in a state of ignorance
which had filled her with pain.
She had, it is true, heard through Dolf
that Quaerts was away shooting, but be-
yond that nothing. A thrill of joy elec-
trified her when the door behind the screen
opened and she saw him enter the room.
He was standing in front of her before she
could recover herself; and, as she was
trembling, she did not rise, but, still sit-
ting, reached out her hand to him, her
fingers quivering imperceptibly.
*1 have been out of town," he began.
"So I heard."
"Have you been well all this time?"
"Quite well, thank you."
IS3
154 ECSTASY
He noticed that she was somewhat pale,
that she had a light blue shadow under
her eyes and that there was lassitude in
all her movements. But he came to the
conclusion that there was nothing extraor-
dinary in this, or that perhaps she merely
looked pale in the creamy whiteness of
her soft, white dress, like silky wool, even
as her figure became yet slighter in the
constraint of the scarf about her waist,
with its long white fringe falling to her
feet. She was sitting alone with Chris-
tie, the child upon his footstool with his
head in her lap and a picture-book on his
knees.
''You two are a perfect Madonna and
Child," said Quaerts.
"Little Dolf has gone out to walk with
his god-father," she said, looking fondly
upon her child and motioning to him
gently.
At this bidding the boy stood up and
ECSTASY 155
shyly approached Quaerts, offering him a
hand. Quaerts lifted him up and set him
on his knee:
'^How light he is!"
"He is not strong," said Cecile.
''You coddle him too much."
. She laughed :
'Tedagogue!" she laughed. "How do
I coddle him?"
"I always find him nestling against your
skirts. He must come with me one of
these days: I should make him do some
gymnastics."
"Jules horse-riding and Christie gym-
nastics I" she exclaimed.
"Yes . . . sport, in fact!" he an-
swered, with a meaning look of fun.
She glanced back at him; and sympa-
thy smiled from the depths of her gold-
grey eyes. He felt thoroughly happy
and, with the child still upon his knees,
said:
156 ECSTASY
"I have come to confess to you . . .
Madonna!"
Then, as though startled, he put the
child away from him.
"To confess?'
"Yes. . . . There, Christie, go back to
Mamma; I mustn't keep you by me any
longer."
"Very well," said Christie, with great,
wondering eyes, and caught hold of the
cord of Quaerts' eyeglass.
"The Child would forgive too easily,"
said Quaerts.
"And I, have I anything to forgive
you?' she asked.
"I shall be only too happy if you will
see it in that light."
"Then begin your confession."
"But the Child . . ." he hesitated.
Cecile stood up; she took the child,
kissed him and sat him on a stool by the
ECSTASY 157
window with his picture-book. Then she
came back to the sofa:
"He will not hear. . . ."
And Quaerts began the story, choosing
his words : he spoke of the shooting, of the
ragging-parties and the peasant-woman
and of Brussels. She listened atten-
tively, with dread in her eyes at the vio-
lence of such a life, the echo of which
reverberated in his words, even though
the echo was softened by his reverence.
**And is all this a sin calling for absolu-
tion?" she asked, when he had finished.
"Is it not?'
"I am no Madonna, but ... a woman
with fairly emancipated views. If you
were happy in what you did, it was no sin,
for happiness is good. . . . Were you
happy, I ask you? For in that case what
you did was . . . good."
"Happy?" he asked.
158 ECSTASY
"Yes."
"No. . . . Therefore I have sinned,
sinned against myself, have I not? For-
give me . . . Madonna."
She was troubled at the sound of his
voice, which, gently broken, wrapped her
about as with a spell; she was troubled
to see him sitting there, filling with his
body, his personality, his existence a place
in her room, beside her. In a single sec-
ond she lived through hours, feeling her
calm love lying heavy within her, like a
sweet weight; feeling a longing to throw
her arms about him and tell him that she
worshipped him; feeling also an intense
sorrow at what he had admitted, that once
again he had been unhappy. Hardly able
to control herself in her compassion, she
rose, moved towards him and laid her hand
upon his shoulder :
"Tell me, do you mean all this? Is
ECSTASY 159
it all true? Is it true that you have been
living as you say and yet have not been
happy?"
* 'Perfectly true, on my soul."
"Then why did you do it?"
"I couldn't help it."
''You were unable to force yourself to
be more moderate?"
"Absolutely."
"Then I should like to teach you."
"And I should not like to learn, from
you. For it is and always will be my
best happiness to be immoderate also
where you are concerned, immoderate in
the life of my real self, my soul, just as I
have now been immoderate in the life of
my apparent self."
Her eyes grew dim; she shook her head,
her hand still upon his shoulder :
"That is not right," she said, in deep
distress.
i6o ECSTASY
''It is a joy . . . for both those beings.
I have to be like that, I have to be im-
moderate : they both demand it."
''But that is not right," she insisted.
"Pure enjoyment . . ."
"The lowest, but also the highest. . . ."
A shiver passed through her, a deadly
fear for him.
"No, no," she persisted. "Don't think
that. Don't do it. Neither the one nor
the other. Really, it is all wrong. Pure
joy, unbridled joy, even the highest, is
not good. In that way you force your
life. When you speak so, I am afraid for
your sake. Try to recover moderation.
You have so many possibilities of being
happy."
"Oh, yes! . . ."
"Yes, but what I mean is that you must
not be fanatical. And . . . and also, for
the love of God, don't run quite so madly
after pleasure."
ECSTASY 161
He looked up at her; he saw her be-
seeching him with her eyes, with the ex-
pression of her face, with her whole at-
titude, as she stood bending slightly for-
ward. He saw her beseeching him, even
as he heard her ; and then he knew that she
loved him. A feeling of bright rapture
came upon him, as though something high
were descending upon him to guide him.
He did not stir — he felt her hand thrilling
at his shoulder — afraid lest with the
smallest movement he should drive that
rapture away. It did not occur to him for
a moment to speak a word of tenderness
to her or to take her in his arms and press
her to him: she was so profoundly trans-
figured in his eyes that any such profane
desire remained far removed from him.
And yet he felt at that moment that he
loved her, but as he had never yet loved
any one before, so completely and exclu-
sively, with the noblest elements that lie
i62 ECSTASY
hidden away in the soul, often unknown
even to itself. He felt that he loved her
with new-born feelings of frank youth and
fresh vigour and pure unselfishness. And
it seemed to him that it was all a dream of
something which did not exist, a dream
lightly woven about him, a web of sun-
beams.
''Madonna!" he whispered. 'Torgive
me. . . .
"Promise then. . . ."
''Willingly, but I shall not be able to
keep my promise. I am weak. . . ."
"No."
"Ah, I am I But I give you my promise ;
and I promise also to try my utmost to
keep it. Will you forgive me now?"
She nodded to him; her smile fell on him
like a ray of sunlight. Then she went to
the child, took it in her arms and brought
it to Quaerts :
ECSTASY 163
"Put your arms round his neck, Christie,
and give him a kiss."
He took the child from her; it threw its
little arms about his neck and kissed him
on the forehead.
''The Madonna forgives me . . . and
the Child!" he whispered.
They stayed long talking to each other ;
and no one came to disturb them. The
child had gone back to sit by the window.
Twilight began to strew pale ashes in the
room. He saw Cecile sitting there,
sweetly white; the kindly melody of her
half-breathed words came rippling to-
wards him. They talked of many things :
of Emerson; of Van Eeden's new poem in
the Nieuwe Gids; of their respective views
of life. He accepted a cup of tea, only
for the pleasure of seeing her move with
i64 ECSTASY
the yielding lines of her graciousness,
standing before the tea-table in the corner.
In her white dress, she had something
about her of marble grown lissom with
inspiration and warm life. He sat mo-
tionless, listening reverently, swathed in
a still rapture of delight. It was a mood
which defied analysis, without a visible
origin, springing from their sympathetic
fellowship as a flower springs from an in-
visible seed after a drop of rain and a kiss
of the sunshine. She too was happy; she
no longer felt the pain which his rever-
ence had caused her. True, she was a lit-
tle sad by reason of what he had told her,
but she was happy for the sake of this
speck of the present. Nor did she any
longer see that dark stream, that inky sky,
that night landscape : everything that she
now saw was bright and calm. And hap-
piness breathed about her, a tangible hap-
piness, like a living caress. Sometimes
ECSTASY 165
they ceased speaking and both of them
looked towards the child, as it sat reading;
or Christie would ask them something and
they would answer. Then they smiled
one to the other, because the child was so
good and did not disturb them.
*lf only this could continue for ever,"
he ventured to say, though still fearing
lest a word might break the crystalline
transparency of their happiness. 'If you
could only see into me now, how all in me
is peace. I don't know why, but that is
how I feel. Perhaps because of your for-
giveness. Really the Catholic religion is
delightful, with its absolution. What a
comfort that must be for people of weak
character!"
"But I cannot think your character
weak. And it is not. You tell me that
you sometimes know how to place your-
self above ordinary life, whence you can
look down upon its grief as on a comedy
i66 ECSTASY
which makes one laugh sadly for a minute,
but which is not true. I too believe that
life, as we see it, is no more than a symbol
of a truer life, concealed beneath it, which
we do not see. But I cannot rise beyond
the symbol, while you can. Therefore
you are very strong and feel yourself very
great."
''How strange, when I just think my-
self weak and you great and powerful.
You dare to be what you are, in all your
harmony; and I am always hiding and
am afraid of people individually, though
sometimes I am able to rise above life in
the mass. But these are riddles which it
is vain for me to attempt to solve; and,
though I have not the power to solve them,
at this moment I feel nothing but happi-
ness. Surely I may say that once aloud,
may I not, quite aloud?"
She smiled to him in the bliss which she
felt of making him happy.
ECSTASY 167
"It is the first time I have felt happi-
ness in this way," he continued. "Indeed
it is the first time I have felt it at all. . . ."
"Then don't analyse it."
"There is no need. It is standing be-
fore me in all its simplicity. Do you
know why I am happy?"
"Don't analyse, don't analyse," she re-
peated in alarm.
"No," he said, "but may I tell you, with-
out analysing?"
"No, don't," she stammered, "because
. . . because I know. . . ."
She besought him, very pale, with
folded, trembling hands. The child
looked at them; it had closed its book, and
come to sit down on its stool by its mother,
with a look of gay sagacity in its pale-
blue eyes.
"Then I obey you," said Quaerts, with
some difficulty.
And they were both silent, their eyes
i68 ECSTASY
expanded as with the lustre of a vision.
It seemed to be gently beaming about
them through the pale ashen twilight.
CHAPTER X
THIS evening Cecile had written
a great deal into her diary; and
she now paced up and down in
her room, with locked hands hanging be-
fore her and her head slightly bowed and
a fixed look in her eyes. There was
anxiety about her mouth. Before her was
the vision, as she had conceived it. He
loved her with his soul alone, not as a
woman who is pretty and good, but with
a higher love than that, with the finest
nervous fibres of his being — his real be-
ing— with the supreme emotion of the
very essence of his soul. Thus she felt
that he loved her and in no other way, with
contemplation, with adoration. Thus she
felt it actually, through a sympathetic
power of divination by which each of them
169
170 ECSTASY
was able to guess what actually passed
within the other. And this was his happi-
ness— his first, as he said — thus to love
her and in no other way. Oh, she well
understood him ! She understood his illu-
sion, which he saw in her; and she now
knew that, if she really wished to love
him for his sake and not for her own, she
must needs appear to be nothing else to
him, she must preserve his illusion of a
woman not of flesh, one who desired none
of the earthly things that other women
did, one who should be soul alone, a
sister soul to his. But, while she saw
before her this vision of her love, calm
and radiant, she saw also the struggle
which awaited her, the struggle with
herself, with her own distress : distress be-
cause he thought of her so highly and
named her Madonna, the while she longed
only to be lowly and his slave. She would
have to seem the woman he saw in her, for
ECSTASY 171
the sake of his happiness, and the part
would be a heavy one for her to support,
for she loved him, ah, with such simplicity,
with all her woman's heart, wishing to give
herself to him entirely, as only once in
her life a woman gives herself, whatever
the sacrifice might cost her, the sacrifice
made in ignorance of herself and perhaps
afterwards to be made in bitterness and
sorrow ! The outward appearance of her
conduct and her inward consciousness of
herself: the conflict of these would fall
heavily upon her, but she thought upon
the struggle with a smile, with joy beam-
ing through her heart, for this bitterness
would be endured for him^ deliberately for
liim and for him alone. Oh, the luxury
to suffer for one whom she loved as she
loved him; to be tortured with inner
longing, that he might not come to
her with the embrace of his arms and
the kiss of his mouth; and to feel that
172 ECSTASY
the torture was for the sake of his happi-
ness, his! To feel that she loved him
enough to go to him with open arms and
beg for the alms of his caresses; but also
to feel that she loved him more than that
and more highly and that — not from pride
or bashfulness, which are really egoism,
but solely from sacrifice of herself to his
happiness — she never would, never could,
be a suppliant before him!
To suffer, to suffer for him! To wear
a sword through her soul for him! To
be a martyr for her god, for whom there
was no happiness on earth save through
her martyrdom ! And she had passed her
life, had spent long, long years, without
feeling until this day that such luxury
could exist, not as a fantasy in rhymes,
but as a reality in her heart. She had been
a young girl and had read the poets and
what they rhyme of love;' and she had
thought she understood it all, with a subtle
ECSTASY 173
comprehension and yet without ever hav-
ing had the least acquaintance with emo-
tion itself. She had been a young woman,
had been married, had borne children.
Her married life flashed through her mind
in a lightning-flicker of memory; and she
stopped still before the portrait of her
dead husband, standing there on its easel,
draped in sombre plush. The mask it
wore was of ambition : an austere, refined
face, with features sharp, as if engraved in
fine steel; coldly-intelligent eyes with a
fixed portrait look; thin, clean-shaven
lips, closed firmly like a lock. Her hus-
band! And she still lived in the same
house where she had lived with him, where
she had had to receive her many guests
when he was Foreign Minister. Her re-
ceptions and dinners flickered up in her
mind, so many scenes of worldliness ; and
she clearly recalled her husband's eye tak-
ing in everything with a quick glance of
174 ECSTASY
approval or disapproval : the arrangement
of her rooms, her dress, the ordering of her
parties. Her marriage had not been un-
happy; her husband was a little cold and
unexpansive, wrapped wholly in his am-
bition; but he was attached to her after
his fashion and even tenderly; she too had
been fond of him; she thought at the time
that she was marrying him for love: her
dependent womanliness loved the male,
the master. Of a delicate constitution,
probably undermined by excessive brain-
work, he had died after a short illness.
Cecile remembered her sorrow, her loneli-
ness with the two children, as to whom
he had already feared that she would spoil
them. And her loneliness had been sweet
to her, among the clouds of her dream-
ing. . . .
This portrait — a handsome life-size
photograph; a carbon impression dark
with a Rembrandt shadow — why had she
ECSTASY 175
never had it copied in oils, as she had at
first intended? The intention had faded
away within her; for months she had not
given it a thought; now suddenly it re-
curred to her. . . . And she felt no self-
reproach or remorse. She would not have
the painting made now. The portrait was
well enough as it was. She thought of
the dead man without sorrow. She had
never had cause to complain of him; he
had never had anything with which to re-
proach her. And now she was free; she
became conscious of the fact with a great
exultation. Free, to feel what she would !
Her freedom arched above her as a blue
firmament in which new love ascended
with a dove's immaculate flight. Free-
dom, air, light I She turned from the por-
trait with a smile of rapture ; she thrust her
arms above her head as if she would meas-
ure her freedom, the width of the air, as
if she would go to meet the light. Love,
176 ECSTASY
she was in love ! There was nothing but
love; nothing but the harmony of their
souls, the harmony of her handmaiden's
soul with the soul of her god, an exile upon
earth. Oh, what a mercy that this har-
mony could exist between him so exalted
and her so lowly! But he must not see
her lowliness; she must remain the
Madonna, remain the Madonna for his
sake, in the martyrdom due to his rever-
ence, in the dizziness of the high place,
the heavenly throne to which he raised
her, beside himself. She felt this dizzi-
ness shuddering about her like rings of
light. And she flung herself on her sofa
and locked her fingers; her eyelids quiv-
ered; then she remained staring before
her, towards some very distant point.
CHAPTER XI
JULES had been away from school
for a day or two with a bad head-
ache, which had made him look
very pale and given him an air of sad-
ness; but he was a little better now and,
feeling bored in his own room, he went
downstairs to the empty drawing-room
and sat ^t the piano. Papa was at work
in his study, but it would not interfere
with Papa if he played. Dolf spoilt him,
seeing in his son something that was want-
ing in himself and therefore attracted him,
even as possibly it had formerly attracted
him in his wife also: Jules could do no
wrong in his eyes ; and, if the boy had only
been willing, Dolf would have spared no
expense to give him a careful musical edu-
cation. But Jules violently opposed him-
177
178 ECSTASY
self to anything resembling lessons and
besides maintained that it was not worth
while. He had no ambition; his vanity
was not tickled by his father's hopes of
him or his appreciation of his playing:
he played only for himself, to express him-
self in the vague language of musical
sounds. At this moment he felt alone and
abandoned in the great house, though he
knew that Papa was at work two rooms off
and that when he pleased he could take
refuge on Papa's great couch; at this mo-
ment he had within himself an almost
physical feeling of dread at his loneliness,
which caused something to reel about him,
an immense sense of utter desolation.
He was fourteen years old, but he felt
himself neither child nor boy: a certain
feebleness, an almost feminine need of de-
pendency, of devotion to some one who
would be everything to him had already,
in his earliest childhood, struck at his
ECSTASY 179
virility; and he shivered in his dread of
this inner loneliness, as if he were afraid
of himself. He suffered greatly from
vague moods in which that strange some-
thing oppressed and stifled him; then, not
knowing where to hide his inner being, he
would go to play, so that he might lose
himself in the great sound-soul of music.
His thin, nervous fingers would grope
hesitatingly over the keys; he himself
would suffer from the false chords which
he struck in his search; then he would let
himself go, find a single, very short mo-
tive, of plaintive, minor melancholy, and
caress that motive in his joy at possessing
it, at having found it, caress it until it re-
turned each moment as a monotony of
sorrow. He would think the motive so
beautiful that he could not part with it;
those four or five notes expressed so well
everything that he felt that he would play
them over and over again, until Suzette
i8o ECSTASY
burst into the room and made him stop,
saying that otherwise she would be driven
mad.
Thus he sat playing now. And it was
pitiful at first: he hardly recognized the
notes; cacophonous discords wailed and
cut into his poor brain, still smarting from
the headache. He moaned as if he were
in pain afresh ; but his fingers were hypno-
tized, they could not desist, they still
sought on; and the notes became purer: a
short phrase released itself with a cry, a
cry which returned continually on the
same note, suddenly high after the dull
bass of the prelude. And this note came as
a surprise to Jules ; that fair cry of sorrow
frightened him; and he was glad to have
found it, glad to have so sweet a sorrow.
Then he was no longer himself; he played
on until he felt that it was not he who
was playing but another, within him, who
compelled him; he found the full, pure
ECSTASY 181
chords as by intuition ; through the sobbing
of the sounds ran the same musical figure,
higher and higher, with silver feet of pur-
ity, following the curve of crystal rain-
bows lightly spanned on high; reaching
the topmost point of the arch it struck a
cry, this time in very drunkenness, out into
the major, throwing up wide arms in glad-
ness to heavens of intangible blue. Then
it was like souls of men, which first live
and suffer and utter their complaint and
then die, to glitter in forms of light whose
long wings spring from their pure shoul-
ders in sheets of silver radiance; they trip
one behind the other over the rainbows,
over the bridges of glass, blue and rose and
yellow; and there come more and more,
kindreds and nations of souls ; they hurry
their silver feet, they press across the rain-
bow, they laugh and sing and push one
another; in their jostling their wings clash
together, scattering silver down. Now
i82 ECSTASY
they stand all on the top of the arc and
look up, with the great wondering of their
laughing child-eyes; and they dare not,
they dare not; but others press on behind
them, innumerous, more and more and yet
more; they crowd upwards to the topmost
height, their wings straight in the air, close
together. And now, now they must; they
may hesitate no longer. One of them,
taking deep breaths, spreads his flight and
with one shock springs out of the thick
throng into the ether. Soon many fol-
low, one after another, till their shapes
swoon in the blue; all is gleam about them.
Now, far below, thin as a thin thread, the
rainbow arches itself, but they do not look
at it; rays fall towards them: these are
souls, which they embrace; they go with
them in locked embraces. And then the
light: light beaming over all; all things
liquid in everlasting light; nothing but
light: the sounds sing the light, the sounds
ECSTASY 183
are the light, there is nothing now but
the light everlasting. . . .
"Jules!"
He looked up vacantly.
"Jules! Jules!"
He smiled now, as if awakened from a
dream-sleep; he rose, went to her, to
Cecile. She stood in the doorway; she
had remained standing there while he
played; it had seemed to her that he was
playing a part of herself.
"What were you playing, Jules?" she
asked.
He was quite awake now and distressed,
fearing that he must have made a terrible
noise in the house. . . .
"I don't know. Auntie," he said.
She hugged him, suddenly, violently, in
gratitude. ... To him she owed it, the
great mystery, since the day when he had
broken out in anger against her. . . .
CHAPTER XI
OH, for that which cannot be told,
because words are so few, al-
ways the same combinations of
a few letters and sounds; oh, for that
which cannot be thought of in the narrow
limits of comprehension; that which at
best can only be groped for with the
antennae of the soul; essence of the es-
sences of the ultimate elements of our be-
ing! . . ."
She wrote no more, she knew no more :
why write that she had no words and yet
seek them?
She was waiting for him and she now
looked out of the open window to see if
184
ECSTASY 185
he was coming. She remained there for a
long time; then she felt that he would
come immediately and so he did : she saw
him approaching along the Scheveningen
Road ; he pushed open the iron gate of the
villa and smiled to her as he raised his
hat.
"Wait!" she cried. ''Stay where you
I"
are:
She ran down the steps, into the garden,
where he stood. She came towards him,
beaming with happiness and so lovely,
so delicately frail; her blonde head so
seemly in the fresh green of May; her
figure like a young girl's in the palest grey
gown, with black velvet ribbon and here
and there a touch of silver lace.
"I am so glad that you have come!
You have not been to see me for so long!"
she said, giving him her hand.
He did not answer at once; he merely
smiled.
i86 ECSTASY
'Tet us sit in the garden, behind: the
weather is so lovely."
''Let us," he said.
They walked into the garden, by the
mesh of the garden-paths, the jasmine-
vines starring white as they passed. In an
adjoining villa a piano was playing; the
sounds came to them of Rubinstein's
Romance.
"Listen!" said Cecile, starting.
"What is that?"
"What?" he asked.
"What they are playing."
"Something of Rubinstein's, I believe,"
he said.
"Rubinstein? . . ." she repeated,
vaguely. "Yes. . . ."
And she relapsed into the wealth of
memories of . . . what? Once before,
in this way, she had walked along these
same paths, past jasmine- vines like these,
long, ever so long ago; she had walked
ECSTASY 187
with him, with him. . . . Why^ Could
the past repeat itself, after centur-
ies? ...
'It is three weeks since you have been to
see me," she said, simply, recovering her-
self.
*Torgive me," he replied.
"What was the reason?"
He hesitated throughout his being, seek-
ing an excuse :
"I don't know," he answered, softly.
''You will forgive me, will you not? One
day it was this, another day that. And
then ... I don't know. Many reasons
together. It is not good that I should see
you often. Not good for you, nor for
me."
"Let us begin with the second. Why
is it not good for you?"
"No, let us begin with the first, with
what concerns you. People . • •"
"People r'
i88 ECSTASY
'Teople are talking about us. I am
looked upon as an irretrievable rake. I
will not have your name linked profanely
with mine."
"And is it?*
"Yes. . . ."
She smiled :
"I don't mind."
"But you must mind; if not for your
own sake ..."
He stopped. She knew he was think-
ing of her boys ; she shrugged her shoul-
ders.
"And now, why is it not«good for you?"
"A man must not be happy too often."
"What a sophism! Why not?"
"I don't know; but I feel I am right.
It spoils him; it is too much for him."
"Are you happy here, then?"
He smiled and gently nodded yes.
They were silent for very long. They
were now sitting at the end of the garden.
ECSTASY 189
on a seat which stood in a semicircle of
flowering rhododendrons: the great pur-
ple-satin blossoms shut them in with a
tall hedge of closely-clustered bouquets,
rising from the paths and overtopping
their heads; standard roses flung their in-
cense before them. They sat still, happy
in each other, happy in the sympathy of
their atmospheres mingling together; yet
in their happiness there was the invincible
melancholy which is an integral part of all
life, even in happiness.
'1 don't know how I am to tell you," he
said. "But suppose that I were to see you
every day, every moment that I thought of
you. . . . That would not do. For then
I should become so refined, so subtle, that
for pure happiness I should not be able
to live; my other being would receive no-
thing and would suffer like a beast that is
left to starve. I am bad, I am selfish, to
be able to speak like this, but I must tell '
190 ECSTASY
you the truth, that you may not think too
well of me. And so I only seek your com-
pany as something very beautiful which I
allow myself to enjoy just once in a way."
She was silent.
''Sometimes . . . sometimes, too, I ima-
gine that in doing this I am not behaving
well to you, that in some way or other I
offend or hurt you. Then I sit brooding
about it, until I begin to think that it
would be best to take leave of you for
ever."
She was still silent; motionless she sat,
with her hands lying slackly in her lap,
her head slightly bowed, a smile about her
mouth.
''Speak to me," he begged.
"You do not oifend me, nor hurt me,"
she said. "Come to me whenever you feel
the need. Do always as you think best;
and I shall think that best too : you must
not doubt that."
ECSTASY 191
"I should so much like to know in what
way you like me?"
*ln what way? Surely, as a Madonna
does a sinner who repents and gives her
his soul," she said, archly. "Am I not a
Madonna?"
''Are you content to be so?"
**Can you be so ignorant about women
as not to know how every one of us has
a longing to solace and relieve, in fact,
to play at being a Madonna?"
''Do not speak like that," he said, with
pain in his voice.
"I am speaking seriously. . . ."
He looked at her; a doubt rose within
him, but she smiled to him; a calm glory
was about her; she sat amidst the bouquets
of the rhododendrons as in the blossoming
tenderness of one great mystic flower.
The wound of his doubt was soothed with
balsam. He surrendered himself wholly
to his happiness; an atmosphere wafted
192 ECSTASY
about him of the sweet calm of life, an
atmosphere in which life becomes dispas-
sionate and restful and smiling, like the
air which is rare about the gods. It began
to grow dark; a violet dusk fell from the
sky like crape falling upon crape; quietly
the stars lighted up. The shadows in
the garden, between the shrubs among
which they sat, flowed into one another;
the piano in the next villa had stopped.
And happiness drew a veil between his
soul and the outside world: the garden
with its design of plots and paths; the villa
with curtains at its windows and its iron
gate; the road behind, with the rattle of
carriages and trams. All this withdrew
itself far back; all ordinary life retreated
far from him; vanishing behind the veil, it
died away. It was no dream nor con-
ceit : reality to him was the happiness that
had come while the world died away; the
happiness that was rare, invisible, in-
ECSTASY 193
tangible, coming from the love which
alone is sympathy, calm and without pas-
sion, the love which exists purely of it-
self, without further thought either of
taking anything or even of giving any-
thing, the love of the gods, which is the
soul of love itself. High he felt himself :
the equal of the illusion which he had of
her, which she wished to be for his sake,
of which he also was now absolutely cer-
tain. For he could not know that what
had given him happiness — his illusion —
so perfect, so crystal-clear, might cause
her some sort of grief; he could not at this
moment penetrate without sin into the
truth of the law which insists on
equilibrium, which takes away from one
what it offers to another, which gives hap-
piness and grief together; he could not
know that, if happiness was with him, with
her there was anguish, anguish in that she
had to make a pretence and deceive him
194 ECSTASY
for his own sake, anguish in that she
wanted what was earthly, that she craved
for what was earthly, that she yearned for
earthly pleasures! . . . And still less
could he know that, notwithstanding all
this, there was nevertheless voluptuous-
ness in her anguish: that to suffer through
him, to suffer for him made of her anguish
all voluptuousness.
It was dark and late; and they were still
sitting there.
''Shall we go for a walk?" she asked.
He hesitated, with a smile; but she re-
peated her suggestion :
''Why not, if you care to?"
And he could no longer refuse.
They rose and went along by the back
of the house; and Cecile said to the maid,
whom she saw sitting with her needle-work
by the kitchen-door:
ECSTASY 195
"Greta, fetch me my little black hat,
my black-lace shawl and a pair of gloves."
The servant rose and went into the
house. Cecile noticed how a trifle of shy-
ness was emphasized in Quaerts' hesita-
tion, now that they stood loitering, wait-
ing among the flower-beds. She smiled,
plucked a rose and placed it in her waist-
band.
*'Have the boys gone to bed?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied, still smiling, "long
ago."
The servant returned; Cecile put on the
little black hat, threw the lace about her
neck, but refused the gloves which Greta
offered her :
"No, not these; get me a pair of grey
ones. . . ."
The servant went into the house again;
and as Cecile looked at Quaerts her gaiety
increased. She gave a little laugh :
"What is the matter?" she asked, mis-
196 ECSTASY
chievously, knowing perfectly well what
it was.
''Nothing, nothing!" he said, vaguely,
and waited patiently until Greta returned.
Then they went through the garden-
gate into the Woods. They walked
slowly, without speaking; Cecile played
with her long gloves, not putting them
on.
''Really . . ." he began, hesitating.
"Come, what is itT
"You know; I told you the other day:
it's not right. . . ."
"What isn't?"
"What we are doing now. You risk
too much."
"Too much, with you?"
"If any one were to see us. . . ."
"And what then?"
He shook his head :
"You are wilful; you know quite well."
She clinched her eyes; her mouth grew
ECSTASY 197
serious; she pretended to be a little angry:
''Listen, you mustn't be anxious if Fm
not. I am doing no harm. Our walks are
not secret: Greta at least knows about
them. And, besides, I am free to do as
I please.''
'It's my fault: the first time we went
for a walk in the evening, it was at my
request. . . ."
"Then do penance and be good; come
now, without scruple, at my request," she
said, with mock emphasis.
He yielded, feeling far too happy to
wish to make any sacrifice to a convention
which at that moment did not exist.
They walked on silently. Cecile's sen-
sations always came to her in shocks of
surprise. So it had been when Jules had
grown suddenly angry with her; so also,
midway on the stair, after that conversa-
tion at dinner of circles of sympathy.
And now, precisely in the same way, with
198 ECSTASY
the shock of sudden revelation, came this
new sensation, that after all she was not
suffering so seriously as she had at first
thought; that her agony, being a voluptu-
ousness, could not be a martyrdom; that
she was happy, that happiness had come
about her in the fine air of his atmosphere,
because they were together, together. . . .
Oh, why wish for anything more, above
all for things less pure? Did he not love
her and was not his love already a fact
and was not his love earthly enough for
her, now that it was a fact*? Did he not
love her with a tenderness which feared
for anything that might trouble her in
the world, through her ignoring that world
and wandering about with him alone in the
dark? Did he not love her with tender-
ness, but also with the lustre of his soul's
divinity, calling her Madonna and by this
title — unconsciously, perhaps, in his sim-
plicity— making her the equal of all that
ECSTASY 199
was divine in him? Did he not love her?
Heavens above, did he not love her*?
Well, what did she want more? No, no,
she wanted nothing more : she was happy,
she shared happiness with him; he gave
it to her just as she gave it to him; it was
a sphere that moved with them wherever
they went, seeking their way along the
darkling paths of the Woods, she leaning
on his arm, he leading her, for she could
see nothing in the dark, which yet was not
dark, but pure light of their happiness.
And so it was as if it were not evening, but
day, noonday, noonday in the night, hour
of light in the dusk!
3
And the darkness was light; the night
dawned with light which beamed on every
side. Calmly it beamed, the light, like
one solitary planet, beaming with the soft
radiance of purity, bright in a heaven of
200 ECSTASY
still, white, silver light, a heaven where
they walked along milky ways of light and
music; it beamed and sounded beneath
their feet; it welled in seas of ether high
above their heads and beamed and
sounded there, high and clear. And they
were alone in their heaven, in their in-
finite heaven, which was as space, endless
beneath them and above and around them,
with endless spaces of light and music, of
light that was music. Their heaven lay
eternal on every side with blissful vistas of
white radiance, fading away in lustre and
vanishing landscapes, like oases of flowers
and plants beside waters of light, still and
clear and hushed with peace. For its
peace was the ether in which all desire is
dissolved and becomes transparent and
crystal; and their life was a limpid exist-
ence in unruffled peace; they walked on,
in heavenly sympathy of fellowship, close
together, hemmed in one narrow circle, a
ECSTASY 201
circle of radiance which embraced them
both. Barely was there a recollection in
them of the world which had died out in
the glitter of their heaven; there was
naught in them but the ecstasy of their
love, which had become their soul, as if
they no longer had any soul, as if they were
only love; and, when they looked about
them and into the light, they saw that their
heaven, in which their happiness was the
light, was nothing but their love, and they
saw that the landscapes — the flowers and
plants by waters of light — were nothing
but their love and that the endless space,
the eternities of light and space, of spaces
full of light and music, stretching on every
hand, beneath them and above and around
them, that all this was nothing but their
love, which had grown into heaven and
happiness.
And now they came into the very midst,
to the very sun-centre, the very goal which
202 ECSTASY
Cecile had once foreseen, concealed in the
distance, in the irradiance of innate divi-
nity. Up to the very goal they stepped;
and on every side it shot its endless rays
into each and every eternity, as if their
love were becoming the centre of the uni-
verse. . . .
4
But they sat on a bench, in the dark,
not knowing that it was dark, for their
eyes were full of the light. They sat
against each other, silently at first, till,
remembering that he had a voice and could
still speak words, he said :
'1 have never lived through such a mo-
ment as this. I forget where we are and
who we are and that we are human. We
were, were we not*? I seem to remember
that we once were?"
''Yes, but we are that no longer,"
she said, smiling; and her eyes, grown
ECSTASY 203
big, looked into the darkness that was
light.
'lOnce we were human, suffering and de-
siring, in a world where certainly much
was beautiful, but where much also was
ugly."
*'Why speak of that now?" she asked;
and her voice sounded to herself as
coming from very far and low beneath
her.
"I seemed to remember it."
"I wanted to forget it."
''Then I will do so too. But may I not
thank you in human speech for lifting me
above humanity"?"
"Have I done so?"
*'Yes. May I thank you for it ... on
my knees?"
He knelt down and reverently took her
hands. He could just distinguish the out-
line of her figure, seated motionless and
still upon the bench; above them was a
204 ECSTASY
pearl-grey twilight of stars, between the
black boughs. She felt her hands in his
and then his mouth, his kiss, upon her
hand. Very gently, she released herself;
and then, with a great soul of modesty,
full of desireless happiness, very gently
she bent her arms about his neck, took his
head against her and kissed him on the
forehead :
''And I, I thank you tool" she whis-
pered, rapturously.
He was still; and she held him fast in
her embrace.
'1 thank you," she said, ''for teaching
me this and how to be happy as we are
and no otherwise. You see, when I still
lived and was human, when I was a
woman, I thought that I had lived before
I met you, for I had had a husband and I
had children of whom I was very fond.
But from you I first learnt to live, to live
without egoism and without desire; I
ECSTASY 205
learnt that from you this evening or . . .
this day, which is it? You have given me
life and happiness and everything. And
I thank you, I thank you I You see, you
are so great and so strong and so clear and
you have borne me towards your own hap-
piness, which should also be mine, but it
was so far above me that, without you,
I should never have attained it! For
there was a barrier for me which did not
exist for you. You see, when I was still
human" — and she laughed, clasping him
more tightly — '1 had a sister; and she too
felt that there was a barrier between her
happiness and herself; and she felt that
she could not surmount this barrier and
was so unhappy because of it that she
feared lest she should go mad. But I, I
do not know: I dreamed, I thought, I
hoped, I waited, oh, I waited; and then
you came ; and you made me understand at
once that you could be no man, no hus-
2o6 ECSTASY
band for me, but that you could be more
for me: my angel, O my deliverer, who
would take me in his arms and bear me
over the barrier into his own heaven, where
he himself was god, and make me his
Madonna ! Oh, I thank you, I thank you !
I do not know how to thank you; I can
only say that I love you, that I adore you,
that I lay myself at your feet. Remain
as you are and let me adore you, while
you kneel where you are. I may adore
you, may I not, while you yourself are
kneeling? You see, I too must confess,
as you used to do," she continued, for now
she could not but confess. ''I have not
always been straightforward with you; I
have sometimes pretended to be the
Madonna, knowing all the time that I was
but an ordinary woman, a woman who
frankly loved you. But I deceived you
for your own happiness, did I not? You
wished me so, you were happy when I was
ECSTASY 207
so and no otherwise. And now, now
too. you must forgive me, because now I
need no longer pretend, because that is past
and has died away, because I myself have
died away from myself, because now I am
no longer a woman, no longer human for
myself, but only what you wish me to be :
a Madonna and your creature, an atom of
your own essence and divinity. So will
you forgive me the past? May I thank
you for my happiness, for my heaven, my
light, O my master, for my joy, my great,
my immeasurable joy?"
He rose and sat beside her, taking her
gently in his arms:
"Are you happy?" he asked.
"Yes," she said, laying her head on his
shoulder in a giddiness of light. ''And
you?"
''Yes," he answered; and he asked
again, "And do you desire . . . nothing
more?"
2o8 ECSTASY
*'No, nothing!" she stammered. "I
want nothing but this, nothing but what
is mine, oh, nothing, nothing more!"
"Swear it to me ... by something
sacred!"
"I swear it to you ... by yourself!"
she declared.
He pressed her head to his shoulder
again. He smiled; and she did not see
that there was sadness in his laugh, for
she was blinded with light.
5
They were long silent, sitting there.
She remembered having said many things,
she no longer knew what. About her she
saw that it was dark, with only that pearl-
grey twilight of stars above their heads,
between the black boughs. She felt that
she was lying with her head on his shoul-
der; she heard his breath. A sort of chill
crept down her shoulders, notwithstand-
ECSTASY 209
ing the warmth of his embrace ; she drew
the lace closer about her throat and felt
that the bench on which they sat was moist
with dew.
"I thank you, I love you so, you make
me so happy," she repeated.
He was silent; he pressed her to him
very gently, with sheer tenderness. Her
last words still sounded in her ears after
she had spoken them. Then she was
bound to acknowledge to herself that they
had not been spontaneous, like all that
she had told him before, as he knelt be-
fore her with his head at her breast. She
had spoken them to break the silence:
formerly that silence had never troubled
her; why should it now?
''Come!" he said gently; and even yet
she did not hear the sadness of his voice,
in this single word.
They rose and walked on. It came to
him that it was late, that they must re-
210 ECSTASY
turn by the same path; beyond that, his
thoughts were sorrowful with many things
which he could not have expressed; a poor
twilight had come about him, after the
blinding light of their heaven of but now.
And he had to be cautious: it was very
dark here; and he could only just see the
path, lying very pale and undecided at
their feet; they brushed against the trunks
of the trees as they passed.
'1 can see nothing," said Cecile, laugh-
ing. ''Can you see the way?"
''Rely upon me: I can see quite well in
the dark," he replied. "I have eyes like
a lynx. . . ."
Step by step they went on and she felt
a sweet joy in being guided by him; she
clung close to his arm, saying laughingly
that she was afraid and that she would be
terrified if he were suddenly to leave hold
of her.
"And suppose I were suddenly to run
ECSTASY 211
away and leave you alone?" said Quaerts,
jestingly.
She laughed; she besought him with a
laugh not to do so. Then she was silent,
angry with herself for laughing; a burden
of sadness bore her down because of her
jesting and laughter. She felt as if she
were unworthy of that into which, in radi-
ant light, she had just been received.
And he too was filled with sadness : the
sadness of having to lead her through the
dark, by invisible paths, past rows of in-
visible tree-trunks which might graze and
wound her ; of having to lead her through
a dark wood, through a black sea, through
an ink-dark sphere, when they were re-
turning from a heaven where all had been
light and all happiness, without sadness
or darkness.
And so they were silent in that sadness,
until they reached the highroad, the old
Scheveningen Road.
212 ECSTASY
They approached the villa. A tram
went by; two or three people passed on
foot; it was a fine evening. He brought
her home and waited until the door opened
to his ring. The door remained un-
opened; meantime he pressed her hand
tightly and hurt her a little, involuntarily.
Greta must have fallen asleep, she
thought :
''Ring again, would you?"
He rang again, louder this time; after
a moment, the door opened. She gave him
her hand once more, with a smile.
''Good-night, mevrouw," he said, taking
her fingers respectfully and raising his hat.
Now, now she could hear the sound of
his voice, with its note of sadness. . . .
CHAPTER XII
THEN she knew, next day, when
she sat alone, wrapped in reflec-
tion, that the sphere of happi-
ness, the highest and brightest, may not be
trod; that it may only beam upon us as a
sun; and that we may not enter into it,
into the sacred sun-centre. They had
done that. . . .
Listless she sat, with her children by
her side, Christie looking pale and
languid. Yes, she spoiled them; but how
could she change herself?
Weeks passed; and Cecile heard nothing
from Quaerts. It was always so : after he
had been with her, weeks would drag by
without her ever seeing him. For he was
much too happy with her, it was more than
21$
214 ECSTASY
he could bear. He looked upon her so-
ciety as a rare pleasure to be very jealously
indulged. And she, she loved him sim-
ply, with the innermost essence of her
soul, loved him frankly, as a woman loves
a man. . . . She always wanted him,
every day, every hour, at every pulse of
her life.
Then she met him by chance, at
Scheveningen, where she had gone one
evening with Amelie and Suzette. Then
once again at a reception at Mrs. Hoze's.
He seemed shy with her; and a certain
pride in her kept her from asking him to
call. Yes, something was changed in
what had been woven between them.
But she suffered sorely, suffered also be-
cause of that foolish pride, because she had
not humbly begged him to come to her.
Was he not her god? Whatever he did
was good.
So she did not see him for weeks and
ECSTASY 215
weeks. Life went on: each day she had
her little occupations, in her household,
with her children; Mrs. Hoze reproached
her for her withdrawal from society and
she began to think more about her friends,
to please Mrs. Hoze, who had asked this
of her. There were flashes in her memory ;
in those flashes she saw the dinner-party,
their conversations and walks, all her love
for him, all his reverence for her whom he
called Madonna; their last evening of
light and ecstasy. Then she smiled; and
the smile itself beamed over her anguish,
her anguish in that she no longer saw him,
in that she felt proud and cherished a little
inward bitterness. Yet all things must be
well, as he wished them to be.
Oh, the evenings, the summer evenings,
cooling after the warm days, the evenings
when she sat alone, staring out from her
room, where the onyx lamp burnt with a
subdued flame, staring out of the open
2i6 ECSTASY
windows at the trams which, with their
tinkling bells, came and went to Scheven-
ingen, full, full of people ! Waiting, the
endless long waiting, evening after eve-
ning in solitude, after the children had
gone to bed ! Waiting, when she simply
sat still, staring fixedly before her, look-
ing at the trams, the tedious, everlasting
trams! Where was her modulated joy of
dreaming happiness? And where, where
was her radiant happiness? Where was
her struggle within herself between what
she was and what he saw in her? This
struggle no l6nger existed, this struggle
also had been overcome ; she no longer felt
the force of passion; she only longed to
see him come as he had always come, as he
no longer came. Why did he not come?
Happiness palled; people were talking
about them. ... It was not right that
they should see much of each other — he
had said so the evening before that high-
ECSTASY 217
est happiness — not good for him and not
good for her.
So she sat and thought; and great silent
tears fell from her eyes, for she knew that,
though he remained away partly for his
own sake, it was above all for hers that he
did not come. What had she not said
to him that evening on the bench in the
Woods, when her arms were about his
neck! Oh, she should have been silent,
she felt it now! She should not have
uttered her rapture, but have enjoyed it
secretly within herself; she should have let
him utter himself : she herself should have
remained his Madonna. But she had
been too full, too happy; and in that over-
brimming happiness she had been unable
to be other than true and clear as a bright
mirror.
He had glanced into her and read her
entirely : she knew that, she was certain of
it.
2i8 ECSTASY
He knew now in what manner she loved
him; she herself had revealed it to him.
But, at the same time, she had made known
to him that this was all past, that she was
now what he wished her to be. And this
had been true then, clear at that time and
true. . . . But now? Does ecstasy en-
dure only for one moment and did he know
it ? Did he know that her soul's flight had
reached its limit and must now descend
again to a commoner sphere? Did he
know that she loved him again now, quite
ordinarily, with all her being, wholly and
entirely, no longer as widely as the heav-
ens, only as widely as her arms could
reach out and embrace? And could he
not return this love, this so petty love of
hers, and was that why he did not come to
her?
Then she received his letter :
ECSTASY 219
"Forgive me if I put off from day to day
coming to see you; forgive me if even to-
day I cannot decide to come and if I write
to you instead. Forgive me if I even ven-
ture to ask you whether it may not be
necessary that we see each other no more.
If I hurt you and offend you, if I — which
may God forbid — cause you pain, forgive
me, forgive me ! Perhaps I procrastinated
a little from indecision, but much more be-
cause I considered that I had no other
choice.
''There has been between our two lives,
between our two souls, a rare moment of
happiness which was a special boon, a spe-
cial grace of heaven. Do you not think
so too? Oh, if only I had the words to
tell you how grateful I am in my inner-
most soul for that happiness ! If later I
ever look back upon my life, I shall always
see that happiness gleaming in between
the ugliness and the blackness, like a star
220 ECSTASY
of light. We received it as such, as a gift
of light. And I venture to ask you if that
gift is not a thing for you and me to keep
sacred?
''Can we do that if I continue to see
you? You, yes, I have no doubt of you:
you will be strong to keep it sacred, our
sacred happiness, especially because you
have already had your struggle, as you
confided to me on that sacred evening.
But I, can I too be strong, especially now
that I know that you have been through
the struggle? I doubt myself, I doubt my
own force ; I am afraid of myself. There
is cruelty in me, a love of destruction,
something of a savage. As a boy I took
pleasure in destroying beautiful things, in
breaking and soiling them. The other
day, Jules brought me some roses to my
room; in the evening, as I sat alone, think-
ing of you and of our happiness — yes, at
that very moment — my fingers began to
ECSTASY 221
fumble with a rose whose petals were
loose; and, when I saw that one rose dis-
petalled, there came a cruel frenzy within
me to tear and destroy them all; and I
rumpled every one of them. I only give
you a small instance, because I do not wish
to give you larger instances, from vanity,
lest you should know how bad I am. I am
afraid of myself. If I saw you again
and again and yet again, what should I
begin to feel and think and wish, uncon-
sciously? Which would be the stronger,
my soul or the beast that is in me? For-
give me for laying bare my dread before
you and do not despise me for it. Up
to the present I have not attempted a
struggle, in the sacred world of our hap-
piness. I saw you, I saw you often be-
fore I knew you; I guessed you as you
were; I was permitted to speak to you; it
was given me to love you with my soul
alone: I beseech you, let it remain so.
222 ECSTASY
Let me continue to keep my happiness like
this, to keep it sacred, a thousand times
sacred. I think it worth while to have
lived, now that I have known that: hap-
piness, the highest. And I am afraid of
the struggle which would probably come
and pollute that sacred thing.
''Will you believe me when I swear to
you that I have reflected deeply on all
this? Will you believe me when I swear
to you that I suffer at the thought of never
being permitted to see you again? And,
above all, will you forgive me when I
swear to you that I am acting in this way
because I think that I am doing right?
Oh, I am grateful to you and I love you
as a soul of light alone, of nothing but
light!
'Terhaps I am wrong to send you this
letter. I do not know. Perhaps pre-
sently I will tear up what I have writ-
ten. . . ."
ECSTASY 223
Yet he had sent her the letter.
There was great bitterness within her.
She had struggled once, had conquered
herself and, in a sacred moment, had con-
fessed both struggle and conquest; she
knew that fate had compelled her to do
so; she now knew what she would lose
through her confession. For a short mo-
ment, a single evening perhaps, she had
been worthy of her god and his equal.
Now she was so no longer; for this reason
also she felt bitter. And she felt bitter-
est of all because the thought dared to rise
within her :
"A god I Is he a god? Is a god afraid
of the struggle?"
Then her threefold bitterness changed
to despair, black despair, a night which
her eyes sought to penetrate in order to
see something where they saw nothing,
nothing; and she moaned low and wrung
her hands, sinking into a heap before the
224 ECSTASY
window and staring at the trams which,
with the tinkling of their bells, ran piti-
lessly to and fro.
CHAPTER XIII
SHE shut herself up; she saw little
of her children; she told her
friends that she was ill. She was
at home to no visitors. She guessed in-
tuitively that people in their circles were
speaking of Quaerts and herself. Life
hung dull about her in a closely-woven
web of tiresome, tedious meshes; and she
remained motionless in her corner, to avoid
entangling herself in those meshes. Once
Jules forced his way to her; he went up-
stairs, in spite of Greta's protests; he
sought her in the little boudoir and, not
finding her, went resolutely to her bed-
room. He knocked without receiving a
reply, but entered nevertheless. The
room was half in darkness, for she kept
the blinds lowered; in the shadow of the
canopy which rose above the bedstead,
225
226 ECSTASY
with its hangings of old-blue brocade,
Cecile lay sleeping. Her tea-gown was
open over her breast; the train trailed from
the bed and lay creased over the carpet;
her hair spread loosely over the pillows;
one of her hands was clutching nervously
at the tulle bed-curtains.
''Auntie !" cried Jules. "Auntie !"
He shook her by the arm; and she woke
heavily, with heavy, blue-girt eyes. She
did not recognize him at first and thought
that he was little Dolf.
"It's me, Auntie; Jules. . . ."
She knew him now, asked how he came
there, what was the matter and if he did
not know that she was ill?
"I knew, but I wanted to speak to you.
I came to speak to you about . . .
him. . . ."
"Him?"
"About Taco. He asked me to tell
you. He couldn't write to you, he said.
ECSTASY 227
He is going on a long journey with his
friend from Brussels; he will be away a
long time and he would like ... he
would like to take leave of you."
"To take leave?'
"Yes; and he told me to ask you if he
might see you once more?"
She had half-raised herself and was
looking at Jules with a vacant air. In an
instant the memory ran through her brain
of the long look which Jules had directed
on her so strangely when she saw Quaerts
for the first time and spoke to him coolly
and distantly:
"Have you many relations in The
Hague? . . . You have no occupation, I
believe? . . . Sport? . . . Oh! . . ."
Then came the memory of Jules play-
ing the piano, of Rubinstein's Romance,
of the ecstasy of his fantasia : the glitter-
ing rainbows and the souls turning to
angels.
228 ECSTASY
"To take leave"?" she repeated.
Jules nodded:
''Yes, Auntie, he is going away for ever
so long."
He could have shed tears himself and
there were tears in his voice, but he would
not give way and his eyes merely grew
moist.
''He told me to ask you," he repeated,
with difficulty.
"If he can come and take leave?"
"Yes, Auntie."
She made no reply, but lay staring be-
fore her. An emptiness began to stretch
before her, in endless vistas. It was a
shadowy image of their evening of rap-
ture, but no light beamed out of the
shadow.
"Emptiness!" she muttered through her
closed lips.
"What, Auntie?"
ECSTASY 229
She would have liked to ask Jules
whether he was still, as formerly, afraid
of the emptiness within himself; but a gen-
tleness of pity, a soft feeling, a sweeten-
ing of the bitterness which filled her be-
ing, stayed her.
"To take leaved" she repeated, with a
smile of melancholy; and the big tears fell
heavily, drop by drop, upon her fingers
wrung together.
"Yes, Auntie. . . ."
He could no longer restrain himself: a
single sob convulsed his throat, but he
gave a cough to conceal it. Cecile threw
her arm round his neck:
"You are very fond of . . . Taco, are
you not?" she asked; and it struck her that
this was the first time that she had pro-
nounced the name, for she had never
called Quaerts by it : she had never called
him by any name.
230 ECSTASY
He did not answer at first, but nestled
in her arm, in her embrace, and began to
cry:
"Yes, I can't tell you how fond I am of
him," he said.
"I know," she said; and she thought of
the rainbows and the angels: he had
played as out of her own soul.
''May he come?" asked Jules, loyally
remembering his instructions.
"Yes."
"He asks if he might come this eve-
ning?"
"Very well."
"Auntie, he is going away, because of
. . . because of . . ."
"Because of what, Jules?"
"Because of you : because you don't like
him and will not marry him! Mamma
says so. . . ."
She made no reply; she lay sobbing,
with her head against Jules' head.
ECSTASY 231
"Is it true, Auntie? No, it is not true,
is it? . . ."
"No."
"Why then?'
She raised herself suddenly, conquering
herself, and looked at him fixedly:
"He is going away because he must,
Jules. I cannot tell you why. But what
he does is right. All that he does is
right."
The boy looked at her, motionless, with
large wet eyes, full of astonishment :
"Is right?" he repeated.
"Yes. He is better than any one of us.
If you go on loving him, Jules, it will bring
you happiness, even if ... if you never
see him again."
"Do you think so?" he asked. "Does
he bring happiness? Even in that
case? . . ."
"Even in that case."
She listened to her own words as she
232 ECSTASY
spoke: it was to her as if another were
speaking, another who consoled not only
Jules but herself as well and who would
perhaps give her the strength to take leave
of Taco in the manner which would be
best, without despair.
CHAPTER Xiy
SO you are going on a long
journey?" she asked.
He sat facing her, motionless,
with anguish on his face. Outwardly
she was very calm, only there was a sad-
ness in her look and in her voice. In her
white dress, with the girdle falling before
her feet, she lay back among the three
pillows of the rose-moire sofa; the tips
of her little slippers were buried in the
white sheepskin rug. On the table be-
fore her lay a great bouquet of loose roses,
pink, white and yellow, bound together
with a broad riband. He had brought
them for her and she had not yet placed
them. There was a great calm about her;
233
234 ECSTASY
the exquisite atmosphere of the boudoir
seemed unchanged.
"Tell me, am I not paining you
severely"?" he asked, with the anguish in
his eyes, the eyes which she now knew so
well.
She smiled:
"No," she said. "I will be honest with
you. I have suffered, but I suffer no
longer. I have struggled with myself for
the second time and I have conquered my-
self. Will you believe me?"
"If you knew the remorse that I
feel . . ."
She rose and went to him :
"What for?" she asked, in a clear voice.
"Because you read me and gave me hap-
piness?"
"Did I?"
"Have you forgotten?"
"No," he said, "but I thought . . ."
"What?"
ECSTASY 235
"I don't know ; I thought that you would
. . . would suffer so . . . and I ... I
cursed myself ! . . ."
She shook her head gently, with smiling
disapproval :
'Tor shame!" she said. ''Do not blas-
pheme! . . ."
"Can you forgive me?"
"I have nothing to forgive. Listen to
me. Swear to me that you believe me,
that you believe that you have given
me happiness and that I am not suffer-
mg.
"I . . . I swear."
"I trust that you are not swearing this
merely to satisfy my wish."
''You have been the highest thing in my
life," he said, gently.
A rapture shot through her soul.
"Tell me only . . ." she began.
"What?"
"Tell me if you believe that I, I, / . . .
236 ECSTASY
shall always remain the highest thing in
your life."
She stood before him, tall, in her cling-
ing white. She seemed to shed radiance;
never had he seen her so beautiful.
'1 am certain of that," he said. "Cer-
tain, oh, certain ! . . . My God, how can
I convey the certainty of it to you?"
''But I believe you, I believe you!" she
exclaimed.
She laughed a laugh of rapture. In her
soul a sun seemed to be shooting forth
rays on every side. She placed her arm
tenderly about his neck and kissed his fore-
head with a chaste caress.
For one moment he seemed to forget
everything. He too rose, took her in his
arms, almost savagely, and clasped her
suddenly to him, as if he were about to
crush her against his breast. She just
caught sight of his sad eyes ; then she saw
nothing more, blinded by the kisses of
ECSTASY 237
his mouth, which scorched her whole face
as though with sparks of fire. With the
sun-rapture of her soul was mingled a
bliss of earth, a yielding to the violence of
his embrace. But the thought flashed
across her of what she would lose if she
yielded. She released herself, put him
away and said :
''And now . . . go."
He felt stunned ; he understood that he
had no choice :
''Yes, yes, I am going," he said. "I
may write to you, may I not?"
She nodded yes, with her smile :
"Write to me, I shall write to you too,"
she said. "Let me always hear from
you. . . ."
"Then these are not to be the last words
between us? This . . . this ... is not
the end?"
"No."
"Thank you. Good-bye, mevrouw,
238 ECSTASY
good-bye . . . Cecile. Ah, if you knew
what this moment costs me !"
"It must be. It cannot be otherwise.
Go, go. You must go. Do go . . ."
She gave him her hand again, for the
last time. A moment later he was gone.
She looked about her strangely, with
bewildered eyes, with hands locked to-
gether :
''Go, go . . ." she repeated, like one
raving.
Then she noticed the roses. With
something like a faint scream she sank
down before the little table and buried her
face in his gift, until the thorns wounded
her face. The pain — two drops of blood
which fell from her forehead — brought
her back to her senses. Standing before
the Venetian mirror hanging over her
ECSTASY 239
writing-table, she wiped away the red
spots with her handkerchief.
"Happiness!" she stammered to her-
self. "His happiness! The highest
thing in his life ! So he knew happiness,
though short it was. But now . . . now
he suffers, now he will suffer again, as he
did before. The remembrance of happi-
ness cannot do everything. Ah, if it could
only do that, then everything would be
well, everything! ... I wish for no-
thing more, I have had my life, my own
life, my own happiness; I now have my
children ; I now belong to them. To him
I must no longer be anything. . . ."
She turned away from the mirror and
sat down on the settee, as though tired
with a great space traversed, and she
closed her eyes, as though blinded with
too great a light. She folded her hands
together, like one in prayer; her face
240 ECSTASY
beamed in its fatigue, from smile to smile.
''Happiness!" she repeated, faltering
between her smiles. "The highest thing
in his life! O my God, happiness! I
thankThee,0 God, I thank Thee! . . ."
THE END
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