That evening, in the lane in front of the little hotel, Addie walked
arm-in-arm with his mother. The deepening shadows gathered round them,
pierced by the bright light of the lamp outside the house.
"Mummy, I want to talk to you...."
They were strolling slowly up and down; and the pressure of his hand
urged her gently forward, through the deepening shadows, out of the
fierce glow of the lamp and farther along the road, whence, under the
starry skies, the meadows receded to remote distances towards the last
streak of light on the horizon.
"What about, my boy?"
How old he was for his years and how serious! She felt his hand lying
heavy on her arm, like a man's hand; she heard his voice in her ear,
full of deep resonance, sounding a little more caressing than usual. He
was still a boy, a schoolboy, but that was in years; in his soul she
realized him to be a man, her big son; and, though this made her feel
very old, it also made her feel calm and contented and safe in the
possession of him ... so long as she did not lose him.... And what did
he want to talk about now? For he had not spoken yet, but was walking
on, silently. And, all at once, she began to be curious, wondering what
it could be that he wanted to tell her in that suddenly caressing voice,
what he wanted to obtain from her. For she felt that he was going to ask
her for something, a favour almost, a gift. Because he was leaning on
her like that, she felt that something was weighing on his mind, some
oppressive anxiety which he would tell her in order to make it lighter
to bear. What could be troubling him? What would it be? It could not be
money: he was too sensible; he knew exactly how much she could spare.
Was he in love? A boy's love-affair? Yes, she was convinced that that
was it. She had always said that, when Addie fell in love, it would be
once and for all; and she had grown a little afraid for her big son,
with that serious heart of his....
"Well, what is it?" she asked; and she added, playfully, "Are you in
love?"
He only laughed:
"No, I'm not in love. But still I have something very important to say
to you, something that will distress you perhaps, because you always
pictured it differently...."
"What is it, Addie?" she asked, feeling a little frightened and
bewildered.
"It's this, Mamma," he said, quietly and very calmly. "I can't go into
the diplomatic service ... because I want to be a doctor."
She was silent, walked on, with his arm in hers; and it seemed to her
that new vistas suddenly opened out before her. No, she never thought
that he was going to speak to her of his future. It had always been so
positively settled, from the very beginning, that her son should take up
the life and the career which she had ruined for his father. She had
always looked upon it as a vague form of compensation which Addie, her
son, would pay to her husband, to his father. She had never imagined
that it would be otherwise. It could be done: he bore a distinguished
name, he would have money later on and, once he had entered the
profession which in their set had always been considered so eminent and
honourable and illustrious--the most eminent, honourable and illustrious
of all--he would console his father for the ruin of his career and
restore to his mother something of her old position in society.... She
had always, almost unconsciously, looked at it like that. And then there
was still a grain of vanity in her, dormant, it was true, of late, but
still an eternal, ineradicable germ: the vanity inherent in her, the
vanity of thinking that _her_ son would pursue that most eminent,
honourable and illustrious career. Now her whole world seemed to be
turned upside down: the shock, the surprise, the disappointment made her
dizzy; and through it all there came a sudden impulse to say no, no, no,
that it was impossible, quite impossible, that it would give too much
pain to Papa, to herself, to poor old Grandmamma and certainly to his
grandparents as well; and, if he insisted, to say to him imperiously,
almost in a tone of command, that it was out of the question, out of the
question. But for the moment she said nothing; and he said nothing
either; and they walked on, along the grey ribbon of the road, which ran
on through the meadows fleeing on either side to the last streak of
light on the horizon, under the great starry skies. He said nothing, as
if he had said all that he had to say, quietly and simply. And she was
too much under the influence of that tumult of shock, surprise and
disappointment....
"Does it upset you, Mamma?" he asked, at last.
"It comes as a blow, Addie.... I never expected it...."
"Can't you understand that I...?"
"Understand? I don't know, Addie. We always thought...."
"Yes, I know: you and Papa always thought differently. I understand that
it must upset you and that it is a disappointment."
"You had better speak to Papa first...."
"No," he said, calmly and quietly. "I want to speak to you, first,
Mamma. You know how fond I am of my father, what chums we are. But I
can't speak to him first, because he would not understand. And I want to
speak to you first, Mamma, because you will understand."
There was something soothing to her vanity in his words, but also
something deeper underlying them, which was not at once clear to her;
for she knew that he loved his father more than her and yet he wanted to
speak to her first....
"You will understand, Mamma, when I tell you. I don't feel in any way
cut out for a career in which, no doubt, one can rise very high if one
happened to be one of the four or five great men who stand out in it....
And even so ... even if I were one of those four or five--always
supposing I had the brains or the genius for it, which I haven't and
never shall have--then there would still be something in me which would
make me feel that I had missed my vocation, that it was all purposeless,
that I had got into the wrong path, into the wrong sort of work. I
should always be too simple, Mamma, and too natural, your Dutch boy...."
He turned towards her with a little laugh; and she suddenly pictured
him, faultlessly attired, in a white tie and a dress-coat, among the
young diplomatists whom she remembered in the old days, in Rome. No, he
did not resemble his father as much as all that....
"Whereas the other thing, doctoring, I feel quite different about. It's
the only thing which attracts me and in which I feel that I shall do
well. Let me just tell you what I do feel about it. First of all,
there's nothing that interests me more than people ... and studying
them, both their outsides and their insides. That's my _head_, Mummy.
And, as well as that, there's something else, a question of _feeling_. I
feel for nothing so much as for any one who suffers, physically or
mentally. And then I get a sort of impulse, which comes to me as
naturally as sitting or walking or talking, to help as much as I can.
That's how I feel; and I can't tell it you in any other way. It's no use
my trying to explain it in a lot of words; I couldn't say more than I
have already said. But, just telling it you like this, I do hope that
you understand it, Mamma, and that you get the same feeling as I do....
And then, Mummy, there's something else, something I hardly dare say to
you, because you will perhaps think that I am imagining...."
"Say it, dear...."
"It's this, Mamma: I feel inside me the power of curing people. And I
feel that that power is growing...."
His great seriousness startled her.
"But I'm only saying this to _you_, Mamma; I won't say it to any one
else ... not even to Papa, because I feel that he would not understand.
I am only saying it to you; and I shall never say it to any one but you;
and I'm only saying it to you as a sort of justification for what I mean
to do. And, if I'm wrong and it doesn't turn out as I think, then you'll
forgive me, won't you? For I'm quite in earnest now."
"My darling...."
"Who can tell me for certain that I am mistaken, Mamma, and that I have
_not_ that absolute conviction deep down in my soul? It is a wonderful
thing to have an absolute conviction like that about yourself. I would
almost say that to be certain about other people ... is not so wonderful
as to be certain about yourself.... But still ... but still.... I _feel_
that this is my vocation. Who can deny the existence of what I feel so
very plainly within me, even though I am sometimes amazed at my own
consciousness of it?... I know, Mamma, that all this sounds very strange
and that I am not talking like a boy of my age. But that is because I am
being very, very confidential and letting you know my most private
thoughts.... It is so calm and peaceful out here this evening, Mamma,
and the stars are shining so bright, as if _they_ knew everything for
quite certain. I ... I do not know for certain: I only feel ... and I
wish. And I am telling you my most private thoughts, just freely and in
the strictest confidence, so that you may not be unhappy...."
A thrill of tenderness went through her.
"Darling, I am not unhappy."
"What I have told you ... is a disappointment."
"A disappointment?... Is it a disappointment? I don't think so now,
dear.... Not after the first shock of hearing it. It's not a
disappointment any longer. If there is clearly something inside you
which tells you what your vocation is ... oh, why shouldn't you follow
it? So few of us feel clearly about anything.... Let's sit here, on the
sand, under the trees.... So few people feel things clearly. Everything
was vague with me ... until quite late in life, dear. We all cling to
small things, to small interests ... both in our own case and in the
case of the small people around us.... Do you still remember ... that
friend of ours ... whom Mamma liked so much? Things weren't clear to
him.... Darling, if they're clear to you, already, and if you are almost
certain that you are not mistaken ... then obey your vocation. No one
has the right to hold you back; and why should I hold you back ... for
small reasons, while much greater things perhaps are urging you on? For
small reasons ... for a touch of vanity, perhaps ... Ah, you see,
darling, I _am_ small. I should have loved to see you, you my own boy,
in the diplomatic service. Papa would have been satisfied; and you would
perhaps have given me back something of the past.... Do you understand?
It would not be honest of me if I did not confess that I should have
been glad to see it. But that is because I still cling to small things
... while you are urged on by greater things. And, if it is really so,
then I am proud of you, proud of you. You see, my darling, there's
always that about your mother: her little bit of vanity. She is so glad
that you did not inherit it ... that perhaps she gave you other
things--something very small, but the best she had--which may become
very great in you, an atom which in you will grow into a world.... No, I
am not disappointed any longer...."
"You see, Mamma, I feel it so clearly when I am alone with Uncle Ernst:
not that I can do anything yet, but I am certain that I shall be able
to, later.... I feel that, if he were to come a fraction of an inch
towards me ... and if I had the power to go another fraction of an inch
towards him, we should get near to each other, he and I.... It doesn't
happen now; but I feel ever so clearly that I am looking for something
in him, the secret spot from which I could cure him if ... if I was
older, more advanced and stronger...."
But he pulled himself up:
"Perhaps it's better not to say that."
"Why not, dear?"
"One shouldn't say those very private things.... But I wanted to talk
quite frankly to you...."
"You have, darling. Don't force your words, if they won't come. Just
tell me quietly, when talking comes to you more easily. Mamma will try
to understand you. Mamma does understand you."
"And you forgive me ... for the disappointment?"
"It has gone."
"Then what is left?"
"A great sense of peace, dear. It will all be for the very best, I
think. Do as you think, go to what calls you."
She leant against him, laid her head on his shoulder. He kissed her. A
kindly, health-giving stream seemed to be flowing through her.
"He knows already, he is certain about himself," she thought, looking up
at the understanding stars. "He knows his own mind ... definitely,
definitely. O God, let him always know his own mind!"