When on the day after his nocturnal wandering Christian came to see
Eva, he was astonished to find her surrounded by a crowd of Russians,
Englishmen, Frenchmen, and Belgians. Until this day she had withdrawn
herself from society entirely, or else had received only at hours
previously agreed upon between Christian and herself. This unexpected
change suddenly made a mere guest of him, and pushed him from the
centre to the circumference of the circle.
The conversation turned on the arrival of Count Maidanoff, and there
was a general exchange of speculation, both in regard to the duration
and the purpose of his visit. A political setting of the stage had
been feigned with conscious hypocrisy. There was to be a visit to the
king, and ministerial conferences. He had first stopped at the Hotel
Lettoral in Knocke, but had soon moved to the large and magnificent
Villa Herzynia, which his favourite and friend, Prince Szilaghin, had
rented.
Szilaghin appeared soon after Christian. Wiguniewski, obviously under
orders, introduced the two men.
“I’m going to have a few friends with me to-morrow night,” Szilaghin
said, with the peculiar courtesy of a great comedian. “I trust you will
do me the honour of joining us.” Coldly he examined Christian, whose
nerves grew painfully taut under that glance. He bowed and determined
not to go.
Eva was in the room that gave on the balcony, and was posing for the
sculptress, Beatrix Vanleer. The latter sat with a block of paper and
made sketches. Meantime Eva chatted with several gentlemen. She held
out her hand for Christian to kiss, and ignored his questioning gaze.
In her cinnamon dress, with her hair high on her head and a diadem of
ivory, she seemed extraordinarily strange to him. Her face had the
appearance of delicate enamel. About her chin there was a hostile air.
Gentle vibrations about the muscles at her temples seemed to portend an
inner storm. But these perceptions were fleeting. What Christian felt
about her was primarily a paralyzing coldness.
When Mlle. Vanleer had finished for the day, Eva walked up and down
talking to a certain young Princess Helfersdorff. She led her to the
balcony, which was bathed in the sunlight, and then into her boudoir,
where she liked to be when she read or rested from her exercises.
Christian followed the two women, and felt, for the first time in his
life, that he was being humiliated. But it did not depress him as
profoundly as, an hour ago, the mere thought of such an experience
would have done.
The Marquis Tavera joined him. Standing on the threshold of the
boudoir, they talked of indifferent things. Christian heard Eva tell
the young princess that she expected to go to Hamburg within a week.
The North German Lloyd was planning a great festivity on the occasion
of the launching of a magnificent ship, and she had been asked to
dance. “I’m really delighted at the prospect,” she added cheerfully.
“I’m little more than a name to most Germans yet. Now they’ll be able
to see me and tell me what I amount to and where I belong.”
The young lady looked at the dancer with enthusiasm. Christian thought:
“I must speak to her at once.” In every word of Eva’s he felt an
arrow of hostility or scorn aimed at him. He left Tavera, and entered
the room. The decisiveness of his movement forced Eva to look at
him. She smiled in surprise. A scarcely perceptible shrug marked her
astonishment and censure.
Tavera had turned to the princess, and when these two moved toward the
door, Eva seemed inclined to follow them. A gesture of Christian, which
she saw on glancing back, determined her to wait. Christian closed the
door, and Eva’s expression of amazement became intense. But he felt
that this was but acting. He slipped into a sudden embarrassment, and
could find no words.
Eva walked up and down, touching some object here and there. “Well?”
she asked, and looked at him coldly.
“This Szilaghin is an insufferable creature,” Christian murmured, with
lowered eyes. “I remember I once saw a mani-coloured marine animal
in an aquarium. It was very beautiful and also extremely horrible. I
couldn’t get rid of its image. I wanted constantly to go back to it,
and yet felt constantly an ugly horror of it.”
“O la, la!” said Eva. Nothing else. And in this soft exclamation there
was contempt, impatience, and curiosity. Then she stood before him. “I
am not fond of being caged,” she said in a hard voice. “I am not fond
of being caught and isolated from my guests to be told trivial things.
You must forgive me, but it doesn’t interest me what impression Prince
Szilaghin makes on you. Or, to be quite truthful, it interests me no
longer.”
Christian looked at her dumbly. It seemed to him that he was being
chastised, beaten, and he turned very pale. The feeling of humiliation
grew like a fever. “He invited me to his house to-morrow,” he
stammered, “and I merely wanted to tell you that I’m not going.”
“You must go,” Eva replied swiftly. “I beg of you to go.” Avoiding the
astonished question in his eyes, she added: “Maidanoff will be there.
I wish you to see him.”
“For what reason?”
“You are to know what I grasp at, what I do, whither I go. Can you read
faces? I dare say not. Nevertheless, come!”
“What have you determined on?” he asked, awkwardly and shyly.
She gave her body a little, impatient shake. “Nothing that was not
settled long ago,” she answered, with a glassy coolness in her voice.
“Did you think that I would drag on our lovely, wild May into a
melancholy November? You might have spared us both your frankness of
last night. The dream was over no moment sooner for you than for me.
You should have known that. And if you did not know it, you should have
feigned that knowledge. A gentleman of faultless taste does not throw
down his cards while his partner is preparing to make a last bet. You
do not deserve the honourable farewell that I gave you. I should have
led you about, chained, like those stupid little beasts who are always
whining for permission to ruin themselves for my sake. They call this
thing their passion. It is a fire like any other; but I would not use
it to kindle a lamp, if I needed light to unlace my shoes.”
She had crossed her arms and laughed softly, and moved toward the door.
“You have misunderstood me,” said Christian overwhelmed. “You
misunderstand me wholly.” He raised his hands and barred her way. “Do
you not understand? If I had words.... But I love you so! I cannot
imagine life without you. And yet (how shall I put it into words?) I
feel like a man who owes colossal sums and is constantly dunned and
tormented, and does not know wherewith to pay nor whom. Do try to
understand! I was hasty, foolish. But I thought that you might help me.”
It was the cry of a soul in need. But Eva did not or would not heed it.
She had built of her love a soaring arch. She thought it had fallen,
and no abyss seemed deep enough for its ruins to be hurled. She had
neither ears now nor eyes. She had decided her fate even now; and
though it frightened her, to recede was contrary to her pride and her
very blood. A sovereign gesture silenced Christian. “Enough!” she said.
“Of all the ugly things between two people, nothing is uglier than an
explanation that involves the emotions. I have no understanding for
hypochondria, and epilogues bore me. As for your creditors, see that
you seek them out and pay them. It is troublesome to keep house with
unpaid bills.”
She went from the room.
Christian stood very still. Slowly he lowered his head, and hid his
face in his hands.