The Bride of Dreams
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Frederik van Eeden >> The Bride of Dreams
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"Of course, dear Elsje, you find it difficult, because you do not know
what the professors have observed concerning man and the human race.
But really, the professors would find what I said equally difficult and
incomprehensible, because they don't know - at least most of them do
not - what Elsje has observed concerning Christ. Only they would not be
as modest as you are; they would not recognize that it is their
ignorance. And I am no professor and no Elsje, but I stand sort of
between the two and know something of the observations of both, and I
know quite positively and see quite plainly that they both mean the
same thing and that they require each other's knowledge."
"So you do know my Jesus, my Christ too, thank God!"
"Yes, though perhaps not as well as Elsje, yet better than the
professors. And I believe that it was this Christ who brought me to
Elsje so that I should learn to know him better, - and perhaps should
better testify of him. And through him too I gained courage and
steadfastness to remain true to Elsje, and not to give up, though the
whole world stand against me."
Here the woman found good opportunity for bringing the man from his
world of speculation back to practical life.
"But does not Jesus, or Christ, want you to do it openly, before all
the world?"
"I don't know ? I don't know, Elsje. His promptings and suggestions as
they proceed clearly from out the original fount are by no means always
equally positive and distinct. But I assure you - I would swear it to
you, had I not vowed once for all never to swear again - that I shall
stop at nothing and spare nothing as soon as his light shall shine
clearly and unmistakably for me."
"We Mennonites may never swear either," said Elsje, with pretty pride
in her creed, confessed with so little conviction.
"That is good, that is indeed one of the best things the Bible Jesus is
said to have taught. Therefore it is surely followed least of all. I
not only swear no more - I even dare not promise you anything, for I
know myself too little to foretell my future actions."
"You do not promise to be true to me?" asked Elsje with mild
disappointment.
"I do better, I assure you of profound love. So profound that I do
surely believe it will be true. But what would my faithfulness be to
you if love grew weaker? It would become a lie, a feint, wouldn't it?"
"I shall be thankful for all that I get," said Elsje, "and never ask
for more than you wish to give me."
I had to laugh when I thought what my acquaintances from the diplomatic
world - friends I do not call them, I never had a friend among them -
what they would say of a gallant adventure with so much theology at the
third meeting.
But you, dear reader, will probably long have comprehended that I draw
from the same reservoir, what others keep separated in water and
air-tight compartments, and that theology, science, poetry and love to
me are not only brothers and sisters, but often merely names and masks
for one and the same inward reality. So that you will no doubt allow me
to tell yet a few more things that in my amorous theologizing with
Elsje, I learned and taught.
You will also probably understand without my remarking it that I did
not speak in quite as fluent and succinct Dutch as I have here written
down. But I could make myself understood just as well as if it had been
thus spoken, because Love served as our interpreter.
XXV
I will not yet decide whether it was prudent discreation or rather,
fearful and narrow-minded timidity, that deterred me from the great
resolve of abandoning my family and my sphere of activity, to alone
remain true to Elsje. It was for many years a hard and fearful
struggle. It was indeed the hardest period of my life, albeit not the
darkest. The gloom and dejection this most feared evil, marked by the
relaxing of the highest vital spirits, dread warning of the powers that
guide and rule us - this evil had vanished. I struggled and suffered,
but was no longer miserable and wretched. Only I did not see my way
clearly and vainly sought for help and guidance.
The wicked charms and temptations also were dispelled. I desired one
woman - without faltering, without shame. I knew what my desire
signified, and all my soul pronounced it right. To be sure the demons
still carried on their nocturnal sport, but I minded them no more than
barking terriers, and the wild passions were now tamed because the hand
of the master had grown firm and he knew what he wanted.
My dreams attained their former sublime splendor, and for the first
time in my life I had some one to whom I could confide them. I still
saw Emmy in my dreams occasionally, but not so often, and it will
surprise no one to hear that it did not excite Elsje's jealousy, and
that she begged me to tell her of her. Elsje also asked me whether I
would call herself once more. And I did it and saw her, and Elsje hoped
devoutly that she would be in some way sensible of it.
But greatly as I should have desired it, and much more impressive and
more convincing as it would have been for her and for you, dear reader,
the truth is that she never noticed anything of it, or rather, to be
exact, that she never remembered anything about it.
I for my part did not require such evidence. I have obtained stronger
evidence through strangers, who let me know without my ever having told
them anything about my dreams, that my summons had been heard - but all
this belongs to the science of the supernatural, which awaits more
general investigation and for which, dear reader, I refer you to some
of my other writings.
I now lived separated from Lucia, although before the world our
relations remained the same. And a most remarkable and peculiar fact is
that Lucia assured me that her dreams were much more tranquil, since I
no longer shared her room. The wild horses that lately had troubled her
in her dreams more than ever, now stayed away. I consider this
remarkable, because it seems to show how corporal proximity also
affects supernatural influences.
One thing I had fully resolved on, and this was - that I would never
abandon Elsje for good. And as often befalls the man in doubting
attitude, I expected relief from destiny. Should fate threaten to tear
her from me, then I would offer resistance and stay with her, no matter
what the price. Should that which everyone in the diplomatic service
may expect, befall me - sudden transference to another country - I
would then deem the moment arrived to free myself entirely and for
good. I know this attitude too was a weakness, but who does not see
clearly must remain weak, and it is of no avail that he feign strength
and act as though he were quite capable of distinguishing. And with our
human tendency to argue that our own conduct is right, I consoled
myself with the consideration that my children were still too young and
still too much in need of my guidance.
Often too I prayed in my dreams, imploring counsel and enlightenment.
But my experience is that sign or counsel is never accorded us before
we ourselves have decided or acted, or before the approaching event has
already been determined without our help and knowledge. We are never
helped in a choice, though we are comforted and encouraged after we
have chosen to the best of our knowledge. Many times this seemed cruel
and unreasonable to me, but I am inclined to believe in the beneficent
and salutary significance of it.
The secrecy toward the world, so much desired by Lucia, soon however
assumed an altogether different, unfavorable and undesirable aspect. My
frequent trips to E------, though explained by my passion for sailing,
could not fail to arouse comment, especially as I usually went alone
and also declined the company of my son Guido, no matter how often he
asked. And E------ is a favorite port for sailing yachts, ten or twelve
of them sometimes landing there at the same time on fine summer days.
Thus my acquaintances from The Hague, the men in the first place, very
soon knew what attracted me to the little seaport. This by no means
aroused any great agitation or indignation in Hague circles, as
everyone acquainted with these and similar circles will readily
understand.
I was looked upon as a very moral and honorable man, simply because I
did not mix up in scandal and never spoke of things of that kind,
whether they concerned myself or others. It now caused many a one
satisfaction that the halo of chastity which, despite a total absence
of display or moralizing toward others, yet by its mutely reproaching
presence is ever in painful evidence, - that this unpleasantly spotless
reputation was now fittingly and modestly obscured. I was almost
congratulated upon it. No one thought of judging hardly of such a thing
or of pitying Lucia on that account. She, herself, heard nothing of
these rumors and lived in the illusion that everything retained its
former aspect. I believe I was praised - behind my back, of course, not
to my face - because I had had the decency to seek my diversion so far
from the vicinity, and not, as more shameless ones, in The Hague or
Amsterdam. As long as I did not arouse publicity or scandal, I could do
what I wished; these were my private affairs. And Lucia and the
gentlemen of my set seemed to agree in this - that it was worse to
bring publicity upon a woman than to deceive her. The herd only resents
any assault upon the unity of the group - for the rest it permits
everything.
For me this was a twofold torture. Instead of one deceit I was now
practising two. I was honoring a mock union and I was permitting a true
union to be suspected and profaned. I felt myself locked in an
intolerable fashion between two falsehoods. What as a tender secret I
had wished to hide from the world to spare Lucia, the world had soon
discovered. And yet it spared Lucia and myself, at the cost of this
same tender secret, which it looked upon as an infamy: an infamy of the
kind from which I had just felt with pride that I had freed myself. It
was all equally unbearable to me, the friendly, sarcastic generosity of
the world that spared me and acted as though forgiving me a sin, where
I felt virtue beyond its comprehension; and the condemnation of Elsje,
to which I was now most painfully sensitive, though it went out from
this same unintelligent herd.
As often as I saw Elsje again, I read in her look of anxious suspense
the question whether I had now at last taken the great resolve. But
only her dear eyes asked, and her pale little face, her lips remained
shut. She did not question me about my family either. She waited until
I should speak. We spoke of our love and of everything that was nearest
our hearts, of the difficulties of life, why we had to toil and
struggle so and bear affliction, of the great world full of men and
what would grow from it, of my dreams, of the best and most beautiful
that we could experience and of the way we could conquer the
difficulties and attain the purest blessedness. And we spoke a great
deal of Christ, groping and seeking in the dawning truths, trying to
help and to understand each other. And at every parting I felt again
that something had remained unspoken, whereof she would yet have heard
so gladly. And never did I leave her without a sense of the blessing
that I had her, and without a heavy heart because I must let her wait
and suffer.
For she suffered, she suffered as only pure, tender womanly natures
made for love can suffer. And by degrees I could not hide from myself
that she suffered more than she could bear. The power of endurance of a
pure, delicate soul like hers is infinite as long as in the kernel of
her being, in her love life, she is satisfied and contented. But the
sorrow that touches the kernel consumes her both body and soul.
Remorse is a bad thing, a weakness, a morbid symptom. I permit no
remorse in myself, for I know that it harms and weakens the best that
is in us. But against the self-reproach which is the punishment for
these years of wavering, I struggle in vain. It is always there, like a
dark demon, silently awaiting its favorable opportunity in the third or
fourth hour of the night, when sleep evades me - then it sits upon my
breast and questions and awaits my answer: - why I let her mutely ask
and ask so long and wait for an answer, till the bright eyes sank
deeper into their darker growing hollows, and the red blood had gone
from the fresh cheeks, and the delicate nose became so thin, and the
soft lips so colorless?
And in my luxurious home everything continued as of old: the children
healthy and happy: Lucia the housewife correct and diligent as ever,
not unfriendly toward me, without sign of spiritual suffering, amiable
and hearty.
Pardon an old man, dear reader, if he spares himself and does not
expatiate on these anxious years. He is not a friend of tears and does
not like to give in to melancholy.
One night the end of the struggle was at last proclaimed to me. I
dreamt I was walking in the park at The Hague and saw an old man
sitting with an opened letter in his hand. I comprehended that the
letter was for me and saw my name and title on the envelope too. But
the old man said, "This is not for you!" and I understood that he meant
that I no longer had a title. Then I saw too that it was a large
official document from Rome, and I knew that the long-expected
transferal had come. Thereupon I dreamt that I was fleeing with Elsje
and that I carried her across a great plain of ice. The ice cracked
under my feet and every crack was a snapping spark of bluish fire like
a flash of lightning. This betokened ill, but Elsje was not afraid.
The letter of which I had dreamed came a few weeks later. But it was
the same. I recognized the envelope. I also knew positively what the
contents would be, and I felt a glorious sense of relief, and a "Thank
God" escaped my lips.
Lucia had also seen the letter and it now appeared that she had awaited
it with equal longing. Her face was bright.
I had never wanted to ask the ambassador for transferal, detained by
the thought that I should be deceiving him by doing so, but I had a
suspicion that Lucia was secretly exerting herself in my behalf. She
too expected relief from it, but in another sense.
"From Rome," she said. "That seems something good to me. Just look,
quickly!"
"It seems something good to me too," I replied; my hand trembled and my
heart beat.
"Where?" asked Lucia, the while I read.
"Stockholm," I replied, "with advancement."
"Thank Heaven!" said Lucia; "then the wretched story here is ended."
I looked at her a while severely and gravely, so that her bright look
darkened and a shadow of anxiety fell upon her face.
"The story here is not ended, Lucia, but has reached a turning point. I
am not going."
"That's impossible," she cried out; "you can't refuse."
"No! but I can hand in my resignation."
"Your resignation - and then??"
"Remain in Holland."
"In Holland? And without a salary? Live on my money? And continue this
liaison? No, Vico, that you can't demand of me, that is too much."
"Lucia, there is something else I want to demand of you."
"And that is?
"That you release me. That you allow me to put an end to this
falsehood. The world takes us for man and wife and we are not?"
"Release you? Don't I grant you as much freedom as I can? And are you
not still the father of my children? The head of the house?"
"I have a wife, Lucia, who is really my wife and whom I want to make my
wife before the world. I ask you whether you will give me the
opportunity to do this by dissolving our marriage."
Then her Italian temperament revealed itself in all its intensity. She
spoke with rage and animosity upon her face, and with vehement and
dramatic gestures, as I had never seen her before.
"Give you opportunity? Opportunity to break what God cannot break? Are
you crazy, Vico? How many women would do what I did - pardon and bear
the deadly offence? Would you now cast me off still further and humble
me yet more? Would you have me give up my rights for an ordinary
bourgeois woman, whom another would long ago have poisoned? Should I
yet abet her and you in the wrong you are doing me and the disgrace you
are bringing upon me and upon my children? - Go, Vico, and don't
provoke me, for I still love you and should be capable of murdering
you. - I have borne this because I pitied you and hoped that you would
soon have enough of it and come back to me. - But now that on top of it
all you do this, now I shall yield nothing more, nothing. A marriage
cannot be dissolved. - Off with you, man, - you are crazy or drunk.
That can be your only excuse."
"I go, Lucia, - but understand me well, I am going for good. You will
not see me again."
"Are you going to her? And what shall you live on?"
"I don't know. Surely not on your money."
"And the children?"
"I shall gladly see the children if they will see me. But they won't,
you will surely see to that."
"I'll see to it. You shan't see them. Poor children!"
"Be good to them, Lucia, and advise them to get entangled in lies as
little as possible. For some people it is distressing. Others are
better able to cope with it. Good-bye! So we need not hope for a
reconciliation or an agreement between us, need we?"
"Never! I swear it by God and by my innocent children."
"I do not swear, but you need not fear that I shall make any further
attempts. I shall demand leave of absence this very day and hand in my
resignation. We shall probably not see each other again. Forgive me if
I have grieved you. I intended no ill."
A sarcastic laugh -
"Oh, come! intended no ill! Say that to Satan when you stand before the
everlasting fire. If you want to go, then, go right off too. - And God
have mercy on your soul."
Then I thought it time to end the torture. I packed up some clothes,
regulated my affairs at the legation and was in E------ that same
afternoon. I had wired: "I am coming for good." And, sobbing and
laughing, Elsje embraced me at the station before the eyes of the
officials. It was the first time in public.
"There is as much reason for crying as for laughing, Elsje!" said I. "I
haven't brought along much money."
"Oh, we need so little and I can manage so well. And you are so good
and so clever, you will surely be able to earn money again."
"And we cannot be lawfully married either. Lucia will never give in to
that."
"That's nothing," said Elsje, "if only the world may know of it. The
ceremony we can well dispense with. Now you shall see how well I shall
grow, and how strong."
XXVI
My mother was still alive and was living in Italy. I wrote her a
letter, earnest and upright, to inform her of what had happened. This
was one of the things I did to establish my position, to make it final,
without myself believing in the success of my action. The answer was
such that I had to hide it from Elsje, and shall also refrain from
repeating it here. There is something awful in seeing persons whom one
has known and loved as tender-hearted human beings grow hard in age.
And for me there was something still more awful in the chief reproach
contained in my mother's letter - that I, her only son, for whom she
would have sacrificed her life, and who should have been the support of
her declining years, now poisoned her life and made her old age lonely
and miserable. Of Elsje she spoke with scornful, malicious contempt, as
of an immoral, shameless monster, a she-devil who had beguiled me with
sensual charms and had wantonly destroyed my domestic happiness. And
this I had to hear from my mother, who so long had been my saint! I
realized that we were lost for one another.
I had taken lodgings in "de Toelast," from there to regulate my
position as far as was practicable, and to effect the rupture with my
superiors and the entire sphere of my activities as correctly as
possible.
I had been an active, helpful worker, and what made me popular
everywhere - harmless, impersonal, without any unpleasantly obtrusive
originality in actions or opinions. In the diplomatic world above all,
a vigorous originality is quite intolerable unless it manifest itself
in a ruling personality. And even then this personality must not raise
his aspirations too far above the average of the masses. That is to
say, the aspirations which he manifests in his actions - his private
thoughts may, if he be but a strong ruler, wander where they would,
upward or downward. Just because I was more original in my private
thoughts than any of my compatriots, there was absolutely no
possibility of turning these into aspirations of practical account, and
thus in practice I remained an efficient aid esteemed by all and feared
by none. My sudden breaking away was looked upon as a lapse, and I was
in fact more pitied than scorned. I was said to have fallen prey to an
ambitious, selfish woman, as indeed sometimes happened to the best of
men.
I received many kindly admonishing and gravely moralizing letters from
my chiefs and from former compatriots. I saw that they did not like to
lose so efficient a power. They even organized noble endeavors for the
saving of the poor drowning man. But I remained obdurate and would not
let myself be saved and even concealed myself from all callers,
faithfully assisted therein by Jan Baars, whose good Dutch qualities
beneath his apparent unpleasantness I learned to respect. Jan Baars was
the touchstone so to speak, the training that taught me to tolerate a
Dutch environment. Without the schooling of Jan Baars I could not have
endured my present life. He was a boor, a dolt, a dirty lout, a
narrow-minded churl, but he did all sorts of kind and generous things.
Once convinced of the fact that my intentions toward Elsje were
honorable, he stood by us through thick and thin, and did not trouble
himself about conventions, nor about gossip, nor about the minister,
nor about the burgomaster, nor about the baker and his customers. And I
have later noticed that a Dutch provincial world is not as dangerous by
far as it is sometimes pictured in novels or comedies. In the beginning
there is a buzz and hum as in a disturbed beehive. But if one goes
ahead quietly and, just as the experienced beekeeper, lays hold with a
firm hand, if one is not afraid and shows that one intends no wrong,
the excitement and asperities subside wondrously quickly and the petty
world tolerates what it contended it could never endure.
But not knowing this, I had feared a wretched life for Elsje and had
made greater plans.
"Elsje!" said I, a day after my arrival, "I have wavered so long, not
only because of all we must brave, but also because I did know how this
rupture with my world should increase my usefulness in life. For I have
perhaps achieved something, but under the direction of others, and my
own will I have restrained and suppressed. For I did not have the
qualities and the capacities for making my originality prevail. And I
asked myself, if I now seek my personal happiness with Elsje shall I
thereby be also doing some good to the world? I know, of course, that
Christ calls us through the light of joy, and that we must follow the
highest happiness, the brightest light; but I also knew that we can
never find this for ourselves alone, for the highest happiness is
universal happiness. If personal joy does not in some manner radiate
over the world, it is not the highest, though it be ever so alluring to
us. And I did not see how our happiness would be anything to the world.
On the contrary, I saw only a dark, foul misapprehension that would
arise from it. Do you understand me, Elsje?"
"I believe I do. But it seems to me it must after all always have a
salutary effect, when people see that some one dares to do what he
considers good and honest, no matter what it costs him."
"Yes, Elsje, but then people must also see and feel that it is for
something better that he abandons the less good and beautiful. And that
they don't see at all in our case. What impelled me they do not know,
and so they cannot consider it good and beautiful either. They say:
Poor Muralto, he has wrecked his life, he has become the victim of a
woman, he could not restrain his passion, now he throws away his
prospects, his happiness - some will add: his eternal blessedness - for
a love caprice, an amourette. That is nothing new for the world. It
happens frequently. And also that the unhappy sinner moreover deceives
himself, pretending that he acts from noble motives and for a fine and
righteous cause. That too is very common, for no one really sins in his
own eyes, every one takes his follies for wisdom, and man understands
no art better than that of deceiving himself."
"Poor, dear man!" said Elsje, now for the first time alarmed by the
true realization of the world's attitude toward my act.
"And the world is usually quite right. It must cast out whoever menaces
the unity of the group. For in this unity is its security, it is
sacred, holy, 'taboo,' as the Polynesians say. And it cannot possibly
investigate each particular case, whether the seceder is perhaps a
faithful follower of Christ, a truly original spirit or simply an
eccentric fool or weakling. That the seceder must himself prove In the
face of the world's condemnation. Do you understand me rightly?"
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