Dr. Adriaan

Louis Couperus, Alexander Teixeira De Mattos

Description

The final volume of Dutch writer Louis Couperus' sweeping, multi-generational Small Souls series, Dr. Adriaan brings the epic to a satisfying conclusion, with the sole survivors of the wealthy Van Lowe family picking up the pieces and finding their place in the brave new world that began to emerge as the nineteenth century drew to a close.

Informations

• Publié par: The Floating Press
• Date de parution: 01 juillet 2014
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781776584758
• Langue: English

Extrait

DR. ADRIAAN
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LOUIS COUPERUS
Translated by
ALEXANDER TEIXEIRA DE MATTOS
 
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Dr. Adriaan From a 1918 edition Epub ISBN 978-1-77658-475-8 Also available: PDF ISBN 978-1-77658-476-5 © 2013 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
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Translator's Note Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIII Chapter IX Chapter X Chapter XI Chapter XII Chapter XIII Chapter XIV Chapter XV Chapter XVI Chapter XVII Chapter XVIII Chapter XIX Chapter XX Chapter XXI Chapter XXII Chapter XXIII Chapter XXIV Chapter XXV Chapter XXVI Chapter XXVII Chapter XXVIII Chapter XXIX Chapter XXX Chapter XXXI Endnotes
Translator's Note
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Dr. Adriaan is the fourth and last of the volumes forming The Booksof the Small Souls . In it the reader renews his acquaintance with allthe characters that survive from Small Souls, The Later Life and TheTwilight of the Souls.
Alexander Teixeira de Mattos.
Chelsea, 30 March, 1918.
Chapter I
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The afternoon sky was full of thick, dark clouds, drifting ponderouslygrey over almost black violet: clouds so dark, heavy and thick that theyseemed to creep laboriously upon the east wind, for all that it wasblowing hard. In its breath the clouds now and again changed theirwatery outline, before their time came to pour down in heavy straightstreaks of rain. The stiff pine-woods quivered, erect and anxious, alongthe road; and the tops of the trees lost themselves in a silver-grey airhardly lighter than the clouds and dissolving far and wide under allthat massive grey-violet and purple-black which seemed so close and low.The road ran near and went winding past, lonely, deserted and sad. Itwas as though it came winding out of low horizons and went on towardslow horizons, dipping humbly under very low skies, and only thepine-trees still stood up, pointed, proud and straight, when everythingelse was stooping. The modest villa-residence, the smaller poordwellings here and there stooped under the heavy sky and the gusty wind;the shrubs dipped along the road-side; and the few people who wentalong—an old gentleman; a peasant-woman; two poor children carrying abasket and followed by a melancholy, big, rough-coated dog—seemed tohang their heads low under the solemn weight of the clouds and thefierce mastery of the wind, which had months ago blown the smile fromthe now humble, frowning, pensive landscape. The soul of that landscapeappeared small and all forlorn in the watery mists of the drearywinter.
The wind came howling along, chill and cold, like an angry spite thatwas all mouth and breath; and Adeletje, hanging on her aunt's arm,huddled into herself, for the wind blew chill in her sleeves and on herback.
"Are you cold, dear?"
"No, Auntie," said Adeletje, softly, shivering.
Constance smiled and pressed Adeletje's arm close to her:
"Let's walk a little faster, dear. It'll warm you; and, besides, I'mafraid it's going to rain. It's quite a long way to the old lady's andback again.... I fear I've tired you."
"No, Auntie."
"You see, I didn't want to take the carriage. This way, we do the thingby ourselves; and otherwise everybody would know of it at once. And youmust promise me not to talk about it."
"No, Auntie, I won't."
"Not to anybody. Otherwise there'll be all sorts of remarks; and it's noconcern of other people's what we do."
"The poor old thing was very happy, Auntie. The beef-tea and the wineand chicken...."
"Poor little old woman...."
"And so well-mannered. And so discreet.... Auntie, will Addie be backsoon?"
"He's sure to telegraph."
"It's very nice of him to take such pains for Alex. We all of us giveAddie a lot of trouble.... When do you think he'll come back?"
"I don't know; to-morrow, or the next day...."
"Auntie, you've been very fidgety lately."
"My dear, I haven't."
"Yes, you have.... Tell me, has anything happened with Mathilde? Hasthere?"
"No, child.... But do keep your little mouth shut now. I'm frightened,the wind's so cold."
They walked on in silence, Adeletje accommodating her step by AuntConstance' regular pace. Constance was a good walker; and Addie alwayssaid that, leading the outdoor life she did, Mama grew no older. Theyhad now been living for ten years at Driebergen, in the big, old, gloomyhouse, which seemed to be lighted only by themselves, by their affectionfor one another, but which Constance had never brought herself to like,hard though she tried. Ten years! How often, oh, how often she saw themspeed before her in retrospect!... Ten years: was it really ten years?How quickly they had passed! They had been full and busy years; andConstance was satisfied with the years that had fleeted by, only she wasdistressed that it all went so fast and that she would be old before....But the wind was blowing too fiercely and Adeletje was hanging heavilyon her arm—poor child, she was shivering: how cold she must be!—andConstance could not follow her thoughts.... Before ... before.... Well,if she died, there would be Addie.... Only.... No, she couldn't thinknow; and besides they would be home presently.... They would be home....Home! The word seemed strange to her; and she did not think that right.And yet, struggle against the singular emotion as she would, she couldnot cure herself of thinking that big house gloomy and regretting thelittle villa in the Kerkhoflaan at the Hague, even though she had neverknown any great domestic happiness there.... Still ... still, one lovesthe thing that one has grown used to; and was it not funny that she hadgrown so fond of that little house, where she had lived four years, andbeen disconsolate when, after the old man's death, Van der Welcke andAddie too had insisted on moving to the big, sombre villa atDriebergen?... Fortunately, it was at once lighted by all of them, bytheir affection for one another; if she had not had the consolingbrightness of mutual love, oh, it would have been impossible for her togo and live in that dark, gloomy, cavernous villa-house, among theeternally rustling trees, under the eternally louring skies! The housewas dear to Van der Welcke and Addie because of a strange sympathy, asense that their home was there and nowhere else. The father was born inthe house and had played there as a child; and the son, strangelyenough, cherished the exact same feeling of attraction towards it. Hadthey not almost forced her to move into the house: Van der Welcke cryingfor it like a child, first going there for a few days at a time andliving there with nobody but the decrepit old charwoman who made his bedfor him; then Addie following his father's example, fitting up a roomfor herself and making constant pretexts—that he must go and have alook among his papers, that he must run down for a book—seizing anyexcuse that offered?... Then they left her alone, in her house in theKerkhoflaan. That had trees round it too and skies overhead. But it wasstrange: among those trees in the Hague Woods, under those clouds whichcame drifting from Scheveningen, she had felt at home, though theirlittle villa was only a house hired on a five years' lease, taken at thetime under Addie's deciding influence. He, quite a small boy then, hadgone and seen the fat estate-agent.... Oh, how the years, how the yearshurried past!... To think that it was all so long ago!... Strange, inthat leasehold house she had felt at home, at the Hague, among herrelations, under familiar skies and among familiar people and things,unyielding though both things and people had often proved. Whereas here,in this house, in this great cavernous, gloomy villa-residence—and shehad lived in it since the old man's death fully ten years ago—she hadalways felt, though the house belonged to them as their inheritance, astheir family-residence, a stranger, an intruder, one who had come thereby accident ... along with her husband and her son. She could nevershake off this feeling. It pursued her even to her own sitting-room,which, with its bits of furniture from the Kerkhoflaan, was almostexactly the same as her little drawing-room at the Hague.... Oh, how thewind blew and how Adeletje was shivering against her: if only the poorchild did not fall ill from that long walk!... There came the firstdrops of rain, thick and big, like tears of despair.... She put up herumbrella and Adeletje pushed still closer, walked right up against her,under the same shelter, so as to feel safe and warm.... The lane now ranstraight into the high road; and there, before you, lay the house.... Itstood in its own big garden—nearly a park, with a pool at theback—like a square, melancholy block, dreary and massive; and she couldnot understand why Van der Welcke and Addie clung to it so. Or rathershe did understand now; but she ... no, she did not care for the house.It never smiled to her, always frowned, as it stood there broad andsevere, as though imperishable, behind the front-garden, with the dwarfrose-bushes and standard roses wound in straw, awaiting the springdays.... It looked down upon her with its front of six upper windows aswith stern eyes, which suffered but never forgave her.... It was likethe old man himself, who had died without forgiving.... Oh, she couldnever have lived there if she had not always remembered the old woman'sforgiveness, that last hour of gentleness by her bedside, thereconciliation, in complete understanding and knowledge almostarticulate, offered at the moment of departure for ever.... Then