The Captain's Dol Read online

disappeared out of her. She could hardly even remember him. He

  had become so insignificant to her she was dazed.

  Now she wanted to see him again, to know if it was really so. She

  felt that he was coming. She felt that he was already putting out

  some influence towards her. But what? And was he real? Why had

  she made his doll? Why had his doll been so important, if he was

  nothing? Why had she shown it to that funny little woman this

  afternoon? Why was she herself such a fool, getting herself into

  tangles in this place where it was so unpleasant to be entangled?

  Why was she entangled, after all? It was all so unreal. And

  particularly HE was unreal: as unreal as a person in a dream, whom

  one has never heard of in actual life. In actual life, her own

  German friends were real. Martin was real: German men were real to

  her. But this other, he was simply not there. He didn't really

  exist. He was a nullus, in reality. A nullus--and she had somehow

  got herself complicated with him.

  Was it possible? Was it possible she had been so closely entangled

  with an absolute nothing? Now he was absent she couldn't even

  IMAGINE him. He had gone out of her imagination, and even when she

  looked at his doll she saw nothing but a barren puppet. And yet

  for this dead puppet she had been compromising herself, now, when

  it was so risky for her to be compromised.

  Her own German friends--her own German men--they were men, they

  were real beings. But this English officer, he was neither fish,

  flesh, fowl, nor good red herring, as they say. He was just a

  hypothetical presence. She felt that if he never came back, she

  would be just as if she had read a rather peculiar but false story,

  a tour de force which works up one's imagination all falsely.

  Nevertheless, she was uneasy. She had a lurking suspicion that

  there might be something else. So she kept uneasily wandering out

  to the landing, and listening to hear if he might be coming.

  Yes--there was a sound. Yes, there was his slow step on the

  stairs, and the slow, straying purr of his voice. And instantly

  she heard his voice she was afraid again. She knew there WAS

  something there. And instantly she felt the reality of his

  presence, she felt the unreality of her own German men friends.

  The moment she heard the peculiar, slow melody of his foreign voice

  everything seemed to go changed in her, and Martin and Otto and

  Albrecht, her German friends, seemed to go pale and dim as if one

  could almost see through them, like unsubstantial things.

  This was what she had to reckon with, this recoil from one to the

  other. When he was present, he seemed so terribly real. When he

  was absent he was completely vague, and her own men of her own race

  seemed so absolutely the only reality.

  But he was talking. Who was he talking to? She heard the steps

  echo up the hollows of the stone staircase slowly, as if wearily,

  and voices slowly, confusedly mingle. The slow, soft trail of his

  voice--and then the peculiar, quick tones--yes, of a woman. And

  not one of the maids, because they were speaking English. She

  listened hard. The quick, and yet slightly hushed, slightly sad-

  sounding voice of a woman who talks a good deal, as if talking to

  herself. Hannele's quick ears caught the sound of what she was

  saying: 'Yes, I thought the Baroness a perfectly beautiful

  creature, perfectly lovely. But so extraordinarily like a

  Spaniard. Do you remember, Alec, at Malaga? I always thought they

  fascinated you then, with their mantillas. Perfectly lovely she

  would look in a mantilla. Only perhaps she is too open-hearted,

  too impulsive, poor thing. She lacks the Spanish reserve. Poor

  thing, I feel sorry for her. For them both, indeed. It must be

  very hard to have to do these things for a living, after you've

  been accustomed to be made much of for your own sake, and for your

  aristocratic title. It's very hard for them, poor things.

  Baroness, Countess, it sounds just a little ridiculous, when you're

  buying woollen embroideries from them. But I suppose, poor things,

  they can't help it. Better drop the titles altogether, I think--'

  'Well, they do, if people will let them. Only English and American

  people find it so much easier to say Baroness or Countess than

  Fr�ulein von Prielau-Carolath, or whatever it is.'

  'They could say simply Fr�ulein, as we do to our governesses--or as

  we used to, when we HAD German governesses,' came the voice of HER.

  'Yes, we COULD,' said his voice.

  'After all, what is the good, what is the good of titles if you

  have to sell dolls and woollen embroideries--not so very beautiful,

  either.'

  'Oh, quite! Oh, quite! I think titles are perhaps a mistake,

  anyhow. But they've always had them,' came his slow, musical

  voice, with its sing-song note of hopeless indifference. He

  sounded rather like a man talking out of his sleep.

  Hannele caught sight of the tail of blue-green crane feathers

  veering round a turn in the stairs away below, and she beat a hasty

  retreat.

  III

  There was a little platform out on the roof, where he used

  sometimes to stand his telescope and observe the stars or the moon:

  the moon when possible. It was not a very safe platform, just a

  little ledge of the roof, outside the window at the end of the top

  corridor: or rather, the top landing, for it was only the space

  between the attics. Hannele had the one attic room at the back, he

  had the room we have seen, and a little bedroom which was really

  only a lumber room. Before he came, Hannele had been alone under

  the roof. His rooms were then lumber room and laundry room, where

  the clothes were dried. But he had wanted to be high up, because

  of his stars, and this was the place that pleased him.

  Hannele heard him quite late in the night, wandering about. She

  heard him also on the ledge outside. She could not sleep. He

  disturbed her. The moon was risen, large and bright in the sky.

  She heard the bells from the cathedral slowly strike two: two great

  drops of sound in the livid night. And again, from outside on the

  roof, she heard him clear his throat. Then a cat howled.

  She rose, wrapped herself in a dark wrap, and went down the landing

  to the window at the end. The sky outside was full of moonlight.

  He was squatted like a great cat peering up his telescope, sitting

  on a stool, his knees wide apart. Quite motionless he sat in that

  attitude, like some leaden figure on the roof. The moonlight

  glistened with a gleam of plumbago on the great slope of black

  tiles. She stood still in the window, watching. And he remained

  fixed and motionless at the end of the telescope.

  She tapped softly on the window-pane. He looked round, like some

  tom-cat staring round with wide night eyes. Then he reached down

  his hand and pulled the window open.

  'Hello,' he said quietly. 'You not asleep?'

  'Aren't YOU tired?' she replied, rather resentful.

  'No
, I was as wide awake as I could be. ISN'T the moon fine

  tonight! What? Perfectly amazing. Wouldn't you like to come up

  and have a look at her?'

  'No, thank you,' she said hastily, terrified at the thought.

  He resumed his posture, peering up the telescope.

  'Perfectly amazing,' he said, murmuring. She waited for some time,

  bewitched likewise by the great October moon and the sky full of

  resplendent white-green light. It seemed like another sort of day-

  time. And there he straddled on the roof like some cat! It was

  exactly like day in some other planet.

  At length he turned round to her. His face glistened faintly, and

  his eyes were dilated like a cat's at night.

  'You know I had a visitor?' he said.

  'Yes.'

  'My wife.'

  'Your WIFE!'--she looked up really astonished. She had thought it

  might be an acquaintance--perhaps his aunt--or even an elder

  sister. 'But she's years older than you,' she added.

  'Eight years,' he said. 'I'm forty-one.'

  There was a silence.

  'Yes,' he mused. 'She arrived suddenly, by surprise, yesterday,

  and found me away. She's staying in the hotel, in the Vier

  Jahreszeiten.'

  There was a pause.

  'Aren't you going to stay with her?' asked Hannele.

  'Yes, I shall probably join her tomorrow.'

  There was a still longer pause.

  'Why not tonight?' asked Hannele.

  'Oh, well--I put it off for tonight. It meant all the bother of my

  wife changing her room at the hotel--and it was late--and I was all

  mucky after travelling.'

  'But you'll go tomorrow?'

  'Yes, I shall go tomorrow. For a week or so. After that I'm not

  sure what will happen.'

  There was quite a long pause. He remained seated on his stool on

  the roof, looking with dilated, blank, black eyes at nothingness.

  She stood below in the open window space, pondering.

  'Do you want to go to her at the hotel?' asked Hannele.

  'Well, I don't, particularly. But I don't mind, really. We're

  very good friends. Why, we've been friends for eighteen years--

  we've been married seventeen. Oh, she's a nice little woman. I

  don't want to hurt her feelings. I wish her no harm, you know. On

  the contrary, I wish her all the good in the world.'

  He had no idea of the blank amazement in which Hannele listened to

  these stray remarks.

  'But--' she stammered. 'But doesn't she expect you to make LOVE to

  her?'

  'Oh yes, she expects that. You bet she does: woman-like.'

  'And you?'--the question had a dangerous ring.

  'Why, I don't mind, really, you know, if it's only for a short

  time. I'm used to her. I've always been fond of her, you know--

  and so if it gives her any pleasure--why, I like her to get what

  pleasure out of life she can.'

  'But you--you YOURSELF! Don't YOU feel anything?' Hannele's

  amazement was reaching the point of incredulity. She began to feel

  that he was making it up. It was all so different from her own

  point of view. To sit there so quiet and to make such statements

  in all good faith: no, it was impossible.

  'I don't consider I count,' he said na�vely.

  Hannele looked aside. If that wasn't lying, it was imbecility, or

  worse. She had for the moment nothing to say. She felt he was a

  sort of psychic phenomenon like a grasshopper or a tadpole or an

  ammonite. Not to be regarded from a human point of view. No, he

  just wasn't normal. And she had been fascinated by him! It was

  only sheer, amazed curiosity that carried her on to her next

  question.

  'But do you NEVER count, then?' she asked, and there was a touch of

  derision, of laughter in her tone. He took no offence.

  'Well--very rarely,' he said. 'I count very rarely. That's how

  life appears to me. One matters so VERY little.'

  She felt quite dizzy with astonishment. And he called himself a

  man!

  'But if you matter so very little, what do you do anything at all

  for?' she asked.

  'Oh, one has to. And then, why not? Why not do things, even if

  oneself hardly matters. Look at the moon. It doesn't matter in

  the least to the moon whether I exist or whether I don't. So why

  should it matter to me?'

  After a blank pause of incredulity she said:

  'I could die with laughter. It seems to me all so ridiculous--no,

  I can't believe it.'

  'Perhaps it is a point of view,' he said.

  There was a long and pregnant silence: we should not like to say

  pregnant with what.

  'And so I don't mean anything to you at all?' she said.

  'I didn't say that,' he replied.

  'Nothing means anything to you,' she challenged.

  'I don't say that.'

  'Whether it's your wife--or me--or the moon--toute la m�me chose.'

  'No--no--that's hardly the way to look at it.'

  She gazed at him in such utter amazement that she felt something

  would really explode in her if she heard another word. Was this a

  man?--or what was it? It was too much for her, that was all.

  'Well, good-bye,' she said. 'I hope you will have a nice time at

  the Vier Jahreszeiten.'

  So she left him still sitting on the roof.

  'I suppose,' she said to herself, 'that is love � l'anglaise. But

  it's more than I can swallow.'

  IV

  'Won't you come and have tea with me--do! Come right along now.

  Don't you find it bitterly cold? Yes--well now--come in with me

  and we'll have a cup of nice, hot tea in our little sitting-room.

  The weather changes so suddenly, and really one needs a little

  reinforcement. But perhaps you don't take tea?'

  'Oh yes. I got so used to it in England,' said Hannele.

  'Did you now! Well now, were you long in England?'

  'Oh yes--'

  The two women had met in the Domplatz. Mrs Hepburn was looking

  extraordinarily like one of Hannele's dolls, in a funny little cape

  of odd striped skins, and a little dark-green skirt, and a rather

  fuzzy sort of hat. Hannele looked almost huge beside her.

  'But now you will come in and have tea, won't you? Oh, please do.

  Never mind whether it's de rigueur or not. I ALWAYS please myself

  WHAT I do. I'm afraid my husband gets some shocks sometimes--but

  that we can't help. I won't have anybody laying down the law to

  me.' She laughed her winsome little laugh.' So now come along in,

  and we'll see if there aren't hot scones as well. I love a hot

  scone for tea in cold weather. And I hope you do. That is, if

  there are any. We don't know yet.' She tinkled her little laugh.

  'My husband may or may not be in. But that makes no difference to

  you and me, does it? There, it's just striking half past four. In

  England, we always have tea at half past. My husband ADORES his

  tea. I don't suppose our man is five minutes off the half past,

  ringing the gong for tea, not once in twelve months. My husband

  doesn't mind at all if dinner is a little late. But he gets--

  quite--well, quite "ratty" if tea is late.' She tinkled a laugh.

>   'Though I shouldn't say that. He is the soul of kindness and

  patience. I don't think I've ever known him do an unkind thing--or

  hardly say an unkind word. But I doubt if he will be in today.'

  He WAS in, however, standing with his feet apart and his hands in

  his trouser pockets in the little sitting-room upstairs in the

  hotel. He raised his eyebrows the smallest degree, seeing Hannele

  enter.

  'Ah, Countess Hannele--my wife has brought you along! Very nice,

  very nice! Let me take your wrap. Oh yes, certainly . . .'

  'Have you rung for tea, dear?' asked Mrs Hepburn.

  'Er--yes. I said as soon as you came in they were to bring it.'

  'Yes--well. Won't you ring again, dear, and say for THREE.'

  'Yes--certainly. Certainly.'

  He rang, and stood about with his hands in his pockets waiting for

  tea.

  'Well now,' said Mrs Hepburn, as she lifted the tea-pot, and her

  bangles tinkled, and her huge rings of brilliants twinkled, and her

  big ear-rings of clustered seed-pearls bobbed against her rather

  withered cheek,' isn't it charming of Countess zu--Countess zu--'

  'Rassentlow,' said he. 'I believe most people say Countess

  Hannele. I know we always do among ourselves. We say Countess

  Hannele's shop.'

  'Countess Hannele's shop! Now, isn't that perfectly delightful:

  such a romance in the very sound of it. You take cream?'

  'Thank you,' said Hannele.

  The tea passed in a cloud of chatter, while Mrs Hepburn manipulated

  the tea-pot, and lit the spirit-flame, and blew it out, and peeped

  into the steam of the tea-pot, and couldn't see whether there was

  any more tea or not--and--'At home I KNOW--I was going to say to a

  teaspoonful--how much tea there is in the pot. But this tea-pot--I

  don't know what it's made of--it isn't silver, I know that--it is

  so heavy in itself that it's deceived me several times already.

  And my husband is a greedy man, a greedy man--he likes at least

  three cups--and four if he can get them, or five! Yes, dear, I've

  plenty of tea today. You shall have even five, if you don't mind

  the last two weak. Do let me fill your cup, Countess Hannele. I

  think it's a CHARMING name.'

  'There's a play called Hannele, isn't there?' said he.

  When he had had his five cups, and his wife had got her cigarette

  perched in the end of a long, long, slim, white holder, and was

  puffing like a little Chinawoman from the distance, there was a

  little lull.

  'Alec, dear,' said Mrs Hepburn. 'You won't forget to leave that

  message for me at Mrs Rackham's. I'm so afraid it will be

  forgotten.'

  'No, dear, I won't forget. Er--would you like me to go round now?'

  Hannele noticed how often he said 'er' when he was beginning to

  speak to his wife. But they WERE such good friends, the two of

  them.

  'Why, if you WOULD, dear, I should feel perfectly comfortable. But

  I don't want you to hurry one bit.'

  'Oh, I may as well go now.'

  And he went. Mrs Hepburn detained her guest.

  'He IS so charming to me,' said the little woman. 'He's really

  wonderful. And he always has been the same--invariably. So that

  if he DID make a little slip--well, you know, I don't have to take

  it so seriously.'

  'No,' said Hannele, feeling as if her ears were stretching with

  astonishment.

  'It's the war. It's just the war. It's had a terribly

  deteriorating effect on the men.'

  'In what way?' said Hannele.

  'Why, morally. Really, there's hardly one man left the same as he

  was before the war. Terribly degenerated.'

  'Is that so?' said Hannele.

  'It is indeed. Why, isn't it the same with the German men and