DOI Artikel:
Coutans, Renée de: Natalie
DOI Seite / Zitierlink:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.25498#0250
246 Natalie
emotion ; she trembled, and a needle-like pain darted from her
breast to her heart.
She wept quietly while her mother played and repeated the
phrase. Each time it seemed to enclose her in a more delicious
and more intimate emotion ; it spoke into her ear a wish to suffer,
yet be happy. At the same time her child mind was puzzling
and wondering. “ Why do I cry ?” she asked herself, “and why
is the pain a pleasure ? ” She fell asleep still wondering, with
those tears of pain and pleasure on her rosy cheeks, long before
her mother had ceased playing.
At tea-time the next day, called to the drawing-room, she
begged her mother in a whisper, and though there were strangers,
to play what she had played the night before. But when her
mother did so, seeming pleased and proud that Natalie had asked,
to her surprise the music gave her neither the pleasure nor the
pain of yesterday. The notes spoke melodiously, plaintively, but
in a vaguer way. And their meaning spread out, she seemed to
notice, over the other people in the room, as though each one took
a parcel of it which might have been all hers, had she been lying
alone upstairs in the half darkness in her little bed.
Days passed before Natalie heard her mother play again, and
she ceased to wonder at her new experience. But one evening,
when she had had her warm bath, had been cosily tucked in bed
and kissed, her mother passed downstairs to the drawing-room,
and she heard her strike some chords at the big piano which stood
close to the door leading to her father’s study. Natalie, drowsily
enjoying the comfort of her bed, seemed to see her mother beside
the piano, shining and lovely in her blue evening-gown. She
could see the open study-door, and her father reading by the light
of the pretty silver lamp with the green shade. Then, Turn—ta
turn, ti turn, turn turn—and in a moment the rippling notes fell
down
emotion ; she trembled, and a needle-like pain darted from her
breast to her heart.
She wept quietly while her mother played and repeated the
phrase. Each time it seemed to enclose her in a more delicious
and more intimate emotion ; it spoke into her ear a wish to suffer,
yet be happy. At the same time her child mind was puzzling
and wondering. “ Why do I cry ?” she asked herself, “and why
is the pain a pleasure ? ” She fell asleep still wondering, with
those tears of pain and pleasure on her rosy cheeks, long before
her mother had ceased playing.
At tea-time the next day, called to the drawing-room, she
begged her mother in a whisper, and though there were strangers,
to play what she had played the night before. But when her
mother did so, seeming pleased and proud that Natalie had asked,
to her surprise the music gave her neither the pleasure nor the
pain of yesterday. The notes spoke melodiously, plaintively, but
in a vaguer way. And their meaning spread out, she seemed to
notice, over the other people in the room, as though each one took
a parcel of it which might have been all hers, had she been lying
alone upstairs in the half darkness in her little bed.
Days passed before Natalie heard her mother play again, and
she ceased to wonder at her new experience. But one evening,
when she had had her warm bath, had been cosily tucked in bed
and kissed, her mother passed downstairs to the drawing-room,
and she heard her strike some chords at the big piano which stood
close to the door leading to her father’s study. Natalie, drowsily
enjoying the comfort of her bed, seemed to see her mother beside
the piano, shining and lovely in her blue evening-gown. She
could see the open study-door, and her father reading by the light
of the pretty silver lamp with the green shade. Then, Turn—ta
turn, ti turn, turn turn—and in a moment the rippling notes fell
down