The Complete Short Stories of W. Somerset Maugham - II - The World Over

by W. Somerset Maugham

  My host hesitated a moment. He gave me a long, reflective stare before he went on.

  “Under the Philips the Agurias were rich, but by the time my friend Don Pedro succeeded his father their circumstances were much reduced. But still he was not poor, he had estates between Cordova and Aguilar, and in Seville his house retained at least traces of its ancient splendour. The little world of Seville was astonished when he announced his engagement to Soledad, the daughter of the ruined Count of Acaba, for though her family was distinguished her father was an old scamp. He was crippled with debts, and the shifts he resorted to in order to keep his head above water were none too nice. But Soledad was beautiful and Don Pedro in love with her. They were married. He adored her with the vehement passion of which perhaps only a Spaniard is capable. But he discovered to his dismay that she did not love him. She was kind and gentle. She was a good wife and a good housekeeper. She was grateful to him. But that was all. He thought that when she had a child she would change, but the child came, and it made no difference. The barrier between them that he had felt from the beginning was still there. He suffered. At last he told himself that she had a character too noble, a spirit too delicate, to descend to earthly passion, and he resigned himself. She was too high above him for mortal love.”

  I moved a little uneasily in my seat. I thought the Spaniard was unduly rhetorical. He went on.

  “You know that here in Seville the Opera House is open only for the six weeks after Easter, and since the Sevillans don’t care very much for European music we go more to meet our friends than to listen to the singers. The Agurias had a box, like everybody else, and they went on the opening night of the season. Tannhaüser was being given. Don Pedro and his wife, like typical Spaniards, with nothing to do all day but always late, did not arrive till nearly the end of the first act. In the interval the Count of Acaba, Soledad’s father, came into the box accompanied by a young officer of artillery whom Don Pedro had never seen before. But Soledad seemed to know him well.

  “ ‘Here is Pepe Alvarez,’ said the Count. ‘He’s just come back from Cuba and I insisted on bringing him to see you.’

  “Soledad smiled and held out her hand, then introduced the newcomer to her husband.

  “ ‘Pepe is the son of the attorney at Carmona. We used to play together when we were children.’

  “Carmona is a small town near Seville, and it was here that the Count had retired when his creditors in the city grew too troublesome. The house he owned there was almost all that was left him of the fortune he had squandered. He lived in Seville now through Don Pedro’s generosity. But Don Pedro did not like him and he bowed stiffly to the young officer. He guessed that his father the attorney and the count had been concerned together in transactions that were none too reputable. In a minute he left the box to talk with his cousin, the Duchess of Santaguador, whose box was opposite his own. A few days later he met Pepe Alvarez at his club in the Sierpes and had a chat with him. To his surprise he found him a very pleasant young fellow. He was full of his exploits in Cuba and he related them with humour.

  “The six weeks about Easter and the great Fair are the gayest in Seville, and the world meets to exchange gossip and laughter, at one festivity after another. Pepe Alvarez with his good nature and high spirits was in great request and the Agurias met him constantly. Don Pedro saw that he amused Soledad. She was more vivacious when he was there, and her laughter, which he had so seldom heard, was a delight to him. Like other members of the aristocracy he took a booth for the Fair, where they danced, supped and drank champagne till dawn. Pepe Alvarez was always the life and soul of the parties.

  “One night Don Pedro was dancing with the Duchess of Santaguador and they passed Soledad with Pepe Alvarez.

  “ ’Soledad is looking very beautiful this evening,’ she remarked.

  “ ‘And happy,’ he replied.

  “ ‘Is it true that once she was engaged to be married to Pepe Alvarez?’

  “ ‘Of course not.’

  “But the question startled him. He had known that Soledad and Pepe had known one another when they were children, but it had never crossed his mind that there could have been anything between them. The Count of Acaba, though a rogue, was :i gentleman by birth, and it was inconceivable that he could have thought of marrying his daughter to the son of a provincial attorney. When they got home Don Pedro told his wife what the duchess had said and what he had replied.

  “ ‘But I was engaged to Pepe,’ she said.

  “ ‘Why did you never tell me?’

  “ ‘It was finished and done with. He was in Cuba. I never expected to see him again.’

  “ ‘There must be people who know you were engaged to him.’ “ ‘I daresay. Docs it matter?’

  “ ‘Very much. You shouldn’t have renewed your acquaintance with him when he returned.’

  “ ‘Does that mean that you have no confidence in me?’

  “ ‘Of course not. I have every confidence in you. All the same I wish you to discontinue it now.’

  “ ‘And if I refuse?’

  “ ‘I shall kill him.’

  “They looked long into one another’s eves. Then she gave him a little bow and went to her room. Don Pedro sighed. He wondered whether she still loved Pepe Alvarez and whether it was on account of this that she had never loved him. But he would not allow himself to give way to the unworthy emotion of jealousy. He looked into his heart and was sure that it harboured no feeling of hatred for the young artilleryman. On the contrary, he liked him. This was not an affair of love or hate, but of honour. On a sudden he remembered that a few days before when he went to his club he noticed that the conversation suddenly failed, and, looking back, he seemed to remember that several of the group who were sitting there and chatting eyed him curiously. Was it possible that he had been the subject of their conversation? He shivered a little at the thought.

  “The Fair was drawing to its end, and when it was over the Agurias had arranged to go to Cordova, where Don Pedro had an estate which it was necessary for him to visit from time to time. He looked forward to the peace of a country life after the turmoil of Seville. The day after this conversation Soledad, saying she was not well, stayed in the house, and she did the same the day following. Don Pedro visited her in her room morning and evening and they talked of indifferent things. But on the third day his cousin Conchita de Santaguador was giving a ball. It was the last of the season and everyone in her exclusive set would be there. Soledad, saying she was still indisposed, announced that she would stay at home.

  “ ‘Are you refusing to go because of our conversation of the other night?’ Don Pedro asked.

  “ ‘I have been thinking over what you said. I think your demand unreasonable, but I shall accede to it. The only way I can cease my friendship with Pepe is by not going to places where I am likely to meet him.’ A tremor of pain passed over her lovely face. ‘Perhaps it is best.’

  “ ‘Do you love him still?’

  “ ‘Yes.’

  “Don Pedro felt himself go cold with anguish.

  “ ‘Then why did you marry me?’

  “ ‘Pepe was away, in Cuba, no one knew when he would come back. Perhaps never. My father said that I must marry you.’

  “ ‘To save him from ruin?’

  “ ‘From worse than ruin.’

  “ ‘I am very sorry for you.’

  “ ‘You have been kind to me. I have done everything in my power to prove to you that I am grateful.’

  “ ‘And does Pepe love you?’

  “She shook her head and smiled sadly.

  “ ‘Men are different. He’s young. He’s too gay to love anyone very long. No, to him I’m just the friend whom he used to play with when he was a child and flirt with when he was a boy. He can make jokes about the love he once had for me.’

  “He took her hand and pressed it, then kissed it and left her. He went to the ball by himself. His friends were sorry to hear of Soledad’s indisposition, but after
expressing a proper sympathy devoted themselves to the evening’s amusement. Don Pedro drifted into the card-room. There was room at a table, and he sat down to play chemin de fer. He played with extraordinary luck and made a good deal of money. One of the players laughingly asked where Soledad was that evening. Don Pedro saw another give him a startled glance, but he laughed and answered that she was safely in bed and asleep. Then an unlucky incident occurred. Some young man came into the room, and addressing an artillery officer who was playing asked where Pepe Alvarez was.

  “ ‘Isn’t he here?’ said the officer.

  “ ‘No.’

  “An odd silence fell upon the party. Don Pedro exercised all his self-control to prevent his face from showing what he suddenly felt. The thought flashed through his mind that those men at the table suspected that Pepe was with Soledad, his wife. Oh, the shame! The indignity! He forced himself to go on playing for another hour and still he won. He could not go wrong. The game broke up and he returned to the ballroom. He went up to his cousin.

  “ ‘I’ve hardly had a word with you,’ he said. ‘Come into another room and let us sit down for a little.’

  “ ‘If you like.’

  “The room, Conchita’s boudoir, was empty.

  “ ‘Where is Pepe Alvarez to-night?’ he asked casually.

  “ ‘I can’t think.’

  “ ‘You were expecting him?’

  “ ‘Of course.’

  “She was smiling as he was, but be noticed that she looked at him sharply. He dropped his mask of casualness and, though they were alone, lowered his voice.

  “ ‘Conchita, I beseech you to tell me the truth. Are they saying that he is Soledad’s lover?’

  “ ‘Pedrito, what a monstrous question to put to me!’

  “But he had seen the terror in her eyes and the sudden instinctive movement of her hand to her face.

  “ ‘You’ve answered it.’

  “He got up and left her. He went, home and looking up from the patio saw a light in his wife’s room. He went upstairs ana knocked at the door. There was no answer, hut he went in. To his surprise, for it was late, she was sitting up working at the embroidery upon which much of her time was spent.

  “ ‘Why are you working at this hour?’

  “ ‘I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t read. I thought it would distract my mind if I worked.’

  “He did not sit down.

  “ ‘Soledad, I have something to tell you that must cause you pain. I must ask you to be brave. Pepe Alvarez was not at Conchita’s to-night.’

  “ ‘What is that to me?’

  “ ‘It is unfortunate that you were not there either. Everyone at the ball thought that you were together.’

  “ ‘That’s preposterous.’

  “‘I know, but that doesn’t help matters. You could have opened the gate for him yourself and let him out, or you could have slipped out yourself without anyone seeing you go or come.’

  “ ‘But do you believe it?’

  “ ‘No. I agreed with you that the thing was preposterous. Where was Pepe Alvarez?’

  “ ‘How do I know? How should I know?’

  “ ‘It is very strange that he should not have come to the most brilliant party, the last party, of the season.’

  “She was silent for a minute.

  “ ‘The night after you spoke to me about him I wrote and told him that in view of the circumstances I thought it would be better if in future we saw no more of one another than could be helped. It may be that he did not go to the ball for the same reason that I did not.’

  “They were silent for a while. He looked down at the ground, but he felt that her eyes were fixed on him. I should have told you before that Don Pedro possessed one accomplishment which raised him above his fellows, but at the same time was a drawback. He was the best shot in Andalusia. Everyone knew this and it would have been a brave man who ventured to offend him. A few days earlier there had been pigeon-shooting at Tablada, the wide common outside Seville along the Guadalquivir, and Don Pedro had carried all before him. Pepe Alvarez on the other hand had shown himself so indifferent a marksman that everyone had laughed at him. The young artilleryman had borne the chaff with good-humour. Cannon were his weapon, he said.

  “ ‘What are you going to do?’ Soledad asked.

  “ ‘You know that there is only one thing I can do.’

  “She understood. But she tried to treat what he said as a pleasantry.

  “ ‘You’re childish. We’re not living any more in the sixteenth century.’

  “ ‘I know. That is why I am talking to you now. If I have to challenge Pepe I shall kill him. I don’t want to do that. If he will resign his commission and leave Spain I will do nothing.’

  “ ‘How can he? Where is he to go?’

  “ ‘He can go to South America. He may make his fortune.’

  “ ‘Do you expect me to tell him that?’

  “ ‘If you love him.’

  “ ‘I love him too much to ask him to run away like a coward. How could he face life without honour?’

  “Don Pedro laughed.

  “ ‘What has Pepe Alvarez, the son of the attorney at Carmona, to do with honour?’

  “She did not answer, but in her eyes he saw the fierce hatred she bore him. That look stabbed his heart, for he loved her, he loved her as passionately as ever.

  “Next day he went to his club and joined a group who were sitting at the window looking out at the crowd passing up and down the Sierpes. Pepe Alvarez was in it. They were talking of last night’s party.

  “ ‘Where were you, Pepe?’ someone asked.

  “ ‘My mother was ill. I had to go to Carmona,’ he answered. ‘I was dreadfully disappointed, but perhaps it was all for the best.’ He turned laughingly to Don Pedro. ‘I hear you were in luck and won everybody’s money.’

  “ ‘When are you going to give us our revenge, Pedrito?’ asked another.

  “ ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to wait for that,’ he answered. ‘I have to go to Cordova. I find that my attorney has been robbing me. I know that all attorneys are thieves, but I stupidly thought this one was honest.’

  “He seemed to speak quite lightly, and it was as lightly that Pepe Alvarez put in his word.

  “ ‘I think you exaggerate, Pedrito. Don’t forget that my father is an attorney and he at least is honest.’

  “ ‘I don’t believe it for a minute,’ laughed Don Pedro. I have no doubt that your father is as big a thief as any.’

  “The insult was so unexpected and so unprovoked that for a moment Pepe Alvarez was staggered. The others were startled into sudden seriousness.

  “ ‘What do you mean, Pedrito?’

  “ ‘Exactly what I say.’

  “ ‘It’s a lie and you know it’s a lie. You must withdraw that at once.’

  “Don Pedro laughed.

  “ ‘Of course I shall not withdraw. Your father is a thief and a rascal.’

  “Pepe did the only thing he could do. He sprang from his chair and with his open hand hit Don Pedro in the face. The outcome was inevitable. Next day the two men met on the frontier of Portugal. Pepe Alvarez, the attorney’s son, died like a gentleman with a bullet in his heart.”

  The Spaniard ended his story on such a casual note that for the first moment I hardly took it in. But when I did I was profoundly shocked.

  “Barbarous,” I said. “It was just cold-blooded murder.”

  My host got up.

  “You’re talking nonsense, my young friend. Don Pedro did the only thing he could do in the circumstances.”

  I left Seville next day, and from then till now have never been able to discover the name of the man who told me this strange story. I have often wondered whether the lady I saw, the lady with the pale face and the lock of white hair, was the unhappy Soledad.

  THE MOTHER

  TWO or three people, hearing sounds of a quarrel in the patio, came out of their rooms and listened.

  “It�
�s the new lodger,” said a woman. “She’s having a row with the porter who brought her things.”

  It was a tenement house of two storeys, built round a patio, in a back street of La Macarena, which is the roughest quarter in Seville. The rooms were let to working men and the small functionaries with whom Spain is overrun, postmen, policemen, or tram-conductors, and the place swarmed with children. There were twenty families there. They squabbled and made it up; they chattered their heads off; they helped one another when help was needed; for the Andalusians are good-natured people, and on the whole they got on well enough together. One room had been for some time unlet. A woman had taken it that morning, and an hour later had brought her bits and pieces, carrying as much as she could herself, a gallego—the Galicians are the general porters of Spain—laden with the rest.

  But the quarrel was growing more violent, and the two women above, on the first floor, anxious not to miss a word, leant over the balcony.

  They heard the newcomer’s shrill voice raised in a torrent of abuse and the man’s sullen interjections. The two women nudged one another.

  “I shan’t go till you pay me,” he kept on saying.

  “But I’ve paid you already. You said you’d do it for three reales.”

  “Never! You promised me four.”

  They were haggling over rather less than twopence halfpenny.

  “Four reales for moving those few things? You’re crazy.”

  She tried to push him away.

  “I shan’t go till you pay me,” he repeated.

  “I’ll give you a penny more.”

  “I won’t take it.”

  The dispute grew more and more noisy. The woman screamed at the porter and cursed him. She shook her fist in his face. At last he lost patience.

  “Oh, all right, give me the penny and I’ll go. I’m not going to waste time on a slut like you.”

  She paid him, and the man, throwing down her mattress, left her. She flung a filthy word at him as he went. She came out of the room to drag the things in, and the two women in the balcony saw her face.