Delphi Collected Works of W. Somerset Maugham (Illustrated)

by William Somerset Maugham

  “The arrival of Herr von Bernheim made a certain stir in the neighbourhood, partly owing to the disappearance of the Graveneys, who, after all, have been the chief persons in this part for more than four hundred years; but still more because in every surrounding village is abject poverty, and it was generally felt that this new wealth would be freely scattered. The dormant countryside woke up, and a feverishness seized all and sundry at the thought of this amassed gold; in a smaller way it resembled those manias that took hold of people in the days of the South Sea Bubble, when nothing in life seemed desirable but money. When the German arrived, already half the quietness of this Kentish corner was gone, and, from squire to ploughman, everyone was on the alert for gain. I hated the stranger. I am a lover of ancient ways, and I was ashamed that the Graveneys should live in future in a villa at Regent’s Park, while this interloper occupied their stately home; and I felt that the old-world air I had striven so hard to maintain in this bit of country would vanish before the vulgar opulence of the upstart baron.

  “My neighbours thought it civil to call upon him, but I, notwithstanding the entreaties of my old friend, Lady Elizabeth, refused to go. I would not know this man for whom the old-fashioned carriages of the Graveneys did not suffice, but who scoured the country in a new-fangled brake, painted bright yellow, behind horses whose value was preposterously obvious. And when I found he was taking great interest in village affairs, I hated him still more. I heard he was getting the postal service improved — in the old days we were content to receive letters once a day. He laid the first stone for a cottage hospital, and, worst of all, headed a deputation to the railway directors to make a station near Graveney; he subsidised schools — before his arrival it had been my boast that, notwithstanding all the laws they made at Westminster, not half the population could read or write; and consequently our people were better mannered, better workmen, and better satisfied.”

  The rector opened his mouth to combat this heresy, but good-humouredly Augustus Breton begged to be allowed to continue his story; and the parson held his tongue.

  “Lady Elizabeth asked me why I would not make acquaintance with a man whom everyone thought charming.

  “‘I’m sure you’d like him,’ she said. ‘Of course, he’s fabulously rich, but not in the least purse-proud. He’s very amusing. I believe you dislike him because he gives better dinners than you do.’

  “Now, I will confess that it is my pride to treat my guests so that they may be pleased to come to me. With a little care it is possible to devise in the country a pleasanter meal than anyone can get in London, and I have no sympathy with certain neighbours of mine who give you slovenly viands with the excuse that nothing better can be got in this distant village; and it is possible that when Lady Elizabeth, with her accustomed enthusiasm, described the banquets that Baron von Bernheim gave at Graveney Hall, a faint tinge of jealousy did pass through me.

  “But, at all events, I was content to do without the millionaire’s lavish hospitality. It appeared that everyone found him as charming as Lady Elizabeth, for the county took him to its bosom, and wherever I went, his praises were dinned into my ears. The pleasure which all took in his friendship, the callous way in which people congratulated themselves that he had taken the Graveneys’ place — for the Graveneys were too poor to take any part in the festivities of the county — irritated me still more, and I even went out of my way to avoid him. But I cannot deny that I was a little flattered when I heard that the German, at whose head the whole countryside with indecent haste had thrown itself, was making every endeavour to strike up an acquaintance with me. He went so far as to send a message through Lady Elizabeth, our common neighbour, to ask whether he might call on me, and I was obliged to pretext indifferent health to avoid the honour. Lady Elizabeth in her sprightly way called me all manner of things, but I was determined not to be forced into friendship.

  “When he found his efforts were useless, Baron von Bernheim adopted a bold course. He came to my house one morning, just before luncheon, and asked whether I would subscribe to the restoration of the church. I refused somewhat curtly, for in the first place I hate this modern craze for meddling with old buildings, and I will never give a penny to restore anything — I know too well what it means; and secondly, I thought it impertinent that Herr von Bernheim should himself come to me. He took my refusal good-naturedly and walked towards the door; I had not asked him to sit down.

  “‘You have some very charming things here,’ he said.

  “‘It is kind of you to say so,’ I answered drily.

  “He was passing out when his eye caught a mezzotint which has a peculiar history. It is the portrait of a lady, of great beauty and of exquisite workmanship. I had paid one hundred and fifty pounds for it, but on bringing it home was seized with an odd misgiving that it was counterfeit. No expert had discovered it.

  “If a forgery, it was wonderfully done, and I tried to persuade myself that it was nothing of the kind, for all the evidence was in favour of its genuineness; but still I had an uneasy suspicion. I saw the baron stop in front of this picture, look quickly at me; and then the shadow of a smile played on his lips. I was astounded, for evidently he had no doubt that this was a reprint; but that he should have discovered it with one rapid glance proved not only that he was a connoisseur, but that he had an innate genius in these things. A man who could tell real from false as if by intuition was remarkable. But I could not let him go without a word; for it was as bad as wearing false pearls, to hang on my walls a picture which was valuable if genuine, but otherwise worthless.

  “‘You’re looking at my reprint,’ I said, casting all doubt behind me. ‘I keep it because I think it such a wonderful example.’

  “‘It is so good,’ he replied, smiling, ‘that I wondered if you knew it was not authentic. Of course, you know the man in Paris who makes these things?’

  “I felt I had escaped a great peril, and to make sure that he did not think I had been foolishly deceived, I insisted on taking down the picture and bringing it to the window. We discussed it, and the baron for the second time took his leave. I had looked at him closely while he examined my hapless mezzotint, and was surprised to find his appearance not unattractive. His dress was very simple, and his manner restrained and unaffected; he was almost a good-looking man, with slightly mournful brown eyes and a singularly persuasive voice, which gave all he said a peculiar charm. I could well understand why women found him so fascinating. But as he shook hands with me, his eye fell on my greatest treasure, a jar in famille verte of such beauty that, though it has been always in my possession, I can never see it without a thrill of delight and of surprise. The sight of it makes my heart beat as might the sight of a beloved woman; but no human being had ever that exquisite grace of form, that soft brilliancy of colour.

  “The baron took it in his hands. ‘But about this there is no doubt,’ he said, and he looked at it with dilated pupils. And when I saw him handle the jar, when I saw the caress of his fingers, the delicate, loving way with which he held it — as a proud mother might pass her hands over the silken hair of an only child — I knew, notwithstanding all my petulant complaints, that this was a kindred soul. Here was a man with whom I could talk of all my treasures, and who would understand me.

  “‘It is just luncheon-time,’ I said, somewhat confused, I admit. ‘It would give me very great pleasure if you would stay and share my modest meal.’

  “He seemed not in the least astonished, but very naturally, as though we were already old friends, accepted. Perhaps it is one of my failings to imagine that at my own table I arrange the conversation so that my guests may speak of things that specially concern them; but on this occasion I found that I myself was led; and with infinite tact the baron arranged our talk so that I was carried away, and spoke not only more than is decent in a host, but of topics which I am unaccustomed to discuss with all and sundry. The German knew human nature, and in consequence I found him a most agreeable fellow. With quiet
humour he bantered me good-naturedly on my opposition to his many schemes, and at length I was forced to confess that I had looked upon him always with great disfavour.

  ‘“On acquaintance, I hope you will alter your opinion,’ he said.

  “And I, embarrassed: T have altered it already. And I feel bound to ask your pardon for my bearishness.’

  “Then he asked to what I particularly objected; and when I told him it was the proposed station, he offered to take no further steps to secure it. I was a little overwhelmed, for I dared not prevent an innovation which might bring a new prosperity to these parts; but when he said he did not himself much care for the railway to come so near Graveney, I felt a great load fall from my mind. A few days later, I received an invitation to dine at the Hall, and with alacrity — anxious to atone for past impoliteness — I accepted.

  “In truth, Von Bernheim’s hospitality was lavish, and I freely acknowledged to Lady Elizabeth, who teased me because I had succumbed at last to the millionaire’s fascination, that I was able to offer my guests nothing to equal it. I found the Graveneys’ precious things arranged with ten times more taste than they had ever had, and the house, instead of being a sad mixture of beauty and tawdriness, was now wholly delightful. Herr von Bernheim had put few of his own things there, but these were so exquisite that any museum would have been proud to possess them.

  “Lady Elizabeth drove me home afterwards, and when we were comfortably settled in the carriage, she cried: ‘Now, honestly, don’t you think he’s perfectly enchanting?’

  “T do,’ I answered. ‘I withdraw all I said against him. He is an excellent host, and he has every virtue. But there is one thing which is quite beyond praise — I have never drunk better port in my life. Good Heavens! where did the man get it? I would give my soul to own a wine half as good.’

  “Lady Elizabeth laughed, and evidently repeated what I said to the German, for two days later, to my amazement, I received six bottles of this priceless wine, with a very civil note saying that he had noticed my appreciation, and begged I would accept those few bottles. To me, who fancy myself something of a judge in such matters, the gift was magnificent, and I knew not how adequately to express my gratitude. I went into my garden and cut some dahlias.

  “‘My dear Baron,’ I wrote, ‘you were so good the other day as to say that Graveney Hall could not show such dahlias as grew in my poor little garden, and I venture to send you some in return for your gift of wine.’

  “The little present pleased him apparently, for next time we met, he thanked me as profusely as if my flowers had been of serious value, and he apologised for sending so few bottles of port, saying that he had only five dozen left. And from this beginning we grew into fast friends. I found his knowledge of the arts was deep and enthusiastic; he was able to tell me a thousand things I did not know before, and never a week passed when he was in the country that he did not lunch at my house, or that I did not dine at his. But the Baron von Bernheim was a singular man; we never heard of his doings in London, knowing vaguely only that he was concerned in vast undertakings. For all his friendliness, everyone was kept at a certain distance, and even I, after three years of constant communication, knew not a whit more of him than I had learnt on the first day of our acquaintance. He seemed to me the subtlest observer, but also the most careful, impenetrable man that I had ever met; he must have known every detail concerning every important inhabitant of the county, but of himself no one knew anything.

  III

  “His influence in this part of the country increased rapidly. The place awoke from its dull sleepiness, and everyone became strangely alert and active. Even I, though now I am ashamed to confess it, felt that I had somehow wasted the peaceful years spent happily in my little house, and that I should have done more with my life. Lady Elizabeth was quite carried away, and under the baron’s direction launched into such small speculations as she could afford. It was imagined that the baron, now a naturalised Englishman, would stand for Parliament; and the farmers, at the thought of all he would do for them, dreamed pleasant dreams of a new prosperity.

  “One morning I was taking a walk along the road that runs past my house, when I met Lady Elizabeth in her dog-cart. She stopped, and I saw at once that something extraordinary had happened.

  “‘I was just coming to see you,’ she cried. ‘I’ve been to Tercanbury this morning and I’ve heard the most awful thing.’

  “‘What do you mean?’

  “She looked quickly at her groom, gave him the reins, and stepped down. We walked till we were out of earshot, and then very anxiously she spoke.

  “‘Everyone in Tercanbury is full of Baron von Bernheim. They say he isn’t a baron at all, but a well-known Continental swindler called Johann Herz. He’s been carrying on some gigantic swindle in England, and now a warrant is out for his arrest. Isn’t it dreadful? And he has five hundred pounds of mine.’

  “I turned pale.

  “‘It can’t be true!’

  “‘I’ve been to the bank, and the manager tells me he’s arrested by now. There seems no doubt about it.’

  “‘But he was engaged to lunch with me to-day,’ I said.

  “‘Well, he won’t come,’ she answered. ‘Come to luncheon with me, and we’ll talk it over.’

  “‘No,’ I said, T must go in. He may come, and I should be there to receive him.’

  “‘You don’t mean to say you’re going to give him luncheon. He’s a most desperate criminal. You must be mad. But of course he won’t come. He’s either arrested or fled.’

  ‘“If he comes, I shall remember he’s my guest, and I shall take care in no way to show that I have heard anything to his discredit.’

  ‘“You’re an old fool, Mr. Breton!’ exclaimed Lady Elizabeth almost angrily. ‘Of course he won’t come; but if he does, you must send for the police.’

  “I went home, more distressed by the news than I can possibly say. Lady Elizabeth seemed so positive that I could not doubt it was true, and somehow I was scarcely surprised; the German had been always so silent about his antecedents; and for all his apparent heartiness, there had ever seemed in him something that he concealed. But, after all, I had invited him to luncheon, and I determined to make no change in my arrangements.

  “‘I shall not wait for Herr von Bernheim after ten minutes past two,’ I told my servant, without giving any explanation.

  “I looked at the clock with some nervousness, and in a moment it struck the hour.

  “‘Am I too punctual?’ cried a voice through my open window, and, turning around with a start, I saw Baron von Bernheim himself.

  “‘I came round by the garden,’ he added, walking in. ‘I thought you would not mind.’

  “For a moment I was taken aback. He was as calm and self-assured as ever I had seen him, immaculately dressed; and I had never been more impressed by his perfect ease of manner. He saw my confusion and asked whether I expected him.

  “‘Of course,’ I said, recovering myself. ‘Let us go in to luncheon.’

  “I cannot say I enjoyed the meal. I was very nervous. I wondered whether the whole story were untrue. I watched the windows anxiously for detectives. It would be horrible if the man were arrested at my very table. Then I asked myself whether the German did not know that a warrant was issued for his arrest, and almost with agony I wondered what I should do. But he was imperturbable. With his accustomed brilliant knowledge, he spoke of early Italian art, criticising the various schools with the acumen of a connoisseur and the enthusiasm of an artist. My own powers of conversation failed me, and all my efforts were centred on preserving the politeness due to a guest; but the baron did not seem to observe my awkward silence; he went on eloquently discoursing, till at last it was all I could do to prevent myself from crying out: ‘Good Heavens, man! is it true? Don’t you know that all the police in Kent are on your track?’ Since then it has always been my consolation that I bore myself to the end courteously, and none could have seen that my guest
was most unwelcome and I in a pitiful state of anxiety. We had just finished when I heard wheels on the gravel outside my door, and I started.

  “‘What is that?’ I cried, disconcerted.

  “He looked at me calmly, and an ironic smile broke on his lips.

  ‘“It must be my trap,’ he said. ‘I gave orders that I was to be fetched at three. You will forgive me if I run away so quickly, but I must go to Scotland to-night, and the trains are so inconvenient from here, I can only just manage it.’

  “He shook hands with me and, without the slightest sign of haste or anxiety, walked out. I watched him take the reins and drive away.

  “Next morning the whole thing was in the papers. It was a most heartless, cruel swindle that the baron had devised, and for three years it had gone successfully; hundreds of people were ruined, and the sensation throughout the whole country was immense. But Johann Herz — for that indeed was his real name — had entirely disappeared; I was the last person who had seen him. He had gone off in the little sailing-boat he kept, none knew whither; all the ports on the Continent were watched, but he was not found. Then long accounts appeared of his previous history, and it appeared that he had gone under a dozen names, all somewhat high-sounding, for a pretence of nobility appeared his chief weakness; and it was known that, wherever he settled, he loved to adopt the airs of the country gentleman. But what interested me most was that he seemed notorious as a forger of works of art; nearly every high-priced imitation of oil-paintings, mezzotints, or porcelain had come from his workshops. He set his great talents to work on every artistic thing that became fashionable, and in this it appeared his keen sense of beauty, his vast knowledge, were extremely valuable. He had so much ability that he could have earned an honest livelihood with the greatest ease, but apparently there was some kink in his nature which made him unable to resist the strange fascination of crime. And even when I knew his whole history, I could not help admiring the bravado with which he had come to my luncheon; it was really magnificent, the coolness he had shown and the consummate daring. I confess I hoped he would escape — this was too picturesque a ruffian to fall into the law’s iron hands; he was a hero living out of his time. In the fifteenth century, with such courage, resource, and wit, he would have founded a dynasty.