Delphi Collected Works of W. Somerset Maugham (Illustrated)

by William Somerset Maugham

  Anne.

  [With a chuckle.] Oh yes, I can.

  Arthur.

  I knew that almost everything depended on how I acted during these weeks, and the maddening thing was that I could do nothing but sit still and control myself. I saw her miserable and knew that she didn’t want my comfort. I’ve yearned to take her in my arms and I’ve known she’d let me because it was her duty. Those dear good donkeys, the Applebys, told me just now they thought I must be the happiest man alive! Week after week, with an aching heart I’ve forced myself to be gay and amusing. D’you think I’m amusing, Anne?

  Anne.

  Sometimes.

  Arthur.

  The battle has been so unfair. All the dice are loaded against me. He has every advantage over me. But at last I thought I’d won. I thought Violet was getting more resigned. She told me herself just now that the worst was over. And those confounded people must go and upset the applecart. Damn their eyes!

  Anne.

  Why?

  Arthur.

  The Applebys told her about Miss Pender. It was very natural. They knew no reason for not repeating the hotel gossip.

  Anne.

  Was that why she asked Ronny to dance with her?

  Arthur.

  Yes. It’s the crisis. She had the strength to keep him at arm’s length when she knew he loved her. What will she do now?

  Anne.

  You heard what Henry said. They don’t seem to be talking to one another.

  Arthur.

  No.

  Anne.

  Why did you let them dance together? You might easily have said it was too late and the band must go.

  Arthur.

  What good would that do? No. I’ve done nothing to prevent their meeting. I’ve left them absolute liberty.

  Anne.

  Do you think it’s fair to Violet? You know, women act so much on impulse. The surroundings and the circumstances have so much influence on them. Think of the excitement of dancing, the magic of this wonderful night, and the solitude under these stars. You complain the dice are loaded against you, but now you’re double-loading them against yourself.

  Arthur.

  It tortures me, but I must give them the opportunity to fight the matter out for themselves.

  Anne.

  Poor child, she’s so young.

  Arthur.

  Too young.

  Anne.

  Don’t say that; it sounds as though you regretted having married her.

  Arthur.

  Don’t you imagine that regret has been tormenting her ever since she found out what love really was? Even though I love her with all my heart I know now that I made a mistake. Do you think you can make anyone love you by constant tenderness, devotion, and kindness?

  Anne.

  Not a man perhaps. But a woman yes, yes, yes!

  Arthur.

  Whoever loved that loved not at first sight? I want so tremendously to make her happy, and I’ve only made her utterly miserable. And there’s no way out. It’s a pity that a convenient attack of brain fever can’t carry me off, but I’m as strong as a horse.

  Anne.

  You know, Arthur, there’s one compensation about the pains of love. While one’s suffering from them one feels one will never get over them, but one does, and when they’re gone they don’t even leave a scar. One looks back and remembers one’s torment and marvels that it was possible to suffer like that.

  Arthur.

  You talk as though you’d had experience.

  Anne.

  I have.

  Arthur.

  I always look upon you as so calm and self-controlled.

  Anne.

  I was desperately in love for years with a man. I should have made him an excellent wife, although it’s I as says it. But it never occurred to him for an instant that my feelings were more than friendly. And eventually he married somebody else.

  Arthur.

  My dear friend, I hate to think of your being unhappy.

  Anne.

  I’m not. That’s why I told you the tragic story. I’ve got over it so completely that now I have an equal affection both for him and his wife.

  Arthur.

  D’you know, Anne, at one time I very nearly asked you to marry me?

  Anne.

  [Gaily.] Oh, what nonsense!

  Arthur.

  I daresay it’s as well I didn’t. I should have lost the best friend I’ve ever had.

  Anne.

  On the other hand, I’ve lost the satisfaction of refusing the most distinguished man of our day. Why didn’t you ask me?

  Arthur.

  You were such an awfully good friend. I thought we were very well as we were.

  Anne.

  That isn’t the reason, Arthur. You didn’t ask me because you didn’t love me. If you had you’d have let friendship go hang. [Seeing that he is not paying any attention to her.] What’s the matter?

  Arthur.

  The music has stopped.

  Anne.

  [With a slight tightening of the lips.] I’m afraid my concerns don’t interest you very much. I was only talking about them to distract you.

  Arthur.

  Forgive me, but I’ve got this anguish gnawing at my heart. Anne, when they come back here I want you to come with me for a stroll in the garden.

  Anne.

  Why? I’m frightfully tired. I think I shall go to bed.

  Arthur.

  No, do this for me, Anne. I want to give them their chance. It may be the last chance for all of us.

  Anne.

  [With a little sigh.] Very well, I’ll do even that for you.

  Arthur.

  You are a good friend, and I’m a selfish beast.

  Anne.

  I wish you could have a child, Arthur. That might settle everything.

  Arthur.

  That is what I look forward to with all my heart. I think she might love her baby’s father.

  Anne.

  Then she’ll realise that only you could have been so tolerant and so immensely patient. When she looks back she’ll be filled with gratitude.

  [Ronny and Violet come in.]

  Violet.

  I’ve told the band they can go.

  Arthur.

  I don’t suppose they wanted telling twice. Did you have a pleasant dance?

  Violet.

  I was very tired.

  Ronny.

  It was brutal of me to make you dance so long. I’ll say good-night before I’m turned out.

  Arthur.

  Oh, won’t you sit down and have a cigarette before you go? Anne and I were just going to stroll to the end of the garden to have a look at the Nile.

  Violet.

  Oh.

  Anne.

  I’m too restless to go to bed just yet.

  [Arthur and Anne go out. Violet and Ronny do not speak for a moment. At first the conversation is quite light.]

  Violet.

  What was it that Christina was referring to just now? Had it anything to do with you?

  Ronny.

  I don’t think I’m justified in telling you about it. If Sir Arthur thinks you should know I daresay he’d rather tell you himself.

  Violet.

  Of course you mustn’t tell me if it’s a secret.

  Ronny.

  I’d almost forgotten what a beautiful dancer you were.

  Violet.

  [With a smile.] So soon?

  Ronny.

  You haven’t given me much chance of dancing with you during the last few weeks.

  Violet.

  I hear there’s a girl at the Ghezireh Palace who dances very well. Miss Pender, isn’t that her name?

  Ronny.

  Yes, she’s wonderful.

  Violet.

  I’m told she’s charming.

  Ronny.

  Very.

  Violet.

  I should like to meet her. I wonder whom I know that could bring us togeth
er.

  Ronny.

  [With a change of tone.] Why do you speak of her?

  Violet.

  Is there any reason why I shouldn’t?

  Ronny.

  Do you know that this is the first time I’ve been quite alone with you for six weeks?

  Violet.

  [Still quite lightly.] It was inevitable that when you ceased being Arthur’s private secretary we should see less of one another.

  Ronny.

  I only welcomed my new job because I thought I shouldn’t be utterly parted from you.

  Violet.

  Don’t you think it was better that we shouldn’t see too much of one another?

  Ronny.

  What have I done to you, Violet? Why have you been treating me like this?

  Violet.

  I’m not conscious that I’ve treated you differently from what I used.

  Ronny.

  Why didn’t you answer my letters?

  Violet.

  [In a low voice.] I hadn’t anything to say.

  Ronny.

  I wonder if you can imagine what I went through, the eagerness with which I looked forward to a letter from you, just a word or two would have satisfied me, how anxiously I expected each post, and my despair when day after day went by.

  Violet.

  You ought not to have written to me.

  Ronny.

  D’you think I could help myself? Have you forgotten that day when we thought we were never going to meet again? If you wanted me to be nothing more than a friend why did you tell me you loved me? Why did you let me kiss you and hold you in my arms?

  Violet.

  You know quite well. I lost my head. I was foolish. You — you attached too much importance to the emotion of the moment.

  Ronny.

  Oh, Violet, how can you say that? I know you loved me then. After all, the past can’t be undone. I loved you. I know you loved me. We couldn’t go back to the time when we were no more than friends.

  Violet.

  You forget that Arthur is my husband and you owe him everything in the world. We both owe him everything in the world.

  Ronny.

  No, I don’t forget it for a moment. After all, we’re straight, both of us, and we could have trusted ourselves. I wanted nothing but to be allowed to love you and to know that you loved me.

  Violet.

  Do you remember what you said in the first letter you wrote me?

  Ronny.

  Oh, you can’t blame me for that. I’d loved you so long, so passionately. I’d never dared to hope that you cared for me. And when I knew! I never said a tenth part of what I wanted to. I went home and I just wrote all that had filled my heart to overflowing. I wanted you to know how humbly grateful I was for the wonderful happiness you’d given me. I wanted you to know that my soul to its most hidden corners was yours for ever.

  Violet.

  How could I answer it?

  Ronny.

  You needn’t have been afraid of me, Violet. If it displeased you I would never even have told you that I loved you. I would have carried you in my heart like an image of the Blessed Virgin. When we met here or there, though there were a thousand people between us and we never exchanged a word, I should have known that we were the only people in the world, and that somehow, in some strange mystic fashion, I belonged to you and you belonged to me. Oh, Violet, I only wanted a little kindness. Was it so much to ask?

  [Violet is moved to the very depths of her heart. She can scarcely control herself, the pain she suffers seems unendurable; her throat is so dry that she can hardly speak.]

  Violet.

  They say that Miss Pender is in love with you. Is it true?

  Ronny.

  A man’s generally a conceited ass when he thinks girls are in love with him.

  Violet.

  Never mind that. Is it true? Please be frank with me.

  Ronny.

  Perhaps it is.

  Violet.

  Would she marry you if you asked her?

  Ronny.

  I think so.

  Violet.

  She can’t have fallen in love with you without some encouragement.

  Ronny.

  She plays tennis a good deal and she’s very fond of dancing. You know, I was rather wretched. Sometimes you looked at me as though you hated me. You seemed to try and avoid me. I wanted to forget. I didn’t know what I’d done to make you treat me so cruelly. It was very pleasant to be with someone who seemed to want me. Everything I did pleased her. She’s rather like you. When I was with her I was a little less unhappy. When I found she was in love with me I was touched and I was tremendously grateful.

  Violet.

  Are you sure you’re not in love with her?

  Ronny.

  Yes, I’m quite sure.

  Violet.

  But you like her very much, don’t you?

  Ronny.

  Yes, very much.

  Violet.

  Don’t you think if it weren’t for me you would be in love with her?

  Ronny.

  I don’t know.

  Violet.

  I’d like you to be frank with me.

  Ronny.

  [Unwillingly.] You don’t want my love. She’s sweet and kind and tender.

  Violet.

  I think she might make you very happy.

  Ronny.

  Who knows?

  [There is a pause. Violet forces herself to make the final renunciation. Her fingers move spasmodically in the effort she makes to speak calmly.]

  Violet.

  It seems a pity that you should waste your life for nothing. I’m afraid you’ll think me a heartless flirt. I’m not that. At the time I feel all I say. But ... I don’t quite understand myself. I take a violent fancy to someone, and I lose my head, but somehow it doesn’t last. I ... I suppose I’m not capable of any enduring passion. There are people like that, aren’t there? It goes just as suddenly as it comes. And when it goes — well, it’s gone for ever. I can’t understand then what on earth I saw in the man who made my heart go pit-a-pat. I’m dreadfully sorry I caused you so much pain. You took it so much more seriously than I expected. And afterwards I didn’t know what to do. You must — you must try to forgive me.

  [There is a long pause.]

  Ronny.

  Don’t you love me at all now?

  Violet.

  It’s much better that I should tell you the truth, isn’t it? even at the risk of hurting your feelings. I’m frightfully ashamed of myself. I’m afraid you’ll think me awfully frivolous.

  Ronny.

  Why don’t you say it right out?

  Violet.

  D’you want me to? [She hesitates, but then takes courage.] I’m very sorry, dear Ronny, I’m afraid I don’t care for you in that way at all.

  Ronny.

  I’m glad to know.

  Violet.

  You’re not angry with me?

  Ronny.

  Oh, no, my dear, how can you help it? We’re made as we’re made.... D’you mind if I go now?

  Violet.

  Won’t you stop and say good-night to Anne?

  Ronny.

  No, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go quickly.

  Violet.

  Very well. And try to forgive me, Ronny.

  Ronny.

  Good-night.

  [He takes her hand and they look into one another’s eyes.]

  Violet.

  Good-night.

  [He goes out. Violet clasps her hands to her heart as though to ease its aching. Anne and Arthur return.]

  Anne.

  Where is Ronny?

  Violet.

  He’s gone. It was so late. He asked me to say good-night to you.

  Anne.

  Thank you. It must be very late. I’ll say good-night too. [She bends down and kisses Violet.] Good-night, Arthur.

  Arthur.

  Good-night. [She goes out. Arthur sits down. A Sais
comes in and turns out some of the lights. In the distance is heard the wailing of an Arab song. Arthur motions to the Sais.] Leave these. I’ll turn them out myself. [The Sais goes in and turns out all the lights in the lower rooms but one. The light remains now only just round Arthur and Violet. The Arab song is like a wail of pain.] That sounds strangely after the waltzes and one-steps that we’ve heard this evening.

  Violet.

  It seems to come from very far away.

  Arthur.

  It seems to wail down the ages from an immeasurable past.

  Violet.

  What does it say?

  Arthur.

  I don’t know. It must be some old lament.

  Violet.

  It’s heartrending.

  Arthur.

  Now it stops.

  Violet.

  The garden is so silent. It seems to be listening too.

  Arthur.

  Are you awfully unhappy, Violet?

  Violet.

  Awfully.

  Arthur.

  It breaks my heart that I, who would do anything in the world for you, can do so little to console you.

  Violet.

  Had you any idea that Ronny no longer cared for me?

  Arthur.

  How should I know what his feelings were?

  Violet.

  It never occurred to me that he could change. I felt so secure in his love. It never occurred to me that anyone could take him from me.

  Arthur.

  Did he tell you he didn’t care for you any more?

  Violet.

  No.

  Arthur.

  I don’t think he’s in love with Miss Pender.

  Violet.

  I told him that he meant nothing to me any more. I told him that I took fancies and got over them. I made him think I was a silly flirt. And he believed me. If he loved me truly, truly, as he did before, whatever I’d said he’d have known it was incredible. Oh, I wouldn’t have believed him if he’d made himself cheap in my eyes.

  Arthur.

  My poor child.

  Violet.

  He’s not in love with her yet. I know that. He’s only pleased and flattered. He’s angry with me. If he’s angry he must love me still. He asked so little. It only needed a word and he would have loved me as much as ever. What have I done? What harm would it have done you? I’ve sent him away now for good. It’s all over and done with. And my heart aches. What shall I do, Arthur?

  Arthur.

  My dear, have courage. I beseech you to have courage.

  Violet.

  I suppose it’s shameful that we should have loved one another at all. But how could we help it? We’re masters of our actions, but how can we command our feelings? After all, our feelings are our own. I don’t know what I’m going to do, Arthur. It wasn’t so bad till to-night; I could control myself, I thought my pain was growing less.... I long for him with all my soul, and I must let him go. Oh, I hate him. I hate him. If he’d loved me he might have been faithful to me a few short weeks. He wouldn’t cause me such cruel pain.