Delphi Collected Works of W. Somerset Maugham (Illustrated)

by William Somerset Maugham

  Archibald.

  Yes, I felt that. But I couldn’t bear you any ill-will on that account. It was true.

  [Grace turns and looks at him with startled eyes.

  Archibald.

  I’m afraid I’m not much in the way of parsons. My class means so much more to me than my calling. I know it’s a mistake, and yet I can’t help it. I’m bound down by conventions that I haven’t the will to escape from. The day’s past of the family living, the perquisite of a younger son, and I’m out of place here. I can’t feel that the position is mine by right as my Uncle Robert felt before me, and I haven’t the enthusiasm which might make me feel I’d earned it by my own efforts.

  Grace.

  I’m so ashamed of myself. Because people didn’t carry their hearts on their sleeves I thought they had no hearts at all.

  Archibald.

  For three years after I was ordained I was a curate at Wakefield. I was worked so hard that I never had a moment to myself. I think those were my happy days. And that’s what I ought to do now. I ought to exchange all this for some living in a city, and do some real work before it’s too late. But I haven’t the courage. And then I should do no good, for I haven’t conviction. That’s why I have no influence in the parish. They come to me for beef-tea and for coal-tickets, but when it’s real help they want they go elsewhere. All I’m fit for is to hold a family living and dine with the neighbouring gentry. You summed me up with the utmost precision.

  Grace.

  I don’t think so any more. I have an idea that perhaps one sees people most truly when one sees them charitably.

  Archibald.

  [With a smile.] You said you wanted to speak to me, and I’ve been talking only about myself.

  Grace.

  I think you’ve made it a little easier for me, Archibald. It’s kind of you.

  [She pauses and there is a silence. She walks up and down the room in agitation.

  Grace.

  [With a series of little gasps.] Archibald, I’m dreadfully unhappy. I’ve done something which I bitterly regret. I don’t know how to tell you. But I must tell you.... I’ve been unfaithful to Claude.

  Archibald.

  Grace, you must be mad. You can’t mean what you say. It’s — it’s impossible.

  Grace.

  It’s torturing me. It’s torturing me.

  Archibald.

  But I don’t understand. You don’t mean that....

  Grace.

  [Desperately.] Oh, yes, I mean exactly what I say. Please understand me.

  Archibald.

  You said you were in love with Claude.

  Grace.

  Yes. That’s why I can’t bear the agony of it. I’m so unhappy. I’m so dreadfully unhappy. I want you to help me. I want you to tell me what to do.

  [There is a moment’s pause. Archibald is so bewildered that he can find not a word to say.

  Grace.

  You can hardly believe it, can you? It sounds incredible. Sometimes I can’t help saying to myself that it is not possible it should be true.

  Archibald.

  [Trying to collect himself.] It’s come as a most dreadful blow.

  Grace.

  Don’t reproach me. I’ve said all the obvious things to myself already.... Oh, I hate myself.

  Archibald.

  I’m so bewildered. Why d’you tell me? I feel I ought to ask you all sorts of questions, and I can’t bear to ask you anything.

  Grace.

  I don’t think anything matters but that I’ve behaved odiously. Claude was always very good to me, and I’ve deceived him. And every kindness, every word of love he says to me is a reproach. And I love him with all my soul, and there’s always the horror of what I’ve done between us. And I can’t bear it any longer.

  Archibald.

  I’m so helpless.

  Grace.

  Are you going to tell Claude?

  Archibald.

  I? You must be mad.

  Grace.

  I thought perhaps you might feel it was your duty. You’re his brother.

  Archibald.

  It would never occur to me to betray the confidence you’ve put in me.

  Grace.

  Then what shall I do?

  Archibald.

  I can’t advise you. I haven’t got the experience. I know so little of the world.

  Grace.

  You must advise me. I’m at the end of my strength. I can’t go on like this any more.

  Archibald.

  Is it all over between you and ... you know what I mean?

  Grace.

  Yes, it’s all over.

  Archibald.

  I don’t know what to say to you. I’m awfully sorry.

  Grace.

  [Desperately.] Is there no one who can do anything for me?

  Archibald.

  I suppose nobody else knows?

  Grace.

  Helen Vernon. She found out. But I can’t go to her for advice. I can’t. I can’t humiliate myself. And the remorse is just killing me.

  Archibald.

  It’s so difficult for me to say things that won’t seem sanctimonious. I don’t want to say a word that you can think is a reproach.

  Grace.

  I don’t mind what you say so long as you help me.

  [There is a moment’s pause.

  Archibald.

  [Hesitatingly.] We’re taught that there’s one course clear to the sinner that repenteth.

  [Grace starts to her feet and looks at him wildly.

  Grace.

  You want me to tell Claude?

  Archibald.

  [In a low voice.] I don’t see how there can be forgiveness till one has confessed one’s sin.

  Grace.

  [With a deep, deep sigh.] Oh, if you knew what a relief it would be! For days I’ve been fighting with the temptation to make a clean breast of it. I’ve been trying to keep it from me, trying not to think of it. But it meets me at every turn. It haunts me. It’s like an obsession, and it’s stronger than I am. It’s driving me — driving me to confess. I know I shall have to do it; I can’t help myself. I shall go mad if I don’t tell him.

  Archibald.

  For goodness’ sake, calm yourself.

  Grace.

  If I’d told him before, when I was trying to persuade him to let Gann stay, that girl wouldn’t have died. I hadn’t the courage. I wouldn’t sacrifice myself. It was too much to ask me. And since then I’ve been tortured by remorse. They say she had the suicidal instinct, and would have killed herself for almost anything. But I seem to see her lying there reproaching me. Reproaching me.

  Archibald.

  Why don’t you go to Claude at once and get it over?

  Grace.

  I’m frightened. I’m just sick with fear. A dozen times I’ve been on the point of it — just to have done with it, to get rid of the agony that burnt my heart — and at the last moment I couldn’t. But it’s like being on a high place and looking down and holding on to something so that you shouldn’t throw yourself over. Sooner or later I shall have to do it. It’s the only way to get back my self-respect. It’s the only chance I have of living at all.

  Archibald.

  I wish I could do more for you.

  Grace.

  No one can do anything for me. Oh, it is cruel. And to come just now when I love Claude! I didn’t love him at first. It came quite suddenly — as if scales had been torn away from my eyes. And it wasn’t till then that I saw the sin and the wickedness of it. Oh, it was so much more than sin and wickedness. The filthiness. The only thing’s to tell him and have done with it. You know he’ll divorce me, don’t you?

  Archibald.

  He loves you so much.

  Grace.

  Even if it breaks his heart, he’ll force himself to divorce me. You know what Claude is. He’ll think it’s his duty. He’ll do what he thinks he ought to do even if it kills him. Oh, but if he’d only forgive me, I would try to
make amends. It’s so hard that I’ve only learnt how to be a good wife now that I’m unfit to be his wife at all.

  Archibald.

  [Deeply moved.] Be brave, Grace.

  [She looks at him for a moment, then suddenly makes up her mind. She takes a letter from her dress and sits down at the desk. She puts it into an envelope on which she writes Claude’s name.

  Grace.

  Will you ring the bell?

  Archibald.

  [Touching it.] What are you going to do?

  Grace.

  It’s a letter that I had from — the other. It’s proof of everything. I felt I couldn’t tell Claude. It was hopeless. And I thought I’d just press it into his hand....

  [As she is speaking Moore comes in. She hands him the letter.

  Grace.

  Have that given to Mr. Insoley the moment he comes in.

  Moore.

  Very good, madam.

  [Exit.

  Archibald.

  [Startled.] D’you mean to say you’re going to tell him like that?

  Grace.

  It’s the only way I can do it.

  Archibald.

  [Overcome.] Good God, what have I done?

  Grace.

  He’ll read the letter, and then the worst will be over. I couldn’t have told him — I couldn’t.

  Archibald.

  I hope you’ve done right.

  Grace.

  Anyhow, it’s the end of everything — just when I might have started a new life.... I wonder when I shall have to go away from here?

  Archibald.

  Don’t put it like that.

  Grace.

  [Looking out of the window.] I thought I hated the place. It’s bored me to the verge of tears. And now I shall never again see the night fall on the park slowly. And I feel ... and I feel that with me, too, those great trees, and the meadows, and the cawing rooks have come to be part of my blood and my bones.

  [The door is opened, and Grace gives a start and a little frightened cry. Helen Vernon comes in.

  Grace.

  Oh, I thought it was Claude.

  [She puts her hand to her heart and steadies herself against a chair.

  Miss Vernon.

  What on earth’s the matter?

  Grace.

  [With a gesture of the head towards Archibald.] I’ve told him about me and....

  Miss Vernon.

  [In short exclamation, which does not interrupt Grace.] Oh!

  Grace.

  I’m going to tell Claude. It’s the only thing to do.

  Miss Vernon.

  [To Archibald, sharply.] Is that your advice? You fool, Archibald!

  Grace.

  I can’t bear the torture any more.

  Miss Vernon.

  I suspected you were thinking of something like this. But you wouldn’t let me speak to you.

  Grace.

  I’ve been struggling against it, and now I’ve made up my mind.

  Miss Vernon.

  My dear, there are three good rules in life. The first is — never sin; and that’s the most sensible. The second is — if you sin, never repent; and that’s the bravest. But the third is — if you repent, never never confess; and that’s the hardest of them all.

  Archibald.

  I don’t think this is the time for flippancy, Helen.

  Miss Vernon.

  Good heavens, I’m being as serious as I possibly can.

  Archibald.

  D’you mean to say you think Grace oughtn’t to say anything?

  Miss Vernon.

  I think it would be monstrous of her to say anything.

  Archibald.

  If the sinner wants forgiveness, first of all he must confess his sin.

  Miss Vernon.

  You still look upon your God as a God of vengeance, who wants sacrifices to appease Him.

  Archibald.

  “If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins.”

  Miss Vernon.

  That was said to a stiff-necked generation that wanted humbling. But no one can want to humble us, surely. We’re so timid already. We’re so unsure of ourselves. We’ve all got a morbid desire to unbosom ourselves. The commonest ailment of the day is a vulgar feminine passion for making scenes. Confession’s like a drug we fly to because we’ve lost the last shadow of our self-reliance.

  Archibald.

  Don’t let her move you, Grace. I beseech you, for your soul’s sake. Be brave.

  Grace.

  I know that it’s my only chance of happiness.

  Miss Vernon.

  But who cares about your happiness?

  Archibald.

  Helen, how can you be so unkind?

  Miss Vernon.

  No one knows why we’ve been brought into the world, but it evidently wasn’t for our happiness. Or if it was, the Being who put us here has made a most outrageous mess of it. Put your happiness out of the question.

  Archibald.

  [Very earnestly to Grace.] If the sinner repents, let him confess his sin. That’s the only proof he can give of a contrite spirit.

  Miss Vernon.

  Nonsense. He can give a much more sensible proof by acting differently in future.

  Grace.

  That would be so easy now.

  Miss Vernon.

  But actions aren’t good because they’re difficult.

  Grace.

  Part of my punishment is the feeling that except for this horrible mistake we should both be so much happier than we were before.

  Miss Vernon.

  You love Claude now, don’t you?

  Grace.

  With all my heart.

  Miss Vernon.

  I have an idea that it’s only your sin that has made your love worth having.

  Archibald.

  [Rather shocked.] Helen.

  Miss Vernon.

  You were rather hard and selfish before because you had nothing in particular to reproach yourself with. Perhaps it was necessary that you should step from the narrow path of virtue in order to become a virtuous woman.

  Archibald.

  Helen, you can’t mean that.

  Miss Vernon.

  It’s very often only repentance that makes men and women human.

  Archibald.

  Repentance is useless without sacrifice.

  Grace.

  Yes, I feel that. And the only sacrifice I can make is to lay bare my soul before Claude and accept my punishment.

  Archibald.

  And then, I think Claude should be given the chance of deciding for himself. It’s not fair to leave him in ignorance.

  Miss Vernon.

  [To Grace.] Don’t you know that Claude loves you, and trusts you, and believes in you?

  Grace.

  That is all my torment. I’m so unworthy. If I didn’t love him — if I didn’t want him to love me so much — it wouldn’t be so dreadful.... I can’t bear that there should be this secret between us. I know that he’s not loving me, but some fancy of his own heart. And I’m jealous. I’m jealous of the woman he loves who isn’t me. And I want him to love me as I am, as I love him.

  Miss Vernon.

  Grace, don’t forget that I’ve loved him, too, hopelessly, without any thought of a return. It gives me some claim, doesn’t it?

  [Archibald looks at her quickly, with surprise, but does not speak.

  Miss Vernon.

  The only thing I care for is his happiness. And I beseech you to have mercy on him.

  Grace.

  What do you mean?

  Miss Vernon.

  If you destroy his belief in you he’ll have nothing left. He thinks he’s strong, but he isn’t. He depends on a few simple principles, and some of them are already giving way under his feet. He wants you now more than ever. You can give him back his self-reliance. And you’re going to humiliate him. Besides everything else, the misery and the grief, don’t you see what a blow it’ll be to hi
s vanity? I beseech you to have mercy.

  Grace.

  You’re asking me to go on living the hateful lie. But I can’t breathe. The air about me seems heavy with deceit. If Claude doesn’t love me for what I am, what can his love be to me?

  Miss Vernon.

  My dear, it’s not for ourselves that our friends love us, but for the grace and the beauty that they’ve given us out of their own hearts. And the only way we can show them our gratitude is by doing all we can to preserve those precious illusions they have about us.

  Grace.

  I don’t want a love that’s based on illusion. At the back of my mind there was the hope that if I told Claude, some day in the future he might forgive me. And we could start fresh with mutual knowledge and mutual confidence. But if I don’t tell him, we can never come together. Even though we’re not separated for an hour, there’ll always be this barrier between us.

  Miss Vernon.

  Then let that be your punishment.

  Grace.

  [Startled.] That! [With a little laugh of scorn.] You don’t know what you’re asking me to do. It’s because I love Claude so much that I can’t let him go on thinking I’m good and pure and chaste.

  Archibald.

  And how can good come out of a lie, Helen?

  Miss Vernon.

  Perhaps it wouldn’t be a lie always. Don’t you remember the Happy Hypocrite? Love can work many miracles.

  Grace.

  [With a sort of gasp.] You mean — you think I might become really what Claude thinks me?

  Miss Vernon.

  You might try.

  Grace.

  D’you know that I should never have a moment’s peace?

  Miss Vernon.

  If you love Claude really, that mightn’t be too great a price to pay for his happiness.

  Grace.

  [Vehemently.] Oh, it’s all very well for you to talk, but you don’t know what this sense of shame is. It’s killing me. And the degradation of being loved for what you’re not. And you want me never to escape from it. Oh, you’re right. It would be a fiendish punishment.

  Miss Vernon.

  It’s the only return you can make for all the love that Claude has given you.

  Grace.

  [Taking up the thought.] For his wonderful kindness, and all these years of thought and loving tenderness.

  [For a moment Grace stares in front of her as the words sink in.

  Miss Vernon.

  Grace, it’s I who ask you now to be brave.