Chapter 9

by William Somerset Maugham

　　Margaret's night was disturbed, and next day she was unable to go abouther work with her usual tranquillity. She tried to reason herself intoa natural explanation of the events that had happened. The telegramthat Susie had received pointed to a definite scheme on Haddo's part,and suggested that his sudden illness was but a device to get into thestudio. Once there, he had used her natural sympathy as a means wherebyto exercise his hypnotic power, and all she had seen was merely thecreation of his own libidinous fancy. But though she sought to persuadeherself that, in playing a vile trick on her, he had taken a shamefuladvantage of her pity, she could not look upon him with anger. Hercontempt for him, her utter loathing, were alloyed with a feeling thataroused in her horror and dismay. She could not get the man out of herthoughts. All that he had said, all that she had seen, seemed, as thoughit possessed a power of material growth, unaccountably to absorb her. Itwas as if a rank weed were planted in her heart and slid long poisonoustentacles down every artery, so that each part of her body was enmeshed.Work could not distract her, conversation, exercise, art, left herlistless; and between her and all the actions of life stood theflamboyant, bulky form of Oliver Haddo. She was terrified of him nowas never before, but curiously had no longer the physical repulsionwhich hitherto had mastered all other feelings. Although she repeated toherself that she wanted never to see him again, Margaret could scarcelyresist an overwhelming desire to go to him. Her will had been taken fromher, and she was an automaton. She struggled, like a bird in the fowler'snet with useless beating of the wings; but at the bottom of her heart shewas dimly conscious that she did not want to resist. If he had given herthat address, it was because he knew she would use it. She did not knowwhy she wanted to go to him; she had nothing to say to him; she knew onlythat it was necessary to go. But a few days before she had seen thePhedre of Racine, and she felt on a sudden all the torments that wrungthe heart of that unhappy queen; she, too, struggled aimlessly to escapefrom the poison that the immortal gods poured in her veins. She askedherself frantically whether a spell had been cast over her, for now shewas willing to believe that Haddo's power was all-embracing. Margaretknew that if she yielded to the horrible temptation nothing could saveher from destruction. She would have cried for help to Arthur or toSusie, but something, she knew not what, prevented her. At length, drivenalmost to distraction, she thought that Dr Porhoet might do something forher. He, at least, would understand her misery. There seemed not a momentto lose, and she hastened to his house. They told her he was out. Herheart sank, for it seemed that her last hope was gone. She was like aperson drowning, who clings to a rock; and the waves dash against him,and beat upon his bleeding hands with a malice all too human, as if totear them from their refuge.Instead of going to the sketch-class, which was held at six in theevening, she hurried to the address that Oliver Haddo had given her. Shewent along the crowded street stealthily, as though afraid that someonewould see her, and her heart was in a turmoil. She desired with all hermight not to go, and sought vehemently to prevent herself, and yet withalshe went. She ran up the stairs and knocked at the door. She rememberedhis directions distinctly. In a moment Oliver Haddo stood before her. Hedid not seem astonished that she was there. As she stood on the landing,it occurred to her suddenly that she had no reason to offer for hervisit, but his words saved her from any need for explanation.'I've been waiting for you,' he said.Haddo led her into a sitting-room. He had an apartment in a maisonmeublee, and heavy hangings, the solid furniture of that sort of housein Paris, was unexpected in connexion with him. The surroundings were socommonplace that they seemed to emphasise his singularity. There was apeculiar lack of comfort, which suggested that he was indifferent tomaterial things. The room was large, but so cumbered that it gave acramped impression. Haddo dwelt there as if he were apart from anyhabitation that might be his. He moved cautiously among the heavyfurniture, and his great obesity was somehow more remarkable. There wasthe acrid perfume which Margaret remembered a few days before in hervision of an Eastern city.Asking her to sit down, he began to talk as if they were oldacquaintances between whom nothing of moment had occurred. At lastshe took her courage in both hands.'Why did you make me come here?' she asked suddenly,'You give me credit now for very marvellous powers,' he smiled.'You knew I should come.''I knew.''What have I done to you that you should make me so unhappy? I want youto leave me alone.''I shall not prevent you from going out if you choose to go. No harm hascome to you. The door is open.'Her heart beat quickly, painfully almost, and she remained silent. Sheknew that she did not want to go. There was something that drew herstrangely to him, and she was ceasing to resist. A strange feeling beganto take hold of her, creeping stealthily through her limbs; and she wasterrified, but unaccountably elated.He began to talk with that low voice of his that thrilled her with acurious magic. He spoke not of pictures now, nor of books, but of life.He told her of strange Eastern places where no infidel had been, and hersensitive fancy was aflame with the honeyed fervour of his phrase. Hespoke of the dawn upon sleeping desolate cities, and the moonlit nightsof the desert, of the sunsets with their splendour, and of the crowdedstreets at noon. The beauty of the East rose before her. He told herof many-coloured webs and of silken carpets, the glittering steel ofarmour damascened, and of barbaric, priceless gems. The splendour of theEast blinded her eyes. He spoke of frankincense and myrrh and aloes, ofheavy perfumes of the scent-merchants, and drowsy odours of the Syriangardens. The fragrance of the East filled her nostrils. And all thesethings were transformed by the power of his words till life itselfseemed offered to her, a life of infinite vivacity, a life of freedom,a life of supernatural knowledge. It seemed to her that a comparison wasdrawn for her attention between the narrow round which awaited her asArthur's wife and this fair, full existence. She shuddered to think ofthe dull house in Harley Street and the insignificance of its humdrumduties. But it was possible for her also to enjoy the wonder of theworld. Her soul yearned for a beauty that the commonalty of men did notknow. And what devil suggested, a warp as it were in the woof of Oliver'sspeech, that her exquisite loveliness gave her the right to devoteherself to the great art of living? She felt a sudden desire forperilous adventures. As though fire passed through her, she sprang toher feet and stood with panting bosom, her flashing eyes bright with themulti-coloured pictures that his magic presented.Oliver Haddo stood too, and they faced one another. Then, on a sudden,she knew what the passion was that consumed her. With a quick movement,his eyes more than ever strangely staring, he took her in his arms, andhe kissed her lips. She surrendered herself to him voluptuously. Herwhole body burned with the ecstasy of his embrace.'I think I love you,' she said, hoarsely.She looked at him. She did not feel ashamed.'Now you must go,' he said.He opened the door, and, without another word, she went. She walkedthrough the streets as if nothing at all had happened. She felt neitherremorse nor revulsion.Then Margaret felt every day that uncontrollable desire to go to him;and, though she tried to persuade herself not to yield, she knew that hereffort was only a pretence: she did not want anything to prevent her.When it seemed that some accident would do so, she could scarcely controlher irritation. There was always that violent hunger of the soul whichcalled her to him, and the only happy hours she had were those spent inhis company. Day after day she felt that complete ecstasy when he tookher in his huge arms, and kissed her with his heavy, sensual lips. Butthe ecstasy was extraordinarily mingled with loathing, and her physicalattraction was allied with physical abhorrence.Yet when he looked at her with those pale blue eyes, and threw intohis voice those troubling accents, she forgot everything. He spokeof unhallowed things. Sometimes, as it were, he lifted a corner of theveil, and she caught a glimpse of terrible secrets. She understood howmen had bartered their souls for infinite knowledge. She seemed tostand upon a pinnacle of the temple, and spiritual kingdoms of darkness,principalities of the unknown, were spread before her eyes to lure herto destruction. But of Haddo himself she learned nothing. She did notknow if he loved her. She did not know if he had ever loved. He appearedto stand apart from human kind. Margaret discovered by chance that hismother lived, but he would not speak of her.'Some day you shall see her,' he said.'When?''Very soon.'Meanwhile her life proceeded with all outward regularity. She found iteasy to deceive her friends, because it occurred to neither that herfrequent absence was not due to the plausible reasons she gave. The lieswhich at first seemed intolerable now tripped glibly off her tongue. Butthough they were so natural, she was seized often with a panic of fearlest they should be discovered; and sometimes, suffering agonies ofremorse, she would lie in bed at night and think with utter shame of theway she was using Arthur. But things had gone too far now, and she mustlet them take their course. She scarcely knew why her feelings towardshim had so completely changed. Oliver Haddo had scarcely mentioned hisname and yet had poisoned her mind. The comparison between the two was toArthur's disadvantage. She thought him a little dull now, and hiscommonplace way of looking at life contrasted with Haddo's fascinatingboldness. She reproached Arthur in her heart because he had neverunderstood what was in her. He narrowed her mind. And gradually she beganto hate him because her debt of gratitude was so great. It seemed unfairthat he should have done so much for her. He forced her to marry him byhis beneficence. Yet Margaret continued to discuss with him thearrangement of their house in Harley Street. It had been her wish tofurnish the drawing-room in the style of Louis XV; and together they madelong excursions to buy chairs or old pieces of silk with which to coverthem. Everything should be perfect in its kind. The date of theirmarriage was fixed, and all the details were settled. Arthur wasridiculously happy. Margaret made no sign. She did not think of thefuture, and she spoke of it only to ward off suspicion. She was inwardlyconvinced now that the marriage would never take place, but what was toprevent it she did not know. She watched Susie and Arthur cunningly. Butthough she watched in order to conceal her own secret, it was another'sthat she discovered. Suddenly Margaret became aware that Susie was deeplyin love with Arthur Burdon. The discovery was so astounding that at firstit seemed absurd.'You've never done that caricature of Arthur for me that you promised,'she said, suddenly.'I've tried, but he doesn't lend himself to it,' laughed Susie.'With that long nose and the gaunt figure I should have thought you couldmake something screamingly funny.''How oddly you talk of him! Somehow I can only see his beautiful, kindeyes and his tender mouth. I would as soon do a caricature of him aswrite a parody on a poem I loved.'Margaret took the portfolio in which Susie kept her sketches. She caughtthe look of alarm that crossed her friend's face, but Susie had not thecourage to prevent her from looking. She turned the drawings carelesslyand presently came to a sheet upon which, in a more or less finishedstate, were half a dozen heads of Arthur. Pretending not to see it, shewent on to the end. When she closed the portfolio Susie gave a sigh ofrelief.'I wish you worked harder,' said Margaret, as she put the sketches down.'I wonder you don't do a head of Arthur as you can't do a caricature.''My dear, you mustn't expect everyone to take such an overpoweringinterest in that young man as you do.'The answer added a last certainty to Margaret's suspicion. She toldherself bitterly that Susie was no less a liar than she. Next day, whenthe other was out, Margaret looked through the portfolio once more, butthe sketches of Arthur had disappeared. She was seized on a sudden withanger because Susie dared to love the man who loved her.The web in which Oliver Haddo enmeshed her was woven with skilfulintricacy. He took each part of her character separately and fortifiedwith consummate art his influence over her. There was something satanicin his deliberation, yet in actual time it was almost incredible that hecould have changed the old abhorrence with which she regarded him intothat hungry passion. Margaret could not now realize her life apart fromhis. At length he thought the time was ripe for the final step.'It may interest you to know that I'm leaving Paris on Thursday,' he saidcasually, one afternoon.She started to her feet and stared at him with bewildered eyes.'But what is to become of me?''You will marry the excellent Mr Burdon.''You know I cannot live without you. How can you be so cruel?''Then the only alternative is that you should accompany me.'Her blood ran cold, and her heart seemed pressed in an iron vice.'What do you mean?''There is no need to be agitated. I am making you an eminently desirableoffer of marriage.'She sank helplessly into her chair. Because she had refused to think ofthe future, it had never struck her that the time must come when it wouldbe necessary to leave Haddo or to throw in her lot with his definitely.She was seized with revulsion. Margaret realized that, though an odiousattraction bound her to the man, she loathed and feared him. The scalesfell from her eyes. She remembered on a sudden Arthur's great love andall that he had done for her sake. She hated herself. Like a bird at itslast gasp beating frantically against the bars of a cage, Margaret made adesperate effort to regain her freedom. She sprang up.'Let me go from here. I wish I'd never seen you. I don't know what you'vedone with me.''Go by all means if you choose,' he answered.He opened the door, so that she might see he used no compulsion, andstood lazily at the threshold, with a hateful smile on his face. Therewas something terrible in his excessive bulk. Rolls of fat descended fromhis chin and concealed his neck. His cheeks were huge, and the lack ofbeard added to the hideous nakedness of his face. Margaret stopped as shepassed him, horribly repelled yet horribly fascinated. She had an immensedesire that he should take her again in his arms and press her lips withthat red voluptuous mouth. It was as though fiends of hell were takingrevenge upon her loveliness by inspiring in her a passion for thismonstrous creature. She trembled with the intensity of her desire. Hiseyes were hard and cruel.'Go,' he said.She bent her head and fled from before him. To get home she passedthrough the gardens of the Luxembourg, but her legs failed her, andin exhaustion she sank upon a bench. The day was sultry. She tried tocollect herself. Margaret knew well the part in which she sat, for in theenthusiastic days that seemed so long gone by she was accustomed to comethere for the sake of a certain tree upon which her eyes now rested.It had all the slim delicacy of a Japanese print. The leaves were slenderand fragile, half gold with autumn, half green, but so tenuous that thedark branches made a pattern of subtle beauty against the sky. The handof a draughtsman could not have fashioned it with a more excellentskill. But now Margaret could take no pleasure in its grace. She felta heartrending pang to think that thenceforward the consummate thingsof art would have no meaning for her. She had seen Arthur the eveningbefore, and remembered with an agony of shame the lies to which she hadbeen forced in order to explain why she could not see him till late thatday. He had proposed that they should go to Versailles, and was bitterlydisappointed when she told him they could not, as usual on Sundays, spendthe whole day together. He accepted her excuse that she had to visit asick friend. It would not have been so intolerable if he had suspectedher of deceit, and his reproaches would have hardened her heart. It washis entire confidence which was so difficult to bear.'Oh, if I could only make a clean breast of it all,' she cried.The bell of Saint Sulpice was ringing for vespers. Margaret walked slowlyto the church, and sat down in the seats reserved in the transept for theneedy. She hoped that the music she must hear there would rest her soul,and perhaps she might be able to pray. Of late she had not dared. Therewas a pleasant darkness in the place, and its large simplicity wassoothing. In her exhaustion, she watched listlessly the people go to andfro. Behind her was a priest in the confessional. A little peasant girl,in a Breton coiffe, perhaps a maid-servant lately come from her nativevillage to the great capital, passed in and knelt down. Margaret couldhear her muttered words, and at intervals the deep voice of the priest.In three minutes she tripped neatly away. She looked so fresh in herplain black dress, so healthy and innocent, that Margaret could notrestrain a sob of envy. The child had so little to confess, a few punyerrors which must excite a smile on the lips of the gentle priest, andher candid spirit was like snow. Margaret would have given anything tokneel down and whisper in those passionless ears all that she suffered,but the priest's faith and hers were not the same. They spoke a differenttongue, not of the lips only but of the soul, and he would not listen tothe words of an heretic.A long procession of seminarists came in from the college which is underthe shadow of that great church, two by two, in black cassocks and shortwhite surplices. Many were tonsured already. Some were quite young.Margaret watched their faces, wondering if they were tormented by suchagony as she. But they had a living faith to sustain them, and if some,as was plain, were narrow and obtuse, they had at least a fixed rulewhich prevented them from swerving into treacherous byways. One of twohad a wan ascetic look, such as the saints may have had when the terrorof life was known to them only in the imaginings of the cloister. Thecanons of the church followed in their more gorgeous vestments, andfinally the officiating clergy.The music was beautiful. There was about it a staid, sad dignity; and itseemed to Margaret fit thus to adore God. But it did not move her. Shecould not understand the words that the priests chanted; their gestures,their movements to and fro, were strange to her. For her that statelyservice had no meaning. And with a great cry in her heart she said thatGod had forsaken her. She was alone in an alien land. Evil was all abouther, and in those ceremonies she could find no comfort. What could sheexpect when the God of her fathers left her to her fate? So that shemight not weep in front of all those people, Margaret with down-turnedface walked to the door. She felt utterly lost. As she walked along theinterminable street that led to her own house, she was shaken with sobs.'God has forsaken me,' she repeated. 'God has foresaken me.'Next day, her eyes red with weeping, she dragged herself to Haddo's door.When he opened it, she went in without a word. She sat down, and hewatched her in silence.'I am willing to marry you whenever you choose,' she said at last.'I have made all the necessary arrangements.''You have spoken to me of your mother. Will you take me to her at once.'The shadow of a smile crossed his lips.'If you wish it.'Haddo told her that they could be married before the Consul early enoughon the Thursday morning to catch a train for England. She left everythingin his hands.'I'm desperately unhappy,' she said dully.Oliver laid his hands upon her shoulders and looked into her eyes.'Go home, and you will forget your tears. I command you to be happy.'Then it seemed that the bitter struggle between the good and the evil inher was done, and the evil had conquered. She felt on a sudden curiouslyelated. It seemed no longer to matter that she deceived her faithfulfriends. She gave a bitter laugh, as she thought how easy it was tohoodwink them.* * * * *Wednesday happened to be Arthur's birthday, and he asked her to dine withhim alone.'We'll do ourselves proud, and hang the expense,' he said.They had arranged to eat at a fashionable restaurant on the other side ofthe river, and soon after seven he fetched her. Margaret was dressed withexceeding care. She stood in the middle of the room, waiting for Arthur'sarrival, and surveyed herself in the glass. Susie thought she had neverbeen more beautiful.'I think you've grown more pleasing to look upon than you ever were,' shesaid. 'I don't know what it is that has come over you of late, butthere's a depth in your eyes that is quite new. It gives you an oddmysteriousness which is very attractive.'Knowing Susie's love for Arthur, she wondered whether her friend was notheartbroken as she compared her own plainness with the radiant beautythat was before her. Arthur came in, and Margaret did not move. Hestopped at the door to look at her. Their eyes met. His heart beatquickly, and yet he was seized with awe. His good fortune was too greatto bear, when he thought that this priceless treasure was his. He couldhave knelt down and worshipped as though a goddess of old Greece stoodbefore him. And to him also her eyes had changed. They had acquired aburning passion which disturbed and yet enchanted him. It seemed that thelovely girl was changed already into a lovely woman. An enigmatic smilecame to her lips.'Are you pleased?' she asked.Arthur came forward and Margaret put her hands on his shoulders.'You have scent on,' he said.He was surprised, for she had never used it before. It was a faint,almost acrid perfume that he did not know. It reminded him vaguely ofthose odours which he remembered in his childhood in the East. It wasremote and strange. It gave Margaret a new and troubling charm. There hadever been something cold in her statuesque beauty, but this touch somehowcuriously emphasized her sex. Arthur's lips twitched, and his gaunt facegrew pale with passion. His emotion was so great that it was nearly pain.He was puzzled, for her eyes expressed things that he had never seen inthem before.'Why don't you kiss me?' she said.She did not see Susie, but knew that a quick look of anguish crossed herface. Margaret drew Arthur towards her. His hands began to tremble. Hehad never ventured to express the passion that consumed him, and when hekissed her it was with a restraint that was almost brotherly. Now theirlips met. Forgetting that anyone else was in the room, he flung his armsaround Margaret. She had never kissed him in that way before, and therapture was intolerable. Her lips were like living fire. He could nottake his own away. He forgot everything. All his strength, all hisself-control, deserted him. It crossed his mind that at this moment hewould willingly die. But the delight of it was so great that he couldscarcely withhold a cry of agony. At length Susie's voice reminded himof the world.'You'd far better go out to dinner instead of behaving like a pair ofcomplete idiots.'She tried to make her tone as flippant as the words, but her voice wascut by a pang of agony. With a little laugh, Margaret withdrew fromArthur's embrace and lightly looked at her friend. Susie's brave smiledied away as she caught this glance, for there was in it a malicioushatred that startled her. It was so unexpected that she was terrified.What had she done? She was afraid, dreadfully afraid, that Margaret hadguessed her secret. Arthur stood as if his senses had left him, quiveringstill with the extremity of passion.'Susie says we must go,' smiled Margaret.He could not speak. He could not regain the conventional manner of politesociety. Very pale, like a man suddenly awaked from deep sleep, he wentout at Margaret's side. They walked along the passage. Though the doorwas closed behind them and they were out of earshot, Margaret seemed notwithstanding to hear Susie's passionate sobbing. It gave her a horribledelight. The tavern to which they went was on the Boulevard des Italiens,and at this date the most frequented in Paris. It was crowded, but Arthurhad reserved a table in the middle of the room. Her radiant lovelinessmade people stare at Margaret as she passed, and her consciousness of theadmiration she excited increased her beauty. She was satisfied that amidthat throng of the best-dressed women in the world she had cause to envyno one. The gaiety was charming. Shaded lights gave an opulent cosinessto the scene, and there were flowers everywhere. Innumerable mirrorsreflected women of the world, admirably gowned, actresses of renown, andfashionable courtesans. The noise was very great. A Hungarian band playedin a distant corner, but the music was drowned by the loud talking ofexcited men and the boisterous laughter of women. It was plain thatpeople had come to spend their money with a lavish hand. The vivaciouscrowd was given over with all its heart to the pleasure of the fleetingmoment. Everyone had put aside grave thoughts and sorrow.Margaret had never been in better spirits. The champagne went quickly toher head, and she talked all manner of charming nonsense. Arthur wasenchanted. He was very proud, very pleased, and very happy. They talkedof all the things they would do when they were married. They talked ofthe places they must go to, of their home and of the beautiful thingswith which they would fill it. Margaret's animation was extraordinary.Arthur was amused at her delight with the brightness of the place, withthe good things they ate, and with the wine. Her laughter was like arippling brook. Everything tended to take him out of his usual reserve.Life was very pleasing, at that moment, and he felt singularly joyful.'Let us drink to the happiness of our life,' he said.They touched glasses. He could not take his eyes away from her.'You're simply wonderful tonight,' he said. 'I'm almost afraid of my goodfortune.''What is there to be afraid of?' she cried.'I should like to lose something I valued in order to propitiate thefates. I am too happy now. Everything goes too well with me.'She gave a soft, low laugh and stretched out her hand on the table. Nosculptor could have modelled its exquisite delicacy. She wore only onering, a large emerald which Arthur had given her on their engagement. Hecould not resist taking her hand.'Would you like to go on anywhere?' he said, when they had finisheddinner and were drinking their coffee.'No, let us stay here. I must go to bed early, as I have a tiring daybefore me tomorrow.''What are you going to do?' he asked.'Nothing of any importance,' she laughed.Presently the diners began to go in little groups, and Margaret suggestedthat they should saunter towards the Madeleine. The night was fine, butrather cold, and the broad avenue was crowded. Margaret watched thepeople. It was no less amusing than a play. In a little while, they tooka cab and drove through the streets, silent already, that led to thequarter of the Montparnasse. They sat in silence, and Margaret nestledclose to Arthur. He put his arm around her waist. In the shut cab thatfaint, oriental odour rose again to his nostrils, and his head reeled asit had before dinner.'You've made me very happy, Margaret,' he whispered. 'I feel that,however long I live, I shall never have a happier day than this.''Do you love me very much?' she asked, lightly.He did not answer, but took her face in his hands and kissed herpassionately. They arrived at Margaret's house, and she tripped upto the door. She held out her hand to him, smiling.'Goodnight.''It's dreadful to think that I must spend a dozen hours without seeingyou. When may I come?''Not in the morning, because I shall be too busy. Come at twelve.'She remembered that her train started exactly at that hour. The door wasopened, and with a little wave of the hand she disappeared.