Chapter XV

by William Somerset Maugham

　　When I reached London I found waiting for me an urgent requestthat I should go to Mrs. Strickland's as soon after dinner asI could. I found her with Colonel MacAndrew and his wife.Mrs. Strickland's sister was older than she, not unlike her,but more faded; and she had the efficient air, as though shecarried the British Empire in her pocket, which the wives ofsenior officers acquire from the consciousness of belonging toa superior caste. Her manner was brisk, and her good-breedingscarcely concealed her conviction that if you were not asoldier you might as well be a counter-jumper. She hated theGuards, whom she thought conceited, and she could not trustherself to speak of their ladies, who were so remiss in calling.Her gown was dowdy and expensive.Mrs. Strickland was plainly nervous."Well, tell us your news," she said."I saw your husband. I'm afraid he's quite made up his mindnot to return." I paused a little. "He wants to paint.""What do you mean?" cried Mrs. Strickland, with the utmostastonishment."Did you never know that he was keen on that sort of thing.""He must be as mad as a hatter," exclaimed the Colonel.Mrs. Strickland frowned a little. She was searching among herrecollections."I remember before we were married he used to potter aboutwith a paint-box. But you never saw such daubs. We used tochaff him. He had absolutely no gift for anything like that.""Of course it's only an excuse," said Mrs. MacAndrew.Mrs. Strickland pondered deeply for some time. It was quiteclear that she could not make head or tail of my announcement.She had put some order into the drawing-room by now,her housewifely instincts having got the better of her dismay;and it no longer bore that deserted look, like a furnished houselong to let, which I had noticed on my first visit after thecatastrophe. But now that I had seen Strickland in Paris itwas difficult to imagine him in those surroundings. I thoughtit could hardly have failed to strike them that there wassomething incongruous in him."But if he wanted to be an artist, why didn't he say so?"asked Mrs. Strickland at last. "I should have thought I wasthe last person to be unsympathetic to -- to aspirations ofthat kind."Mrs. MacAndrew tightened her lips. I imagine that she hadnever looked with approval on her sister's leaning towardspersons who cultivated the arts. She spoke of "culchaw"derisively.Mrs. Strickland continued:"After all, if he had any talent I should be the first toencourage it. I wouldn't have minded sacrifices. I'd muchrather be married to a painter than to a stockbroker. If itweren't for the children, I wouldn't mind anything. I couldbe just as happy in a shabby studio in Chelsea as in this flat.""My dear, I have no patience with you," cried Mrs. MacAndrew."You don't mean to say you believe a word of this nonsense?""But I think it's true," I put in mildly.She looked at me with good-humoured contempt."A man doesn't throw up his business and leave his wife andchildren at the age of forty to become a painter unlessthere's a woman in it. I suppose he met one of your --artistic friends, and she's turned his head."A spot of colour rose suddenly to Mrs. Strickland's pale cheeks."What is she like?"I hesitated a little. I knew that I had a bombshell."There isn't a woman."Colonel MacAndrew and his wife uttered expressions of incredulity,and Mrs. Strickland sprang to her feet."Do you mean to say you never saw her?""There's no one to see. He's quite alone.""That's preposterous," cried Mrs. MacAndrew."I knew I ought to have gone over myself," said the Colonel."You can bet your boots I'd have routed her out fast enough.""I wish you had gone over," I replied, somewhat tartly."You'd have seen that every one of your suppositions was wrong.He's not at a smart hotel. He's living in one tinyroom in the most squalid way. If he's left his home, it's notto live a gay life. He's got hardly any money.""Do you think he's done something that we don't know about,and is lying doggo on account of the police?"The suggestion sent a ray of hope in all their breasts, but Iwould have nothing to do with it."If that were so, he would hardly have been such a fool as togive his partner his address," I retorted acidly."Anyhow, there's one thing I'm positive of, he didn't goaway with anyone. He's not in love. Nothing is fartherfrom his thoughts."There was a pause while they reflected over my words."Well, if what you say is true," said Mrs. MacAndrew at last,"things aren't so bad as I thought."Mrs. Strickland glanced at her, but said nothing.She was very pale now, and her fine brow was dark and lowering.I could not understand the expression of her face.Mrs. MacAndrew continued:"If it's just a whim, he'll get over it.""Why don't you go over to him, Amy?" hazarded the Colonel."There's no reason why you shouldn't live with him in Parisfor a year. We'll look after the children. I dare say he'dgot stale. Sooner or later he'll be quite ready to come backto London, and no great harm will have been done.""I wouldn't do that," said Mrs. MacAndrew. "I'd give him allthe rope he wants. He'll come back with his tail between hislegs and settle down again quite comfortably." Mrs. MacAndrewlooked at her sister coolly. "Perhaps you weren't very wisewith him sometimes. Men are queer creatures, and one has toknow how to manage them."Mrs. MacAndrew shared the common opinion of her sex that a manis always a brute to leave a woman who is attached to him, butthat a woman is much to blame if he does. Le coeur a sesraisons que la raison ne connait pas.Mrs. Strickland looked slowly from one to another of us."He'll never come back," she said."Oh, my dear, remember what we've just heard. He's been usedto comfort and to having someone to look after him. How longdo you think it'll be before he gets tired of a scrubby roomin a scrubby hotel? Besides, he hasn't any money. He mustcome back.""As long as I thought he'd run away with some woman I thoughtthere was a chance. I don't believe that sort of thing ever answers.He'd have got sick to death of her in three months.But if he hasn't gone because he's in love, then it's finished.""Oh, I think that's awfully subtle," said the Colonel,putting into the word all the contempt he felt for a qualityso alien to the traditions of his calling. "Don't you believe it.He'll come back, and, as Dorothy says, I dare say he'll benone the worse for having had a bit of a fling.""But I don't want him back," she said."Amy!"It was anger that had seized Mrs. Strickland, and her pallorwas the pallor of a cold and sudden rage. She spoke quickly now,with little gasps."I could have forgiven it if he'd fallen desperately in lovewith someone and gone off with her. I should have thoughtthat natural. I shouldn't really have blamed him. I shouldhave thought he was led away. Men are so weak, and women areso unscrupulous. But this is different. I hate him.I'll never forgive him now."Colonel MacAndrew and his wife began to talk to her together.They were astonished. They told her she was mad. They couldnot understand. Mrs. Strickland turned desperately to me."Don't you see?" she cried."I'm not sure. Do you mean that you could have forgiven himif he'd left you for a woman, but not if he's left you for an idea?You think you're a match for the one, but against theother you're helpless?"Mrs. Strickland gave mt a look in which I read no greatfriendliness, but did not answer. Perhaps I had struck home.She went on in a low and trembling voice:"I never knew it was possible to hate anyone as much as I hate him.Do you know, I've been comforting myself by thinkingthat however long it lasted he'd want me at the end? I knewwhen he was dying he'd send for me, and I was ready to go;I'd have nursed him like a mother, and at the last I'd have toldhim that it didn't matter, I'd loved him always, and I forgavehim everything."I have always been a little disconcerted by the passion womenhave for behaving beautifully at the death-bed of those they love.Sometimes it seems as if they grudge the longevity whichpostpones their chance of an effective scene."But now -- now it's finished. I'm as indifferent to him asif he were a stranger. I should like him to die miserable,poor, and starving, without a friend. I hope he'll rot withsome loathsome disease. I've done with him."I thought it as well then to say what Strickland had suggested."If you want to divorce him, he's quite willing to do whateveris necessary to make it possible.""Why should I give him his freedom?""I don't think he wants it. He merely thought it might bemore convenient to you."Mrs. Strickland shrugged her shoulders impatiently. I thinkI was a little disappointed in her. I expected then people tobe more of a piece than I do now, and I was distressed to findso much vindictiveness in so charming a creature. I did notrealise how motley are the qualities that go to make up ahuman being. Now I am well aware that pettiness and grandeur,malice and charity, hatred and love, can find place side byside in the same human heart.I wondered if there was anything I could say that would easethe sense of bitter humiliation which at present tormentedMrs. Strickland. I thought I would try."You know, I'm not sure that your husband is quite responsiblefor his actions. I do not think he is himself. He seems tome to be possessed by some power which is using him for itsown ends, and in whose hold he is as helpless as a fly in aspider's web. It's as though someone had cast a spell over him.I'm reminded of those strange stories one sometimeshears of another personality entering into a man and drivingout the old one. The soul lives unstably in the body, and iscapable of mysterious transformations. In the old days theywould say Charles Strickland had a devil."Mrs. MacAndrew smoothed down the lap of her gown, and goldbangles fell over her wrists."All that seems to me very far-fetched," she said acidly."I don't deny that perhaps Amy took her husband a little too muchfor granted. If she hadn't been so busy with her own affairs,I can't believe that she wouldn't have suspected something wasthe matter. I don't think that Alec could have something onhis mind for a year or more without my having a pretty shrewdidea of it."The Colonel stared into vacancy, and I wondered whether anyonecould be quite so innocent of guile as he looked."But that doesn't prevent the fact that Charles Strickland isa heartless beast." She looked at me severely. "I can tellyou why he left his wife -- from pure selfishness and nothingelse whatever.""That is certainly the simplest explanation," I said.But I thought it explained nothing. When, saying I was tired,I rose to go, Mrs. Strickland made no attempt to detain me.