Somerset Maugham
THE BURDEN OF HUMAN PASSIONS
The day turned dull and gray. The clouds hung low, the air was chilly - snow was about to fall. A maid entered the room where the child was sleeping and opened the curtains. Out of habit, she glanced at the facade of the house opposite - plastered, with a portico - and walked up to the crib.
Get up, Philip, she said.
Throwing back the blanket, she picked him up and carried him downstairs. He's not quite awake yet.
Mom is calling you.
Opening the door to the room on the first floor, the nanny brought the child to the bed on which the woman lay. It was his mother. She held out her arms to the boy, and he curled up next to her, not asking why he was woken. The woman kissed his closed eyes and with her thin hands felt his warm little body through his white flannel nightgown. She hugged the child close to her.
Are you sleepy, baby? - she asked.
Her voice was so weak that it seemed to be coming from somewhere far away. The boy did not answer and just stretched sweetly. He felt good in a warm, spacious bed, in gentle hugs. He tried to become even smaller, curled up into a ball and kissed her in his sleep. His eyes closed and he fell fast asleep. The doctor silently approached the bed.
Let him stay with me for a little while,” she moaned.
The doctor did not answer and only looked at her sternly. Knowing that she would not be allowed to keep the child, the woman kissed him again, ran her hand over his body; Taking the right leg, she touched all five toes, and then reluctantly touched the left leg. She began to cry.
What's wrong with you? - asked the doctor. - Are you tired.
She shook her head and tears rolled down her cheeks. The doctor leaned towards her.
Give it to me.
She was too weak to protest. The doctor handed the child into the arms of the nanny.
Put him back in bed.
The sleeping boy was carried away. The mother sobbed, no longer holding back.
Poor thing! What will happen to him now!
The nurse tried to calm her down; exhausted, the woman stopped crying. The doctor approached the table at the other end of the room, where the corpse of a newborn baby lay covered with a napkin. Lifting the napkin, the doctor looked at the lifeless body. And, although the bed was fenced off with a screen, the woman guessed what he was doing.
Boy or girl? - she asked the nurse in a whisper.
Also a boy.
The woman didn't say anything. The nanny returned to the room. She approached the patient.
Philip never woke up, she said.
Silence reigned. The doctor again felt the patient’s pulse.
“I guess I’m no longer needed here for now,” he said. - I'll come by after breakfast.
“I’ll take you,” the nurse suggested.
They silently went down the stairs to the hallway. The doctor stopped.
Have you sent for Mrs. Carey's brother-in-law?
When do you think he will arrive?
I don't know, I'm waiting for a telegram.
What to do with the boy? Wouldn't it be better to send him somewhere for now?
Miss Watkin agreed to take him in with her.
Who is she?
His godmother. Do you think Mrs. Carey will get better?
The doctor shook his head.
A week later, Philip was sitting on the floor of Miss Watkin's drawing room in Onslow Gardens. He grew up as an only child in the family and was used to playing alone. The room was filled with bulky furniture, and each ottoman had three large poufs. There were also pillows in the chairs. Philip pulled them down to the floor and, moving the light gilded ceremonial chairs, built an intricate cave where he could hide from the redskins hiding behind the curtains. Putting his ear to the floor, he listened to the distant tramp of a herd of bison rushing across the prairie. The door opened and he held his breath so as not to be found, but angry hands pushed the chair back and the pillows fell to the floor.
Oh, you naughty one! Miss Watkin will be angry.
Peek-a-boo, Emma! - he said.
The nanny leaned over, kissed him, and then began to brush off and put away the pillows.
Shall we go home? - he asked.
Yes, I came for you.
You have a new dress.
The year was 1885, and women were putting bustles under their skirts. The dress was made of black velvet, with narrow sleeves and sloping shoulders; the skirt was decorated with three wide frills. The hood was also black and tied with velvet. The nanny didn't know what to do. The question she had been waiting for was not asked, and she had no prepared answer to give.
Why don't you ask how your mother is doing? - she finally couldn’t stand it.
I forgot. How is mom doing?
Now she could answer:
Your mom is fine. She is very happy.
Mom left. You won't see her again.
Philip didn't understand anything.
Your mom is in heaven.
She began to cry, and Philip, although he did not know what was wrong, began to cry too. Emma, a tall, bony woman with blond hair and rough features, was from Devonshire and, despite many years of service in London, had never unlearned her harsh accent. She was completely moved by her tears and hugged the boy tightly to her chest. She understood what misfortune befell the child, deprived of that only love, in which there was no shadow of self-interest. It seemed terrible to her that he would end up with strangers. But after a while she pulled herself together.
Uncle William is waiting for you,” she said. - Go say goodbye to Miss Watkin, and we'll go home.
“I don’t want to say goodbye to her,” he answered, for some reason ashamed of his tears.
Okay, then run upstairs and put on your hat.
He brought a hat. Emma was waiting for him in the hallway. Voices came from the office behind the living room. Philip stopped hesitantly. He knew that Miss Watkin and her sister were talking with friends, and he thought - the boy was only nine years old - that if he came to see them, they would feel sorry for him.
I'll go say goodbye to Miss Watkin after all.
Well done, go,” Emma praised him.
First tell them that I will come now.
He wanted to arrange his farewell better. Emma knocked on the door and entered. He heard her say:
Philip wants to say goodbye to you.
The conversation immediately fell silent, and Philip, limping, entered the office. Henrietta Watkin was a red-faced, plump lady with dyed hair. In those days dyed hair were rare and attracted everyone's attention; Philip heard a lot of gossip about this at home when his godmother suddenly changed her color. She lived alone with her older sister, who meekly accepted her advanced years. Their guests were two ladies unknown to Philip; they looked at the boy with curiosity.
“My poor child,” said Miss Watkin and opened her arms wide to Philip.
She began to cry. Philip understood why she didn't come out for dinner and put on black dress. She found it difficult to speak.
“I need to go home,” the boy finally broke the silence.
He pulled away from Miss Watkin's embrace and she kissed him goodbye. Then Philip went up to her sister and said goodbye to her. One of the unfamiliar ladies asked if she could kiss him too, and he sedately allowed it. Although his tears flowed, he really liked that he was the cause of such a commotion; He would have gladly stayed longer to be caressed again, but he felt that he was in the way and said that Emma was probably waiting for him. The boy left the room. Emma went down to the servants' quarters to talk to her friend, and he remained waiting for her on the landing. Henrietta Watkin's voice reached him:
His mother was my closest friend. I just can’t come to terms with the idea that she died.
You shouldn't have gone to the funeral, Henrietta! - said the sister. - I knew you would be completely upset.
One of the unfamiliar ladies intervened in the conversation:
Poor baby! Left an orphan - what a horror! Is he also lame?
Current page: 1 (book has 53 pages total) [available reading passage: 35 pages]
Somerset Maugham
The burden of human passions
Novel
W. Somerset Maugham
Of Human Bondage
Reprinted with permission of The Royal Literary Fund and literary agencies AP Watt Limited and The Van Lear Agency LLC.
The exclusive rights to publish the book in Russian belong to AST Publishers.
Any use of the material in this book, in whole or in part, without the permission of the copyright holder is prohibited.
© The Royal Literary Fund, 1915
© Translation. E. Golysheva, heirs, 2011
© Translation. B. Izakov, heirs, 2011
© Russian edition AST Publishers, 2016
Chapter 1
The day turned dull and gray. The clouds hung low, the air was chilly - snow was about to fall. A maid entered the room where the child was sleeping and opened the curtains. Out of habit, she glanced at the facade of the house opposite - plastered, with a portico - and walked up to the crib.
“Get up, Philip,” she said.
Throwing back the blanket, she picked him up and carried him downstairs. He's not quite awake yet.
- Mom is calling you.
Opening the door to the room on the first floor, the nanny brought the child to the bed on which the woman lay. It was his mother. She held out her arms to the boy, and he curled up next to her, not asking why he was woken. The woman kissed his closed eyes and with her thin hands felt his warm little body through his white flannel nightgown. She hugged the child close to her.
-Are you sleepy, baby? – she asked.
Her voice was so weak that it seemed to be coming from somewhere far away. The boy did not answer and just stretched sweetly. He felt good in a warm, spacious bed, in gentle hugs. He tried to become even smaller, curled up into a ball and kissed her in his sleep. His eyes closed and he fell fast asleep. The doctor silently approached the bed.
“Let him stay with me at least for a little while,” she moaned.
The doctor did not answer and only looked at her sternly. Knowing that she would not be allowed to keep the child, the woman kissed him again, ran her hand over his body; Taking the right leg, she touched all five toes, and then reluctantly touched the left leg. She began to cry.
- What's wrong with you? - asked the doctor. - Are you tired.
She shook her head and tears rolled down her cheeks. The doctor leaned towards her.
- Give it to me.
She was too weak to protest. The doctor handed the child into the arms of the nanny.
“Put him back in bed.”
- Now.
The sleeping boy was carried away. The mother sobbed, no longer holding back.
- Poor thing! What will happen to him now!
The nurse tried to calm her down; exhausted, the woman stopped crying. The doctor approached the table at the other end of the room, where the corpse of a newborn baby lay covered with a napkin. Lifting the napkin, the doctor looked at the lifeless body. And, although the bed was fenced off with a screen, the woman guessed what he was doing.
- Boy or girl? – she asked the nurse in a whisper.
- Also a boy.
The woman didn't say anything. The nanny returned to the room. She approached the patient.
“Philip never woke up,” she said.
Silence reigned. The doctor again felt the patient’s pulse.
“I guess I’m no longer needed here for now,” he said. - I'll come by after breakfast.
“I’ll accompany you,” the nurse offered.
They silently went down the stairs to the hallway. The doctor stopped.
-Have you sent for Mrs. Carey's brother-in-law?
– When do you think he will arrive?
– I don’t know, I’m waiting for a telegram.
- What to do with the boy? Wouldn't it be better to send him somewhere for now?
“Miss Watkin agreed to take him in.”
-Who is she?
- His godmother. Do you think Mrs. Carey will get better?
The doctor shook his head.
Chapter 2
A week later, Philip was sitting on the floor of Miss Watkin's drawing room in Onslow Gardens. He grew up as an only child in the family and was used to playing alone. The room was filled with bulky furniture, and each ottoman had three large poufs. There were also pillows in the chairs. Philip pulled them down to the floor and, moving the light gilded ceremonial chairs, built an intricate cave where he could hide from the redskins hiding behind the curtains. Putting his ear to the floor, he listened to the distant tramp of a herd of bison rushing across the prairie. The door opened and he held his breath so as not to be found, but angry hands pushed the chair back and the pillows fell to the floor.
- Oh, you naughty one! Miss Watkin will be angry.
- Ku-ku, Emma! - he said.
The nanny leaned over, kissed him, and then began to brush off and put away the pillows.
- Shall we go home? - he asked.
- Yes, I came for you.
-You have a new dress.
The year was 1885, and women were putting bustles under their skirts. The dress was made of black velvet, with narrow sleeves and sloping shoulders; the skirt was decorated with three wide frills. The hood was also black and tied with velvet. The nanny didn't know what to do. The question she had been waiting for was not asked, and she had no prepared answer to give.
- Why don’t you ask how your mother is doing? – she finally couldn’t stand it.
- I forgot. How is mom doing?
Now she could answer:
- Your mother is fine. She is very happy.
- Mom left. You won't see her again.
Philip didn't understand anything.
- Why?
– Your mother is in heaven.
She began to cry, and Philip, although he did not know what was wrong, began to cry too. Emma, a tall, bony woman with blond hair and rough features, was from Devonshire and, despite many years of service in London, had never unlearned her harsh accent. She was completely moved by her tears and hugged the boy tightly to her chest. She understood what misfortune befell the child, deprived of that only love, in which there was no shadow of self-interest. It seemed terrible to her that he would end up with strangers. But after a while she pulled herself together.
“Uncle William is waiting for you,” she said. “Go say goodbye to Miss Watkin and we’ll go home.”
“I don’t want to say goodbye to her,” he answered, for some reason ashamed of his tears.
“Okay, then run upstairs and put on your hat.”
He brought a hat. Emma was waiting for him in the hallway. Voices came from the office behind the living room. Philip stopped hesitantly. He knew that Miss Watkin and her sister were talking with friends, and he thought - the boy was only nine years old - that if he called on them, they would feel sorry for him.
“I’ll still go and say goodbye to Miss Watkin.”
“Well done, go,” Emma praised him.
- First, tell them that I will come now.
He wanted to arrange his farewell better. Emma knocked on the door and entered. He heard her say:
“Philip wants to say goodbye to you.”
The conversation immediately fell silent, and Philip, limping, entered the office. Henrietta Watkin was a red-faced, plump lady with dyed hair. In those days, dyed hair was rare and attracted everyone's attention; Philip heard a lot of gossip about this at home when his godmother suddenly changed her color. She lived alone with her older sister, who meekly accepted her advanced years. Their guests were two ladies unknown to Philip; they looked at the boy with curiosity.
“My poor child,” said Miss Watkin and opened her arms wide to Philip.
She began to cry. Philip understood why she did not come out to dinner and put on a black dress. She found it difficult to speak.
“I need to go home,” the boy finally broke the silence.
He pulled away from Miss Watkin's embrace and she kissed him goodbye. Then Philip went up to her sister and said goodbye to her. One of the unfamiliar ladies asked if she could kiss him too, and he sedately allowed it. Although his tears flowed, he really liked that he was the cause of such a commotion; He would have gladly stayed longer to be caressed again, but he felt that he was in the way and said that Emma was probably waiting for him. The boy left the room. Emma went down to the servants' quarters to talk to her friend, and he remained waiting for her on the landing. Henrietta Watkin's voice reached him:
“His mother was my closest friend. I just can’t come to terms with the idea that she died.
“You shouldn’t have gone to the funeral, Henrietta!” - said the sister. “I knew you’d be completely upset.”
One of the unfamiliar ladies intervened in the conversation:
- Poor baby! Left an orphan - what a horror! Is he also lame?
- Yes, from birth. Poor mother always grieved so much!
Emma arrived. They got into a cab and Emma told the driver where to go.
Chapter 3
When they arrived at the house where Mrs. Carey died—it stood in a bleak, sedate street between Notting Hill Gate and the High Street in Kensington—Emma led Philip straight into the drawing room. Uncle wrote Thanksgiving letters for the wreaths sent to the funeral. One of them, brought too late, lay in cardboard box on the table in the hallway.
“Here’s Philip,” said Emma.
Mr. Carey slowly stood up and shook hands with the boy. Then he thought, bent down and kissed the child on the forehead. He was a short man, prone to being overweight. He wore his hair long and combed to the side to hide his baldness, and shaved his face. The features were regular, and in his youth Mr. Carey was probably considered handsome. He wore a gold cross on his watch chain.
“Well, Philip, you will live with me now,” said Mr. Carey. -Are you happy?
Two years ago, when Philip suffered from smallpox, he was sent to the village to stay with his uncle the priest, but all he remembered was the attic and big garden; He didn’t remember his aunt and uncle.
“Now Aunt Louise and I will be your father and mother.”
The boy's lips trembled, he blushed, but did not answer.
“Your dear mother left you in my care.”
Mr. Carey had a hard time talking to children. When the news came that his brother's wife was dying, he immediately went to London, but on the way he only thought about what a burden he would take on if he was forced to take care of his nephew. He was well over fifty, he had lived with his wife for thirty years, but they had no children; the thought of a boy appearing in the house who might turn out to be a tomboy did not please him at all. And he never particularly liked his brother’s wife.
“I’ll take you to Blackstable tomorrow,” he said.
- And Emma too?
The child put his little hand in the nanny's hand, and Emma squeezed it.
“I'm afraid Emma will have to part with us,” said Mr. Carey.
“And I want Emma to come with me.”
Philip began to cry, and the nanny also could not stop crying. Mr. Carey looked at them both helplessly.
“I’ll ask you to leave Philip and me alone for a moment.”
- Please, sir.
Philip clung to her, but she gently pulled his hands away. Mr. Carey pulled the boy onto his lap and hugged him.
“Don’t cry,” he said. “You’re already big—it’s a shame to have a nanny look after you.” We'll have to send you to school soon anyway.
– And I want Emma to come with me! - the child repeated.
- It costs a lot of money. And your father left very little. I don't know where everything went. You'll have to count every penny.
The day before, Mr. Carey had gone to see the attorney who handled all of their family's affairs. Philip's father was a well-established surgeon, and his work in the clinic seemed likely to give him a secure position. But after his sudden death from blood poisoning, to everyone's surprise, it turned out that he had left the widow nothing except an insurance premium and a house on Bruthen Street. He died six months ago, and Mrs. Carey, in poor health and pregnant, completely lost her head, rented out the house at the first price offered to her. She sent her furniture to a warehouse, and in order not to endure inconvenience during pregnancy, she rented an entire furnished house for a year, paying for it, according to the priest, a lot of money. True, she had never been able to save money and was unable to reduce expenses in accordance with her new position. She squandered the little that her husband left her, and now, when all expenses are covered, there will be no more than two thousand pounds left to support the boy until he comes of age. But all this was difficult to explain to Philip, and he continued to sob bitterly.
“You’d better go to Emma,” said Mr. Carey, realizing that it would be easier for the nanny to console the child.
Philip silently climbed down from his uncle's lap, but Mr. Carey held him back.
– We have to go tomorrow, on Saturday I have to prepare for the Sunday sermon. Tell Emma to pack your things today. You can take all your toys. And, if you want, choose some little thing each in memory of your father and mother. Everything else will be sold.
The boy slipped out of the room. Mr. Carey was not used to working; he returned to his epistolary studies with obvious displeasure. On the side of the table lay a stack of bills, which made him very angry. One of them seemed especially outrageous to him. Immediately after Mrs. Carey's death, Emma ordered flower shop whole forest white flowers to decorate the deceased's room. What a waste of money! Emma allowed herself too much. Even if it wasn't necessary, he would still fire her.
And Philip came up to her, buried his head in her chest and sobbed as if his heart was breaking. She, feeling that she loved him almost like her own son - Emma was hired when he was not even a month old - consoled him with kind words. She promised to visit him often, said that she would never forget him; told him about the places where he was going, and about her home in Devonshire - her father collected tolls on the road leading to Exeter, they had their own pigs and a cow, and the cow had just calved... Philip's tears dried up, and Tomorrow's journey began to seem tempting to him. Emma put the boy on the floor - there was still a lot to do - and Philip helped her take out the clothes and lay them out on the bed. Emma sent him to the nursery to collect toys; Soon he was playing happily.
But then he got tired of playing alone, and he ran into the bedroom, where Emma was putting his things in a large chest covered with tin. Philip remembered that his uncle allowed him to take something to remember his dad and mom. He told Emma about this and asked what he should take.
- Go to the living room and see what you like best.
- Uncle William is there.
- So what? The things are yours.
Philip hesitantly went down the stairs and saw that the door to the living room was open. Mr. Carey went out somewhere. Philip walked slowly around the room. They lived in this house for such a short time that there were few things in it that he managed to become attached to. The room seemed alien to him, and Philip did not like anything about it. He remembered what things were left from his mother and what belonged to the owner of the house. Finally he chose a small watch: his mother said she liked it. Taking the watch, Philip dejectedly went upstairs again. He walked to his mother's bedroom door and listened. No one forbade him to enter there, but for some reason he felt that it was not good. The boy felt terrified, and his heart began to beat in fear; however, he still turned the handle. He did it quietly, as if afraid that someone would hear him, and slowly opened the door. Before entering, he gathered his courage and stood on the threshold for a while. The fear had passed, but he still felt uneasy. Philip quietly closed the door behind him. The curtains were drawn, and in the cold light of the January afternoon the room seemed very gloomy. On the toilet lay Mrs. Carey's brush and hand mirror, and on the tray were hairpins. On the mantelpiece were photographs of Philip's father and himself. The boy often visited this room when his mother was not here, but now everything here looked somehow different. Even the chairs – and those had some kind of unusual appearance. The bed was made as if someone was about to go to bed, and on the pillow there was a nightgown in an envelope.
Philip opened a large wardrobe full of dresses, climbed into it, grabbed as many dresses as he could, and buried his face in them. The dresses smelled of their mother's perfume. Then Philip began to open the drawers with her things; the laundry was arranged in bags of dry lavender, the smell was fresh and very pleasant. The room was no longer inhabitable, and it seemed to him that his mother had simply gone for a walk. She will come soon and go up to his nursery to have tea with him. It even seemed to him that she had just kissed him.
It's not true that he'll never see her again. It's not true, because it can't be. Philip climbed onto the bed and laid his head on the pillow. He lay motionless and hardly breathing.
Chapter 4
Philip cried when he parted with Emma, but the journey to Blackstable entertained him, and when they arrived the boy was calm and cheerful. Blackstable was sixty miles from London. Having given the luggage to the porter, Mr. Carey and Philip walked home; I only had to walk for about five minutes. Approaching the gate, Philip suddenly remembered it. They were red, with five crossbars and moved freely on hinges in both directions; They are comfortable to ride on, although he was forbidden to do so. They walked through the garden and came to the front door. Guests entered through this door; the inhabitants of the house used it only on Sundays and on special occasions - when the priest went to London or returned from there. Usually they entered the house through the side door. There was also a back door for the gardener, beggars and tramps. The house, quite spacious, made of yellow brick, with a red roof, was built about twenty-five years ago in a church style. The front porch resembled a porch, and the windows in the living room were narrow, like in a Gothic temple.
Mrs. Carey knew which train they would arrive by and waited for them in the living room, listening to the knocking of the gate. When the latch jingled, she stepped out onto the threshold.
“There’s Aunt Louise,” said Mr. Carey. - Run and kiss her.
Philip ran clumsily, dragging his lame leg. Mrs. Carey was a small, wizened woman of the same age as her husband; her face was covered with a dense network of wrinkles, Blue eyes faded. Grey hair were curled in ringlets in the fashion of her youth. The black dress had only one decoration - a gold chain with a cross. She behaved shyly and her voice was weak.
“Did you walk, William?” – she asked reproachfully, kissing her husband.
“I didn’t think it was far for him,” he answered, looking at his nephew.
“Was it easy for you to walk, Philip?” - Mrs. Carey asked the boy.
- No. I like walking.
This conversation surprised him a little. Aunt Louise called him into the house and they went into the hallway. The floor was laid out in red and yellow tiles, on which images of the Greek cross and the lamb of God alternated. From here a grand staircase made of polished pine with some special smell led upstairs; The priest's house was lucky: when new benches were being made in the church, there was enough wood for this staircase. The carved railings were decorated with the emblems of the four evangelists.
“I ordered the stove to be heated, I was afraid that you would freeze on the road,” said Mrs. Carey.
The large black stove in the hallway was lit only in very bad weather or when the priest had a cold. If Mrs. Carey had a cold, the stove was not lit. Coal was expensive, and the servant, Mary Ann, grumbled when all the stoves had to be lit. If they want to light fires everywhere, they should hire a second servant. In winter, Mr. and Mrs. Carey sat more in the dining room and made do with one stove; but even in the summer the habit took its toll: they also spent all their time in the dining room; Mr. Carey alone used the living room, and only on Sundays, when he went to bed after dinner. But every Saturday they heated the stove in his office so that he could write the Sunday sermon.
Aunt Louise took Philip upstairs to the tiny bedroom; her window looked out onto the road. It was growing right in front of the window a big tree. Philip now remembered him too: the branches grew so low that it was not difficult even for him to climb the tree.
“The room is small, and you’re still small,” said Mrs. Carey. – Aren’t you afraid to sleep alone?
The last time Philip lived at the vicarage, he came here with a nanny, and Mrs. Carey had little trouble with him. Now she looked at the boy with some concern.
- You know how to wash your hands, otherwise let me wash them for you...
“I know how to wash myself,” he said proudly.
“Okay, when you come for tea, I’ll make sure you’ve washed your hands well,” Mrs. Carey said.
She didn't understand anything about children. When it was decided that Philip would come to live at Blackstable, Mrs. Carey thought a lot about how best she could treat the child; she wanted to fulfill her duty conscientiously. And now that the boy had arrived, she was no less shy in front of him than he was in front of her. Mrs. Carey sincerely hoped that Philip would not turn out to be a naughty or ill-mannered boy, because her husband could not stand naughty and ill-mannered children. After apologizing, Mrs. Carey left Philip alone, but a minute later she returned, knocked and asked outside the door if he could pour water into his basin himself. Then she went downstairs and called the maid to serve tea.
The spacious, beautiful dining room had windows on two sides and was hung with heavy red grosgrain curtains. stood in the middle big table, against one of the walls there is a solid mahogany sideboard with a mirror, in the corner there is a harmonium, and on the sides of the fireplace there are two armchairs upholstered in embossed leather, with napkins pinned on the backs; one of them, with handles, was called “spouse”, the other, without handles, was called “spouse”. Mrs. Carey never sat in a chair, saying that she prefers chairs, although they are not so comfortable: there is always a lot to do, but you sit in a chair, lean on the arms, and you no longer want to get up.
Mr. Carey was lighting a fire in the grate when Philip entered; he showed his nephew two pokers. One was large, highly polished and completely new - they called her “priest”; the other, smaller and having been on fire many times, was called “the priest’s assistant.”
- What are we waiting for? - asked Mr. Carey.
“I asked Mary Ann to boil an egg for you.” You're probably hungry from the road.
Mrs Carey found the journey from London to Blackstable very tiring. She herself rarely left home, because the salary was only three hundred pounds a year, and when her husband wanted to relax, and there was not enough money for two, he went alone. He really enjoyed attending church conventions and managed to go to London every year; once he even visited Paris for an exhibition and two or three times in Switzerland. Mary Ann served the egg and they sat down at the table. The chair was too low for Philip, and Mr. Carey and his wife were at a loss.
“I’ll give him some books,” Mary Anne suggested.
She took from the harmonium a thick Bible and a missal from which the priest read prayers, and placed them on Philip’s chair.
“Oh, William, it’s not good for him to sit on the Bible!” – Mrs. Carey was horrified. – Isn’t it possible to take some books from the office?
Mr. Carey thought for a moment.
“Well, one time probably won’t do much harm, especially if Mary Ann puts the breviary on top,” he said. – The prayer book was compiled by mere mortals like us. After all, it does not claim to have been inscribed by the hand of the Almighty!
“I hadn’t thought about it at all, William,” said Aunt Louise.
Philip climbed onto the books, and the priest, saying a prayer, cut off the top of the egg.
“Here,” he said to Philip, “you can eat it.”
Philip would have preferred to eat the whole egg, but no one offered it to him, and he was content with what was given to him.
- How did your chickens lay eggs while I was away? - asked the priest.
- Terrible! Eggs two a day.
- Well, did you like the top, Philip? - asked my uncle.
- Thank you, very much.
“You’ll get another one on Sunday afternoon.”
Mr Carey was always served an egg with his Sunday tea, so that he could refresh himself before the evening service.
"The Burden of Human Passions"(English) Of Human Bondage) is one of the most famous novels by the English writer William Somerset Maugham, written in 1915. Main character books - Philip Carey, a lame orphan whose fate can be traced from an unhappy childhood to his student years. Philip painfully searches for his calling and tries to find out what the meaning of life is. He will have to experience a lot of disappointments and part with many illusions before he can find his answer to this question.
Plot
The first chapters are devoted to Philip's life in Blackstable with his uncle and aunt and his studies at the royal school in Terkenbury, where Philip endures a lot of bullying because of his lame leg. Relatives expect that after graduating from school, Philip will enter Oxford and take holy orders, but the young man feels that he has no real calling for this. Instead, he goes to Heidelberg (Germany), where he studies Latin, German and French.
During his stay in Germany, Philip meets the Englishman Hayward. Philip immediately takes a liking to his new acquaintance; he cannot help but be admired by Hayward's extensive knowledge of literature and art. However, Hayward's ardent idealism does not suit Philip: “He always passionately loved life and experience told him that idealism is most often a cowardly flight from life. The idealist withdraws into himself because he is afraid of the pressure of the human crowd; he does not have enough strength to fight, and therefore he considers it an activity for the mob; he is vain, and since his neighbors do not agree with his assessment of himself, he consoles himself with the fact that he pays them contempt.” Another of Philip’s friends, Weeks, characterizes people like Hayward this way: “They always admire what is usually admired - whatever it is - and one of these days they are going to write a great work. Just think - one hundred and forty-seven great works rest in the soul of one hundred and forty-seven great men, but the tragedy is that not one of these one hundred and forty-seven great works will ever be written. And nothing in the world changes because of this.”
In Heidelberg, Philip ceases to believe in God, experiences an extraordinary elation and realizes that he has thereby thrown off the heavy burden of responsibility that gave significance to his every action. Philip feels mature, fearless, free and decides to start a new life.
After this, Philip makes an attempt to become a chartered accountant in London, but it turns out that this profession is not for him. Then the young man decides to go to Paris and take up painting. New acquaintances studying with him at the Amitrino art studio introduce him to the poet Cronshaw, who leads a bohemian lifestyle. Cronshaw is Hayward's antithesis, a cynic and a materialist. He ridicules Philip for abandoning the Christian faith without abandoning Christian morality along with it. “People strive for only one thing in life - pleasure,” he says. - A person performs this or that act because it makes him feel good, and if it makes other people feel good, the person is considered virtuous; if he is pleased to give alms, he is considered merciful; if he enjoys helping others, he is a philanthropist; if he enjoys giving his strength to society, he is a useful member of it; but you give twopence to a beggar for your own personal satisfaction, just as I drink whiskey and soda for my personal satisfaction.” Desperate Philip asks what, then, according to Cronshaw, is the meaning of life, and the poet advises him to look at Persian carpets and refuses further explanation.
Philip is not ready to accept Cronshaw’s philosophy, but he agrees with the poet that abstract morality does not exist, and refuses it: “Down with legalized ideas about virtue and vice, about good and evil - he will set the rules of life for himself.” Philip gives himself advice: “Follow your natural inclinations, but with due regard for the policeman around the corner.” (To those who have not read the book, this may seem wild, but it should be borne in mind that Philip’s natural inclinations are quite consistent with generally accepted norms).
Philip soon realizes that he will not make a great artist, and enters the medical school at St. Luke's Hospital in London. He meets the waitress Mildred and falls in love with her, despite the fact that he sees all her shortcomings: she is ugly, vulgar and stupid. Passion forces Philip to undergo incredible humiliations, waste money and become delighted with the slightest sign of attention from Mildred. Soon, as one would expect, she leaves for another person, but after a while she returns to Philip: it turns out that her husband is married. Philip immediately breaks off contact with the kind, noble and resilient girl Nora Nesbitt, whom he met shortly after breaking up with Mildred, and repeats all his mistakes a second time. In the end, Mildred unexpectedly falls in love with his college friend Griffiths and leaves the unfortunate Philip.
Philip is at a loss: the philosophy that he invented for himself has shown its complete failure. Philip becomes convinced that the intellect cannot seriously help people at a critical moment in life; his mind is only a contemplator, recording facts, but powerless to intervene. When the time comes to act, a person bows helplessly under the burden of his instincts, passions and God knows what else. This gradually leads Philip to fatalism: “When you take off your head, you don’t cry over your hair, because all your strength was aimed at removing this head.”
Some time later, Philip meets Mildred for the third time. He no longer feels the same passion for her, but still experiences some kind of harmful attraction to this woman and spends a lot of money on her. To top it all off, he goes broke on the stock exchange, loses all his savings, quits medical school and gets a job in a dry goods store. But it was then that Philip solves Cronshaw’s riddle and finds the strength to abandon the last illusion, throw off the last burden. He admits that “life has no meaning and human existence is purposeless. […] Knowing that nothing makes sense and nothing matters, a person can still find satisfaction in choosing the various threads that he weaves into the endless fabric of life: after all, it is a river that has no source and flows endlessly without flowing into no seas. There is one pattern - the simplest and most beautiful: a person is born, matures, gets married, gives birth to children, works for a piece of bread and dies; but there are other, more intricate and amazing patterns, where there is no place for happiness or the desire for success - perhaps some kind of alarming beauty is hidden in them.”
The awareness of the purposelessness of life does not lead Philip to despair, as one might think, but on the contrary makes him happy: “Failure does not change anything, and success is zero. Man is only the smallest grain of sand in a huge human whirlpool that has overwhelmed for a short moment earth's surface; but he becomes omnipotent as soon as he unravels the secret that chaos is nothing.”
Philip's uncle dies and leaves his nephew an inheritance. This money allows Philip to return to medical school. While studying, he cherishes the dream of going on a trip, visiting Spain (at one time he was greatly impressed by the paintings of El Greco) and the countries of the East. However new girlfriend Philippa, nineteen-year-old Sally, the daughter of his former patient Thorpe Athelney, announces that she is expecting a child. Philip, as a noble man, decides to marry her, despite the fact that this will not allow his dreams of travel to come true. It soon turns out that Sally was mistaken, but Philip does not feel relieved - on the contrary, he is disappointed. Philip understands that you need to live for today, not tomorrow, the simplest pattern human life and is the most perfect. That's why he proposes to Sally after all. He doesn’t love this girl, but he feels great sympathy for her, he feels good with her, and besides, no matter how funny it sounds, he has respect for her, and passionate love, as the story with Mildred showed, often brings nothing but grief.
In the end, Philip even comes to terms with his lame leg, because “without it he could not have felt beauty so keenly, passionately loved art and literature, excitedly followed the complex drama of life. The mockery and contempt to which he was subjected forced him to go deeper into himself and grew flowers - now they will never lose their aroma.” Eternal dissatisfaction is replaced by peace of mind.
Autobiographical
According to Maugham, The Burden of Men is "a novel, not an autobiography: although there are many autobiographical details in it, much more is fictional." And yet it should be noted that, like his hero, Maugham lost his parents at an early age, was raised by a priest uncle, grew up in the town of Whitstable (in the novel Blackstable), studied at the royal school in Canterbury (in the novel Turkenbury), studied literature and philosophy in Heidelberg and medicine in London. Unlike Philip, Maugham was not lame, but he did stutter.
Maugham's attitude to the novel
Maugham himself believed that the novel was overloaded with excessive details, that many scenes were added to the novel simply to increase volume or due to fashion - the novel was published in 1915 - ideas about novels at that time differed from modern ones. Therefore, in the 60s, Maugham significantly shortened the novel “... it took a long time before writers realized that a one-line description often gives more than a full page.” In the Russian translation, this version of the novel was called “Burden of Passions” - so that it would be possible to distinguish it from the original version.
Film adaptations
- 1934 film starring Leslie Howard as Philip and Bette Davis as Mildred
- 1946 film starring Paul Henryd as Philip and Eleanor Parker as Mildred
- 1964 film starring Laurence Harvey as Philip and Kim Novak as Mildred
Notes
One of best novels William Somerset Maugham is considered to be "The Burden of Human Passion", which was written in the early 20th century, but still raises current issues. From its title it is already approximately clear what will be discussed, but the full depth and breadth of the work can only be appreciated after reading.
The writer talks about the life of Philip Carey, from his childhood to adulthood. Together with the main character, you experience everything that happened in his life. It seems that his thoughts become your own, and you continue to think even after closing the book. His feelings permeate the soul. On the one hand, all this seems understandable, but on the other hand, Philip’s actions raise many questions and sometimes bewilderment.
Philip was left an orphan, and he also has a physical disability. The boy found himself in the care of people who could not give him proper love and warmth. Since childhood, he knew what ridicule, humiliation and pity were. He closed himself off and began reading books. In the depths of his soul, he longed for people, was ready to accept anyone who loved him, but at the same time he fenced himself off from them.
Philip's whole life turned into a search for himself, his calling. He tried a lot of things, but gave up without achieving success, realizing that this business was not for him. He visited different places, talked with different people which had a certain influence on him. Philip went from a believer in God to a cynic. He wondered what could be considered public morality, good and evil, and whether these concepts were so precise or whether the boundaries were too blurred. Along with his thoughts, readers come to many of their own thoughts, forcing them to ask complex and ambiguous questions.
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The day turned dull and gray. The clouds hung low, the air was chilly - snow was about to fall. A maid entered the room where the child was sleeping and opened the curtains. Out of habit, she glanced at the facade of the house opposite - plastered, with a portico - and walked up to the crib.
“Get up, Philip,” she said.
Throwing back the blanket, she picked him up and carried him downstairs. He's not quite awake yet.
- Mom is calling you.
Opening the door to the room on the first floor, the nanny brought the child to the bed on which the woman lay. It was his mother. She held out her arms to the boy, and he curled up next to her, not asking why he was woken. The woman kissed his closed eyes and with her thin hands felt his warm little body through his white flannel nightgown. She hugged the child close to her.
-Are you sleepy, baby? – she asked.
Her voice was so weak that it seemed to be coming from somewhere far away. The boy did not answer and just stretched sweetly. He felt good in a warm, spacious bed, in gentle hugs. He tried to become even smaller, curled up into a ball and kissed her in his sleep. His eyes closed and he fell fast asleep. The doctor silently approached the bed.
“Let him stay with me at least for a little while,” she moaned.
The doctor did not answer and only looked at her sternly. Knowing that she would not be allowed to keep the child, the woman kissed him again, ran her hand over his body; Taking the right leg, she touched all five toes, and then reluctantly touched the left leg. She began to cry.
- What's wrong with you? - asked the doctor. - Are you tired.
She shook her head and tears rolled down her cheeks. The doctor leaned towards her.
- Give it to me.
She was too weak to protest. The doctor handed the child into the arms of the nanny.
“Put him back in bed.”
- Now.
The sleeping boy was carried away. The mother sobbed, no longer holding back.
- Poor thing! What will happen to him now!
The nurse tried to calm her down; exhausted, the woman stopped crying. The doctor approached the table at the other end of the room, where the corpse of a newborn baby lay covered with a napkin. Lifting the napkin, the doctor looked at the lifeless body. And, although the bed was fenced off with a screen, the woman guessed what he was doing.
- Boy or girl? – she asked the nurse in a whisper.
- Also a boy.
The woman didn't say anything. The nanny returned to the room. She approached the patient.
“Philip never woke up,” she said.
Silence reigned. The doctor again felt the patient’s pulse.
“I’ll accompany you,” the nurse offered.
They silently went down the stairs to the hallway. The doctor stopped.
-Have you sent for Mrs. Carey's brother-in-law?
– When do you think he will arrive?
– I don’t know, I’m waiting for a telegram.
- What to do with the boy? Wouldn't it be better to send him somewhere for now?
“Miss Watkin agreed to take him in.”
-Who is she?
- His godmother. Do you think Mrs. Carey will get better?
The doctor shook his head.
2
A week later, Philip was sitting on the floor of Miss Watkin's drawing room in Onslow Gardens. He grew up as an only child in the family and was used to playing alone. The room was filled with bulky furniture, and each ottoman had three large poufs. There were also pillows in the chairs. Philip pulled them down to the floor and, moving the light gilded ceremonial chairs, built an intricate cave where he could hide from the redskins hiding behind the curtains. Putting his ear to the floor, he listened to the distant tramp of a herd of bison rushing across the prairie. The door opened and he held his breath so as not to be found, but angry hands pushed the chair back and the pillows fell to the floor.
- Oh, you naughty one! Miss Watkin will be angry.
- Ku-ku, Emma! - he said.
The nanny leaned over, kissed him, and then began to brush off and put away the pillows.
- Shall we go home? - he asked.
- Yes, I came for you.
-You have a new dress.
The year was 1885, and women were putting bustles under their skirts. The dress was made of black velvet, with narrow sleeves and sloping shoulders; the skirt was decorated with three wide frills. The hood was also black and tied with velvet. The nanny didn't know what to do. The question she had been waiting for was not asked, and she had no prepared answer to give.
- Why don’t you ask how your mother is doing? – she finally couldn’t stand it.
- I forgot. How is mom doing?
Now she could answer:
- Your mother is fine. She is very happy.
- Mom left. You won't see her again.
Philip didn't understand anything.
- Why?
– Your mother is in heaven.
She began to cry, and Philip, although he did not know what was wrong, began to cry too. Emma, a tall, bony woman with blond hair and rough features, was from Devonshire and, despite many years of service in London, had never unlearned her harsh accent. She was completely moved by her tears and hugged the boy tightly to her chest. She understood what misfortune befell the child, deprived of that only love, in which there was no shadow of self-interest. It seemed terrible to her that he would end up with strangers. But after a while she pulled herself together.
“Uncle William is waiting for you,” she said. “Go say goodbye to Miss Watkin and we’ll go home.”
“I don’t want to say goodbye to her,” he answered, for some reason ashamed of his tears.
“Okay, then run upstairs and put on your hat.”
He brought a hat. Emma was waiting for him in the hallway. Voices came from the office behind the living room. Philip stopped hesitantly. He knew that Miss Watkin and her sister were talking with friends, and he thought - the boy was only nine years old - that if he called on them, they would feel sorry for him.
“I’ll still go and say goodbye to Miss Watkin.”
“Well done, go,” Emma praised him.
- First, tell them that I will come now.
He wanted to arrange his farewell better. Emma knocked on the door and entered. He heard her say:
“Philip wants to say goodbye to you.”
The conversation immediately fell silent, and Philip, limping, entered the office. Henrietta Watkin was a red-faced, plump lady with dyed hair. In those days, dyed hair was rare and attracted everyone's attention; Philip heard a lot of gossip about this at home when his godmother suddenly changed her color. She lived alone with her older sister, who meekly accepted her advanced years. Their guests were two ladies unknown to Philip; they looked at the boy with curiosity.
“My poor child,” said Miss Watkin and opened her arms wide to Philip.
She began to cry. Philip understood why she did not come out for dinner and put on a black dress. She found it difficult to speak.
“I need to go home,” the boy finally broke the silence.
He pulled away from Miss Watkin's embrace and she kissed him goodbye. Then Philip went up to her sister and said goodbye to her. One of the unfamiliar ladies asked if she could kiss him too, and he sedately allowed it. Although his tears flowed, he really liked that he was the cause of such a commotion; He would have gladly stayed longer to be caressed again, but he felt that he was in the way and said that Emma was probably waiting for him. The boy left the room. Emma went down to the servants' quarters to talk to her friend, and he remained waiting for her on the landing. Henrietta Watkin's voice reached him:
“His mother was my closest friend. I just can’t come to terms with the idea that she died.
“You shouldn’t have gone to the funeral, Henrietta!” - said the sister. “I knew you’d be completely upset.”
One of the unfamiliar ladies intervened in the conversation:
- Poor baby! Left an orphan - what a horror! Is he also lame?
- Yes, from birth. Poor mother always grieved so much!
Emma arrived. They got into a cab and Emma told the driver where to go.
3
When they arrived at the house where Mrs. Carey died—it stood in a bleak, sedate street between Notting Hill Gate and the High Street in Kensington—Emma led Philip straight into the drawing room. My uncle wrote letters of thanks for the wreaths sent to the funeral. One of them, brought too late, lay in a cardboard box on the table in the hallway.
“Here’s Philip,” said Emma.
Mr. Carey slowly stood up and shook hands with the boy. Then he thought, bent down and kissed the child on the forehead. He was a short man, prone to being overweight. He wore his hair long and combed to the side to hide his baldness, and shaved his face. The features were regular, and in his youth Mr. Carey was probably considered handsome. He wore a gold cross on his watch chain.
“Well, Philip, you will live with me now,” said Mr. Carey. -Are you happy?
Two years ago, when Philip suffered from smallpox, he was sent to the village to stay with his uncle the priest, but all he remembered was the attic and the large garden; He didn’t remember his aunt and uncle.
“Now Aunt Louise and I will be your father and mother.”
The boy's lips trembled, he blushed, but did not answer.
“Your dear mother left you in my care.”
Mr. Carey had a hard time talking to children. When the news came that his brother's wife was dying, he immediately went to London, but on the way he only thought about what a burden he would take on if he was forced to take care of his nephew. He was well over fifty, he had lived with his wife for thirty years, but they had no children; the thought of a boy appearing in the house who might turn out to be a tomboy did not please him at all. And he never particularly liked his brother’s wife.
“I’ll take you to Blackstable tomorrow,” he said.
- And Emma too?
The child put his little hand in the nanny's hand, and Emma squeezed it.
“I'm afraid Emma will have to part with us,” said Mr. Carey.
“And I want Emma to come with me.”
Philip began to cry, and the nanny also could not stop crying. Mr. Carey looked at them both helplessly.
“I’ll ask you to leave Philip and me alone for a moment.”
- Please, sir.
Philip clung to her, but she gently pulled his hands away. Mr. Carey pulled the boy onto his lap and hugged him.
“Don’t cry,” he said. “You’re already big—it’s a shame to have a nanny look after you.” We'll have to send you to school soon anyway.
– And I want Emma to come with me! - the child repeated.
- It costs a lot of money. And your father left very little. I don't know where everything went. You'll have to count every penny.
The day before, Mr. Carey had gone to see the attorney who handled all of their family's affairs. Philip's father was a well-established surgeon, and his work in the clinic seemed likely to give him a secure position. But after his sudden death from blood poisoning, to everyone's surprise, it turned out that he had left the widow nothing except an insurance premium and a house on Bruthen Street. He died six months ago, and Mrs. Carey, in poor health and pregnant, completely lost her head, rented out the house at the first price offered to her. She sent her furniture to a warehouse, and in order not to endure inconvenience during pregnancy, she rented an entire furnished house for a year, paying, according to the priest, a lot of money for it. True, she had never been able to save money and was unable to reduce expenses in accordance with her new position. She squandered the little that her husband left her, and now, when all expenses are covered, there will be no more than two thousand pounds left to support the boy until he comes of age. But all this was difficult to explain to Philip, who continued to sob bitterly.
“You’d better go to Emma,” said Mr. Carey, realizing that it would be easier for the nanny to console the child.
Philip silently climbed down from his uncle's lap, but Mr. Carey held him back.
– We have to go tomorrow, on Saturday I have to prepare for the Sunday sermon. Tell Emma to pack your things today. You can take all your toys. And, if you want, choose some little thing each in memory of your father and mother. Everything else will be sold.
The boy slipped out of the room. Mr. Carey was not used to working; he returned to his epistolary studies with obvious displeasure. On the side of the table lay a stack of bills, which made him very angry. One of them seemed especially outrageous to him. Immediately after Mrs. Carey's death, Emma ordered a forest of white flowers from a flower shop to decorate the deceased's room. What a waste of money! Emma allowed herself too much. Even if it wasn't necessary, he would still fire her.
And Philip came up to her, buried his head in her chest and sobbed as if his heart was breaking. She, feeling that she loved him almost like her own son - Emma was hired when he was not even a month old - consoled him with kind words. She promised to visit him often, said that she would never forget him; told him about the places where he was going, and about her home in Devonshire - her father collected tolls on the road leading to Exeter, they had their own pigs and a cow, and the cow had just calved... Philip's tears dried up, and Tomorrow's journey began to seem tempting to him. Emma put the boy on the floor - there was still a lot to do - and Philip helped her take out the clothes and lay them out on the bed. Emma sent him to the nursery to collect toys; Soon he was playing happily.
But then he got tired of playing alone, and he ran into the bedroom, where Emma was putting his things in a large chest covered with tin. Philip remembered that his uncle allowed him to take something to remember his dad and mom. He told Emma about this and asked what he should take.
- Go to the living room and see what you like best.
- Uncle William is there.
- So what? The things are yours.
Philip hesitantly went down the stairs and saw that the door to the living room was open. Mr. Carey went out somewhere. Philip walked slowly around the room. They lived in this house for such a short time that there were few things in it that he managed to become attached to. The room seemed alien to him, and Philip did not like anything about it. He remembered what things were left from his mother and what belonged to the owner of the house. Finally he chose a small watch - his mother said she liked it. Taking the watch, Philip dejectedly went upstairs again. He walked to his mother's bedroom door and listened. No one forbade him to enter there, but for some reason he felt that it was not good. The boy felt terrified, and his heart began to beat in fear; however, he still turned the handle. He did it quietly, as if afraid that someone would hear him, and slowly opened the door. Before entering, he gathered his courage and stood on the threshold for a while. The fear had passed, but he still felt uneasy. Philip quietly closed the door behind him. The curtains were drawn, and in the cold light of the January afternoon the room seemed very gloomy. On the toilet lay Mrs. Carey's brush and hand mirror, and on the tray were hairpins. On the mantelpiece were photographs of Philip's father and himself. The boy often visited this room when his mother was not here, but now everything here looked somehow different. Even the chairs – and those had some kind of unusual appearance. The bed was made as if someone was about to go to bed, and on the pillow there was a nightgown in an envelope.
Philip opened a large wardrobe full of dresses, climbed into it, grabbed as many dresses as he could, and buried his face in them. The dresses smelled of their mother's perfume. Then Philip began to open the drawers with her things; the laundry was arranged in bags of dry lavender, the smell was fresh and very pleasant. The room was no longer inhabitable, and it seemed to him that his mother had simply gone for a walk. She will come soon and go up to his nursery to have tea with him. It even seemed to him that she had just kissed him.