THE COLLECTED PLAYS OF W. SOMERSET MAUGHAM. Уильям Сомерсет Моэм

out of his pocket.] I'll give you fifty now and the rest after the inquest.

      James.

      [With a certain admiration.] You're a sharp 'un, you are.

      [John writes out the cheque and gives it to James Bush.

      James.

      Shall I give you a receipt? I'm a business man, you know.

      John.

      Yes, I know; but it's not necessary. You'll tell your mother and sister?

      James.

      Don't you fear. I'm a gentleman, and I don't go back on my friends.

      John.

      Now I think I'll say good morning to you. You can understand that Basil isn't fit to see any one.

      James.

      I understand. So long.

      [He stretches out his hand, which John shakes gravely.]

      John.

      Good morning.

      [Fanny comes in by one door as James Bush goes out by another.]

      Fanny.

      Good riddance to bad rubbish.

      John.

      Ah, Fanny, if there were no rogues in the world, life would really be too difficult for honest men.

      [Fanny goes out, and John walks to the door and calls.]

      John.

      Basil—he's gone.... Where are you?

      [Basil comes out of the room in which is lying Jenny's body.]

      John.

      I didn't know you were in there.

      Basil.

      I wonder if she forgives me?

      John.

      I wouldn't worry myself too much if I were you, Basil, old man.

      Basil.

      If you only knew how I despise myself!

      John.

      Come, come, Basil, you must make an effort....

      Basil.

      I've not told you the worst. I feel such a cad. There's one thought that's been with me all night. And I can't drive it away. It's worse than anything else. It's too shameful.

      John.

      What do you mean?

      Basil.

      Oh, it's so despicable. And yet it's too strong for me.... I can't help thinking that I'm—free.

      John.

      Free?

      Basil.

      It's treachery to her memory. But you don't know what it is when your prison door is opened. [As he speaks he grows more and more excited.] I don't want to die. I want to live, and I want to take life by both hands and enjoy it. I've got such a desire for happiness. Let's open the windows, and let the sunlight in. [He goes to the window and flings it open.] It's so good just to be alive. How can I help thinking that now I can start fresh? The slate is wiped clean, and I can begin again. I will be happy. God forgive me, I can't help the thought. I'm free. I made a ghastly mistake, and I suffered for it. Heaven knows how I suffered, and how hard I tried to make the best of it. It wasn't all my fault. In this world we're made to act and think things because other people have thought them good. We never have a chance of going our own way. We're bound down by the prejudices and the morals of everybody else. For God's sake, let us be free. Let us do this and that because we want to and because we must, not because other people think we ought. [He stops suddenly in front of John.] Why don't you say something? You stare at me as if you thought me raving mad!

      John.

      I don't know what to say.

      Basil.

      Oh, I suppose you're shocked and scandalised. I ought to go on posing. I ought to act the part decently to the end. You would never have had the courage to do what I did, and yet, because I've failed, you think you can look down on me from the height of your moral elevation.

      John.

      [Gravely.] I was thinking how far a man may fall when he attempts to climb the stars.

      Basil.

      I gave the world fine gold, and their currency is only cowrie-shells. I held up an ideal, and they sneered at me. In this world you must wallow in the trough with the rest of them.... The only moral I can see is that if I'd acted like a blackguard—as ninety-nine men out of a hundred would have done—and let Jenny go to the dogs, I should have remained happy and contented and prosperous. And she, I dare say, wouldn't have died.... It's because I tried to do my duty and act like a gentleman and a man of honour, that all this misery has come about.

      John.

      [Looking at him quietly.] I think I should put it in another way. One has to be very strong and very sure of oneself to go against the ordinary view of things. And if one isn't, perhaps it's better not to run any risks, but just to walk along the same secure old road as the common herd. It's not exhilarating, it's not brave, and it's rather dull. But it's eminently safe.

      [Basil scarcely hears the last words, but listens intently to other sounds outside.

      Basil.

      What's that? I thought I heard a carriage.

      John.

      [A little surprised.] Do you expect any one?

      Basil.

      I sent a wire to—to Hilda at the same time as to you.

      John.

      Already?

      Basil.

      [Excited.] D'you think she'll come?

      John.

      I don't know. [A ring is heard at the front door.

      Basil.

      [Running to the window.] There's some one at the door.

      John.

      Perhaps it's occurred to her also that you're free.

      Basil.

      [With the utmost passion.] Oh, she loves me, and I—I adore her. God forgive me, I can't help it.

      [Fanny comes in.

      Fanny.

      If you please, sir, the Coroner's officer.

      THE END

      Lady Frederick

Table of Contents

       THE FIRST ACT

       THE SECOND ACT

       THIRD ACT

      CHARACTERS

      Lady Frederick Berolles

      Sir Gerald O'Mara

      Mr. Paradine Fouldes

      Marchioness of Mereston

      Marquess of Mereston

      Admiral Carlisle

      Rose

      Lady Frederick's