The Making of a Saint

by W. Somerset Maugham

And now all was over! Oh God, to think that my hopes should be shattered in so short a time, that the ship should be so soon tossed about in the storm, and the stars hidden by the clouds! And the past delight made the present darkness all the more bitter. I groaned. In my misery I uttered a prayer to God to help me. I could not think I should live henceforth. How could I go on existing with this aching void in my heart? I could not spend days and weeks and years always with this despair. It was too terrible to last. My reason told me that time would remedy it; but time was so long, and what misery must I go through before the wound was healed! And as I thought of what I had lost, my agony grew more unbearable. It grew vivid, and I felt Giulia in my arms. I panted as I pressed my lips against hers, and I said to her,—

'How could you!'

I buried my face in my hands, so as better to enjoy my dream. I smelt the perfume of her breath; I felt on my face the light touch of her hair. But it would not last. I tried to seize the image and hold it back, but it vanished and left me broken-hearted....

I knew I did not hate her. I had pretended to, but the words came from the mouth. In my heart I loved her still, more passionately than ever. What did I care if she was heartless and cruel and faithless and vicious! It was nothing to me as long as I could hold her in my arms and cover her with kisses. I did despise her; I knew her for what she was, but still I loved her insanely. Oh, if she would only come back to me! I would willingly forget everything and forgive her. Nay, I would ask her forgiveness and grovel before her, if she would only let me enjoy her love again.

I would go back to her and fall on my knees, and pray her to be merciful. Why should I suppose she had changed in the few days. I knew she would treat me with the same indifference, and only feel a wondering contempt that I should so abase myself. It came like a blow in the face, the thought of her cold cruelty and her calmness. No, I vowed I would never subject myself to that again. I felt myself blush at the remembrance of the humiliation. But perhaps she was sorry for what she had done. I knew her pride would prevent her from coming or sending to me, and should I give her no opportunity? Perhaps, if we saw one another for a few moments everything might be arranged, and I might be happy again. An immense feeling of hope filled me. I thought I must be right in my idea; she could not be so heartless as to have no regret. How willingly I would take her back! My heart leaped. But I dared not go to her house. I knew I should find her on the morrow at her father's, who was going to give a banquet to some friends. I would speak to her there, casually, as if we were ordinary acquaintances; and then at the first sign of yielding on her part, even if I saw but a tinge of regret in her eyes, I would burst out. I was happy in my plan, and I went to sleep with the name of Giulia on my lips and her image in my heart.

XIV

I WENT to the Moratini Palace, and with beating heart looked round for Giulia. She was surrounded by her usual court, and seemed more lively and excited than ever. I had never seen her more beautiful. She was dressed all in white, and her sleeves were sewn with pearls; she looked like a bride. She caught sight of me at once, but pretended not to see me, and went on talking.

I approached her brother Alessandro and said to him casually,—

'I am told a cousin of your sister has come to Forli. Is he here to-day?'

He looked at me inquiringly, not immediately understanding.