"Burden of Human Passions" by Somerset Maugham. Somerset Maugham burden of human passion romance

The beginning of the XX century. Nine-year-old Philip Carey is left an orphan and is sent to be raised by his uncle, a priest in Blackstable. The priest does not have tender feelings for his nephew, but in his house Philip finds many books that help him forget about loneliness.

At the school where the boy was sent, classmates mock him (Philip is lame from birth), which makes him painfully timid and shy - it seems to him that suffering is the lot of his whole life. Philip prays to God to make him healthy, and that the miracle does not happen, he blames himself only - he thinks that he lacks faith.

He hates school and doesn't want to go to Oxford. Contrary to his uncle's wishes, he seeks to study in Germany, and he manages to insist on his own.

In Berlin, Philip falls under the influence of one of his fellow practitioners, the Englishman Hayward, who seems to him extraordinary and talented, not noticing that the deliberate uncommonness of that is just a pose, behind which there is nothing. But the disputes of Hayward and his interlocutors about literature and religion leave a huge mark on Philip's soul: he suddenly realizes that he no longer believes in God, is not afraid of hell, and that a person is responsible for his actions only to himself.

After completing a course in Berlin, Philip returns to Blackstable and meets Miss Wilkinson, the daughter of Mr Carey's former assistant. She is about thirty, she is cunning and flirtatious, at first she does not like Philip, but nevertheless soon becomes his mistress. Philip is very proud, in a letter to Hayward he composes a beautiful romantic story... But when the real Miss Wilkinson leaves, she feels immensely relieved and sad that reality is so different from dreams.

Uncle, resigned to Philip's reluctance to go to Oxford, sends him to London to study the profession of a sworn accountant. In London, Philip feels bad: there are no friends, and work brings unbearable melancholy. And when a letter comes from Hayward with a proposal to leave for Paris and take up painting, Philip thinks that this desire has long been ripening in his soul. After studying for only a year, he, despite the objections of his uncle, leaves for Paris.

In Paris, Philip entered the art studio "Amitrino"; Fanny Price helps him to get used to a new place - she is very ugly and untidy, they hate her for being rude and enormous conceit with a complete lack of drawing ability, but Philip is still grateful to her.

The life of the Parisian bohemia changes Philip's worldview: he no longer considers ethical tasks to be basic for art, although he still sees the meaning of life in Christian virtue. The poet Cronshaw, who does not agree with this position, invites Philip to look at the pattern of the Persian carpet in order to comprehend the true goal of human existence.

When Fanny, having learned that Philip and his friends were leaving Paris in the summer, made an ugly scene, Philip realized that she was in love with him. And on his return, he did not see Fanny in the studio and, absorbed in his studies, forgot about her. A few months later, a letter comes from Fanny asking to come to her: she has not eaten for three days. Arriving, Philip discovers that Fanny has committed suicide. This shocked Philip. He is tormented by a feeling of guilt, but most of all - by the senselessness of Fanny's asceticism. He begins to doubt his ability to paint and addresses these doubts to one of the teachers. Indeed, he advises him to start life anew, because only a mediocre artist can turn out of him.

The news of his aunt's death forces Philip to go to Blackstable, and he will never return to Paris. After parting with painting, he wants to study medicine and enters the institute at the hospital of St. Bows in London. In his philosophical reflections, Philip comes to the conclusion that conscience is the main enemy of the individual in the struggle for freedom, and creates a new life rule for himself: you must follow your natural inclinations, but with due regard to the policeman around the corner.

Once in a cafe he spoke to a waitress named Mildred; she refused to keep up the conversation, hurting his pride. Soon Philip realizes that he is in love, although he perfectly sees all her flaws: she is ugly, vulgar, her manners are full of disgusting pretense, her rude speech speaks of the paucity of thought. Nevertheless, Philip wants to get her at any cost, up to and including marriage, although he realizes that this will be his death. But Mildred declares that he is marrying another, and Philip, realizing that main reason his torment - wounded vanity, despises himself no less than Mildred. But you need to live on: take exams, meet friends ...

Acquaintance with a young pretty woman named Nora Nesbit - she is very sweet, witty, knows how to easily relate to life's troubles - returns him faith in himself and heals mental wounds. Philip finds another friend after contracting the flu: he is carefully looked after by his neighbor, the doctor Griffiths.

But Mildred returns - upon learning that she is pregnant, her betrothed confessed that he was married. Philip leaves Nora and begins to help Mildred - so strong is his love. Mildred gives the newborn girl to education, not feeling any feelings for her daughter, but falls in love with Griffiths and enters into a relationship with him. The offended Philip nevertheless secretly hopes that Mildred will return to him again. Now he often thinks about Hope: she loved him, and he acted disgustingly with her. He wants to return to her, but finds out that she is engaged. He soon hears a rumor that Griffiths broke up with Mildred: she quickly got tired of him.

Philip continues to study and work as a dispensary assistant. Communicating with many of the most different people seeing their laughter and tears, grief and joy, happiness and despair, he understands that life is more complicated than abstract concepts of good and evil. Cronshaw arrives in London, who is finally going to publish his poems. He is very sick: he has suffered pneumonia, but, not wanting to listen to the doctors, he continues to drink, because only after drinking does he become himself. Seeing the plight of his old friend, Philip transports him to his place; he soon dies. And again Philip is oppressed by the idea of the meaninglessness of his life, and the rule of life, invented under similar circumstances, now seems to him stupid.

Philip becomes close to one of his patients, Thorp Attelny, and is very attached to him and his family: a hospitable wife, healthy, cheerful children. Philip likes to be in their house, to bask in their cozy hearth. Atelni introduces him to the paintings of El Greco. Philip is shocked: it was revealed to him that self-denial is no less passionate and resolute than submission to passions.

Having met Mildred again, who now makes a living by prostitution, Philip, out of pity, no longer experiencing her former feelings for her, invites her to settle with him as a servant. But she does not know how to run a household and does not want to look for work. In search of money, Philip begins to gamble on the stock exchange, and his first experience is so successful that he can afford to operate on his sore leg and go with Mildred to the sea.

In Brighton they live in separate rooms... Mildred is angry: she wants to convince everyone that Philip is her husband, and upon returning to London, she tries to seduce him. But she does not succeed - now Philip is physically disgusted with her, and she leaves in a rage, having organized a massacre in his house and taking the child, to whom Philip managed to become attached.

All of Philip's savings went to move out of the apartment, which causes him hard memories and, moreover, is too large for him alone. In order to somehow improve the situation, he again tries to play on the stock exchange and goes bankrupt. His uncle refuses to help him, and Philip is forced to leave his studies, move out of the apartment, spend the night on the street and starve. Learning about the plight of Philip, Atelni gives him a job in a store.

The news of Hayward's death makes Philip think again about the meaning of human life. He recalls the words of the already deceased Cronshaw about the Persian carpet. Now he interprets them as follows: although a person weaves the pattern of his life aimlessly, but weaving various threads and creating a pattern at his own discretion, he must be satisfied with this. The uniqueness of the picture is its meaning. Then the last meeting with Mildred takes place. She writes that she is sick, that her child has died; besides, having come to her, Philip finds out that she has returned to her former occupations. After a painful scene, he leaves forever - this darkness of his life finally dissipates.

Having received an inheritance after the death of his uncle, Philip returns to the institute and, after graduating from his studies, works as an assistant to Dr. South, and so successfully that he invites Philip to become his companion. But Philip wants to travel, "in order to find the promised land and know himself."

Meanwhile, Attelni's eldest daughter, Sally, is very fond of Philip, and one day, while collecting hops, he succumbs to his feelings ... Sally announces that she is pregnant, and Philip decides to sacrifice himself and marry her. Then it turns out that Sally was wrong, but for some reason Philip does not feel relief. Suddenly he realizes that marriage is not self-sacrifice, that the rejection of invented ideals for the sake of family happiness, if it is a defeat, is better than all victories ... Philip asks Sally to become his wife. She agrees, and Philip Carey finally finds the promised land to which his soul has been striving for so long.

The day was 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 parted the curtains. Out of habit, she glanced around the front of the house opposite - plastered, with a portico - and went over to the crib.

“Get up, Philip,” she said.

Throwing back the blanket, she took it in her arms and carried it down. He's not quite awake yet.

- Your mother is calling.

Opening the door to the room on the ground floor, the nanny brought the child to the bed on which the woman was lying. It was his mother. She held out her arms to the boy, and he curled up next to her, not asking why he was awakened. The woman kissed his closed eyes and with her slender hands felt the warm body through the white flannel nightgown. She hugged the child to her.

- Do you want to sleep, baby? She asked.

Her voice was so weak that it seemed to come from somewhere far away. The boy did not answer and only stretched sweetly. He felt good in a warm, spacious bed, in a gentle embrace. He tried to become even smaller, curled up into a ball and kissed her through sleep. His eyes closed and he fell fast asleep. The doctor silently walked over to the bed.

“Let him be with me just a little,” she moaned.

The doctor did not answer and only looked at her sternly. Knowing that she would not be allowed to leave the child, the woman kissed him again, ran her hand over his body; taking her right leg, she went through all five fingers, and then reluctantly touched her left leg. She began to cry.

- What's wrong with you? The doctor asked. - Are you tired.

She shook her head and tears rolled down her cheeks. The doctor leaned over to her.

- Give it to me.

She was too weak to protest. The doctor handed the child into the arms of a nanny.

- Put him back in bed.

- Now.

The sleeping boy was carried away. 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 went to a table at the other end of the room, where the corpse of a newborn baby, covered with a napkin, lay. Lifting the napkin, the doctor looked at the lifeless body. And, although the bed was fenced off by a screen, the woman guessed what he was doing.

- Boy or girl? She asked the nurse in a whisper.

- Also a boy.

The woman said nothing. The nanny returned to the room. She went to the patient.

“Philip never woke up,” she said.

There was a silence. The doctor felt the patient's pulse again.

“I’ll see you out,” the nurse suggested.

They walked silently 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.

- And what to do with the boy? Wouldn't it be better to send it somewhere for now?

“Miss Watkin agreed to take him with her.

- Who is she?

- His godmother. Do you think Mrs. Carey will get well?

The doctor shook his head.

2

A week later Philip was sitting on the floor of Miss Watkin's living room in Onslow Gardens. He grew up as an only child in the family and was used to playing alone. The room was crammed with bulky furniture, and each ottoman had three large poufs. The chairs also had pillows. Philip dragged them to the floor and, shifting the light gilded ceremonial chairs, built an intricate cave where he could hide from the redskins lurking behind the curtains. With his ear to the floor, he listened to the distant stomp of a herd of buffalo rushing across the prairie. The door opened and he held his breath to avoid being found, but angry hands pushed the chair back and the pillows fell to the floor.

- Oh, you naughty! Miss Watkin will be angry.

- Ku-ku, Emma! - he said.

The nanny bent down and kissed him, and then began to shake and remove the pillows.

- Are we going home? - he asked.

- Yes, I came for you.

- You have a new dress.

It 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 did not know what to do. The question she had been waiting for was not asked, and she had nothing to give a prepared answer to.

- Why don't you ask how your mom is doing? - she finally broke down.

- I forgot. How is mom doing?

Now she could answer:

- Your mom is good. She is very happy.

- Mom left. You won't see her again.

Philip understood nothing.

- Why?

- Your mom is in heaven.

She began to cry, and Philip, although he didn’t know what it was, wept too. Emma, a tall, bony woman with fair hair and rough features, was originally from Devonshire and, despite many years of service in London, never weaned her harsh speech. From the tears she was completely moved and hugged the boy tightly to her chest. She understood what misfortune befell the child, deprived of that one love, in which there was not even a shadow of self-interest. It seemed to her terrible that he would end up with strangers. But after a while she pulled herself together.

“Uncle William is waiting for you,” she said. “Go and say goodbye to Miss Watkin and we'll go home.

“I don’t want to say goodbye to her,” he replied, for some reason ashamed of his tears.

“All right, then run upstairs and put on your hat.

He brought a hat. Emma was waiting for him in the hallway. Voices came from the study behind the living room. Philip hesitated. He knew that Miss Watkin and her sister were talking to friends, and he thought - the boy was only nine years old - that if he came to see them, they would pity him.

“I’ll still go and say goodbye to Miss Watkin.

“Well done, go,” Emma praised him.

“First tell them that I’m coming.”

He wanted to better arrange the farewell. Emma knocked on the door and entered. He heard her say:

- Philip wants to say goodbye to you.

The conversation fell silent at once, and Philip limped into the study. Henrietta Watkin was a red-faced, obese lady with dyed hair. In those days, dyed hair was a rarity and attracted everyone's attention; Philip heard a lot of gossip about this at home, when the godmother suddenly changed her color. She lived alone with her older sister, who resigned herself to her advanced years. They had two ladies who were unfamiliar to Philip; they looked at the boy with curiosity.

“Poor child of mine,” said Miss Watkin, and opened her arms wide to Philip.

She began to cry. Philip understood why she didn’t come out to dinner and put on a black dress. It was difficult for her to speak.

“I have to go home,” the boy finally broke the silence.

He freed himself from Miss Watkin's embrace and she kissed him goodbye. Then Philip went to her sister and said goodbye to her. One of the unknown ladies asked if she could kiss him too, and he gravely allowed. Although his tears were flowing, he really liked that he was the cause of such a commotion; he would have liked to have stayed a little longer to be petted 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 stayed on the landing to wait for her. 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 that you would be completely upset.

One of the unknown ladies intervened in the conversation:

- Poor baby! Left a complete orphan - what a horror! He seems to be lame as well?

- Yes, from birth. Poor mother always grieved so!

Emma came. They got into a cab and Emma told the driver where to go.

3

When they arrived at the house where Mrs. Carey had died — it was on a dull, orderly street between Notting Hill Gate and High Street in Kensington — Emma led Philip straight into the living 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,” Emma said.

Mr. Carey got up unhurriedly and shook hands with the boy. Then he thought, bent down and kissed the child on the forehead. He was a man of short stature, inclined to be overweight. He wore his hair long and combed it to one side to hide his bald spot, and shaved his face. The features were correct, and in his youth Mr. Carey was probably considered handsome. On the watch chain, he wore a gold cross.

“Well, Philip, you’ll live with me now,” said Mr. Carey. - Are you glad?

Two years ago, when Philip suffered smallpox, he was sent to the village to stay with his uncle the priest, but in his memory only the attic and the large garden were preserved; he did not remember his uncle and aunt.

“Now Aunt Louise and I will replace your father and mother.

The boy's lips trembled, he blushed, but said nothing.

“Your dear mother left you in my care.

It was not easy for Mr. Carey to talk to the children. When the news came that his brother's wife was dying, he immediately set off for London, but on the way he only thought about what burden he would take upon himself if he was forced to take care of his nephew. He was well over fifty, he lived with his wife for thirty years, but they had no children; the thought of the appearance in the house of a boy who could turn out to be a tomboy did not please him at all. And his brother's wife never really liked him.

“I'll take you to Blackstable tomorrow,” he said.

- And Emma too?

The child put his hand in the nanny's hand and Emma squeezed it.

“I'm afraid Emma will have to part with us,” Mr. Carey said.

“I want Emma to come with me.

Philip began to cry, and the nanny could not help crying either. Mr. Carey looked at both of them helplessly.

“I’ll ask you to leave Philip and me alone for a minute.

- Please, sir.

Philip clung to her, but she gently pulled his hands away. Mr. Carey put the boy on his lap and hugged him.

“Don't cry,” he said. - You are already big - it's a shame to have a nanny after you. Soon I'll have to send you to school anyway.

- And I want Emma to come with me! - repeated the child.

- It costs a lot of money. And your father left very little. I don’t know where it all went. You have to count every penny.

The day before, Mr. Carey went to the attorney who was in charge of all the affairs of their family. Philip's father was a well-practiced surgeon, and his work in the clinic seemed 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 but an insurance premium and a house on Bruten Street. He died six months ago, and Mrs. Carey, in poor health and pregnant, completely lost her head, rented out the house for the first price offered to her. She sent her furniture to the warehouse, and in order not to endure the inconvenience during pregnancy, she rented a whole furnished house for a year, paying, according to the priest, huge sums of money for it. True, she never knew how to save and was unable to cut costs in accordance with her new position. She squandered what little her husband left her, and now, when all the costs have been 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 weep bitterly.

“You better go to Emma,” said Mr. Carey, knowing that it would be easier for the nanny to comfort the child.

Philip silently climbed off his uncle's lap, but Mr. Carey held him back.

- We have to go tomorrow, on Saturday I have to get ready for Sunday's sermon. Tell Emma to pack your things today. You can take all your toys. And, if you want, choose by some thing as a keepsake of your father and mother. The rest 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 was a stack of bills, which made him very angry. One of them seemed especially outrageous to him. Immediately after the death of Mrs. Carey, Emma ordered a forest of white flowers from a flower shop to decorate the room of the deceased. What a waste of money! Emma had allowed herself too much. Even if it wasn't necessary, he would have fired her anyway.

And Philip went up to her, buried his head in her chest and sobbed as if his heart were 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 gentle 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 was charging a toll on the road to Exeter, they had their 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 her clothes and lay them out on the bed. Emma sent him to the nursery to collect toys; soon he was playing merrily.

But then he got tired of playing alone, and he ran to the bedroom, where Emma was packing his things in a large chest, covered with tin. Philip remembered that his uncle had allowed him to take something as a keepsake of Mom and Dad. He told Emma about this and asked what it would be better for him to take.

- Go to the living room and see what you like best.

“Uncle William is there.

- So what? The things are yours.

Philip hesitantly descended the stairs and saw that the door to the living room was open. Mister Carey went out somewhere. Philip walked slowly around the room. They lived in this house for so long that there were few things in it to which he had time to become attached. The room seemed strange to him, and Philip did not like anything in it. He remembered what things were left of his mother and what belonged to the owner of the house. Finally he chose a small watch - his mother said she liked it. Taking his watch, Philip went upstairs again dejectedly. He went to the door of his mother's bedroom and listened. Nobody forbade him to enter there, but for some reason he felt that it was not good. The boy felt creepy, and his heart began to beat in fear; however, he turned the knob anyway. He did it on the sly, as if afraid that someone would hear him, and slowly opened the door. Before entering, he braced himself and stood a little on the threshold. The fear was gone, but he still felt uneasy. Philip closed the door quietly behind him. The curtains were drawn, and the room looked very gloomy in the cold January afternoon light. On the toilet were Mrs. Carey's brush and hand mirror, and on the tray were the hairpins. On the mantel 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 an unusual look. The bed was made as if someone was about to go to bed, and a nightgown lay on the pillow 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 mother's perfume. Then Philip began to open drawers with her things; the linen was packed with bags of dry lavender, the smell was fresh and very pleasant. The room ceased to be uninhabited, and it seemed to him that his mother had just gone for a walk. She will soon come and go up to his nursery to have tea with him. He even fancied that she had just kissed him.

W. Somerset Maugham

Of human bondage

Reprinted with permission from The Royal Literary Fund and 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

© Edition in Russian by AST Publishers, 2016

Chapter 1

“Get up, Fi? Lime,” she said.

Throwing back the blanket, she took it in her arms and carried it down. He's not quite awake yet.

- Your mother is calling.

- Do you want to sleep, baby? She asked.

“Let him be with me just a little,” she moaned.

- What's wrong with you? The doctor asked. - Are you tired.

She shook her head and tears rolled down her cheeks. The doctor leaned over to her.

- Give it to me.

She was too weak to protest. The doctor handed the child into the arms of a nanny.

- Put him back in bed.

- Now.

The sleeping boy was carried away. Mother sobbed, no longer holding back.

- Poor thing! What will happen to him now!

- Boy or girl? She asked the nurse in a whisper.

- Also a boy.

The woman said nothing.

The nanny returned to the room. She went to the patient.

“Philip never woke up,” she said.

There was a silence. The doctor felt the patient's pulse again.

“I’m not needed here anymore, perhaps,” he said. - I'll stop by after breakfast.

“I’ll see you out,” the nurse suggested.

They walked silently 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.

- And what to do with the boy? Wouldn't it be better to send it somewhere for now?

“Miss Watkin agreed to take him with her.

- Who is she?

- His godmother. Do you think Mrs. Carey will get well?

The doctor shook his head.

Chapter 2

- Oh, you naughty! Miss Watkin will be angry.

- Ku-ku, Emma! - he said.

The nanny bent down and kissed him, and then began to shake and remove the pillows.

- Are we going home? - he asked.

- Yes, I came for you.

- You have a new dress.

- Why don't you ask how your mom is doing? - she finally broke down.

- I forgot. How is mom doing?

Now she could answer:

- Your mom is good. She is very happy.

- Mom left. You won't see her again.

Philip understood nothing.

- Why?

- Your mom is in heaven.

She began to cry, and Philip, although he didn’t know what it was, wept too. Emma, a tall, boned woman with fair hair and rough features, was originally from Devonshire and, despite many years of service in London, never weaned her harsh speech. From the tears she was completely moved and hugged the boy tightly to her chest. She understood what misfortune befell the child, deprived of that one love, in which there was not even a shadow of self-interest. It seemed to her terrible that he would end up with strangers. But after a while she pulled herself together.

“Uncle William is waiting for you,” she said. “Go and say goodbye to Miss Watkin and we'll go home.

“I don’t want to say goodbye to her,” he replied, for some reason ashamed of his tears.

“All right, then run upstairs and put on your hat.

“I’ll still go and say goodbye to Miss Watkin.

“Well done, go,” Emma praised him.

“First tell them that I’m coming.”

He wanted to better arrange the farewell. Emma knocked on the door and entered. He heard her say:

- Philip wants to say goodbye to you.

“Poor child of mine,” said Miss Watkin, and opened her arms wide to Philip.

She began to cry. Philip understood why she hadn’t come out to dinner and put on a black dress. It was difficult for her to speak.

“I have to go home,” the boy finally broke the silence.

“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 that you would be completely upset.

One of the unknown ladies intervened in the conversation:

- Poor baby! Left a complete orphan - what a horror! He seems to be lame as well?

- Yes, from birth. Poor mother always grieved so!

Emma came. They got into a cab and Emma told the driver where to go.

Chapter 3

When they arrived at the house where Mrs. Carey had died — it was on a dull, orderly street between Notting Hill Gate and High Street in Kensington — Emma led Philip straight into the living room. Uncle wrote letters of thanks for the wreaths sent to the funeral. One of them, brought in too late, lay in a cardboard box on the table in the hallway.

“Here's Philip,” Emma said.

“Well, Philip, you’ll live with me now,” said Mr. Carey. - Are you glad?

“Now Aunt Louise and I will replace your father and mother.

The boy's lips trembled, he blushed, but said nothing.

“Your dear mother left you in my care.

“I'll take you to Blackstable tomorrow,” he said.

- And Emma too?

The child put his hand in the nanny's hand and Emma squeezed it.

“I'm afraid Emma will have to part with us,” Mr. Carey said.

“I want Emma to come with me.

Philip began to cry, and the nanny could not help crying either. Mr. Carey looked at both of them helplessly.

“I’ll ask you to leave Philip and me alone for a minute.

- Please, sir.

Philip clung to her, but she gently pulled his hands away. Mr. Carey put the boy on his lap and hugged him.

“Don't cry,” he said. - You are already big - it's a shame to have a nanny after you. Soon I'll have to send you to school anyway.

- And I want Emma to come with me! - repeated the child.

- It costs a lot of money. And your father left very little. I don’t know where it all went. You have to count every penny.

The day before, Mr. Carey went to the attorney who was in charge of all the affairs of their family. Philip's father was a well-practiced surgeon, and his work in the clinic seemed 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 but an insurance premium and a house on Bruten Street. He died six months ago, and Mrs. Carey, in poor health and pregnant, completely lost her head, rented out the house for the first price offered to her. She sent her furniture to a warehouse, and in order not to endure inconveniences during pregnancy, she rented a whole furnished house for a year, paying, according to the priest, big money for it. True, she never knew how to save and was unable to cut costs in accordance with her new position. She squandered what little her husband left her, and now, when all the costs have been 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 weep bitterly.

“You better go to Emma,” said Mr. Carey, knowing that it would be easier for the nanny to comfort the child.

Philip silently got off his uncle's knees, but Mr. Carey held him back.

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 was a stack of bills, which made him very angry. One of them seemed especially outrageous to him. Immediately after the death of Mrs. Carey, Emma ordered a forest of white flowers from a flower shop to decorate the room of the deceased. What a waste of money! Emma allowed herself too much. Even if it wasn't necessary, he would have fired her anyway.

And Philip went up to her, buried his head in her chest and sobbed as if his heart were 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 gentle 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 was charging a toll on the road to Exeter, they had their 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 her clothes and lay them out on the bed. Emma sent him to the nursery to collect toys; soon he was playing merrily.

- Go to the living room and see what you like best.

“Uncle William is there.

- So what? The things are yours.

Philip hesitantly descended the stairs and saw that the door to the living room was open. Mister Carey went out somewhere. Philip walked slowly around the room. They lived in this house for so long that there were few things in it to which he had time to become attached. The room seemed strange to him, and Philip did not like anything in 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 his watch, Philip went upstairs again dejectedly. He went to the door of his mother's bedroom and listened. Nobody forbade him to enter there, but for some reason he felt that it was not good. The boy felt creepy, and his heart began to beat in fear; however, he turned the knob anyway. He did it on the sly, as if afraid that someone would hear him, and slowly opened the door. Before entering, he braced himself and stood a little on the threshold. The fear had passed, but he still felt uneasy. Philip closed the door quietly behind him. The curtains were drawn, and the room looked very gloomy in the cold January afternoon light. On the toilet were Mrs. Carey's brush and hand mirror, and on the tray were the hairpins. On the mantel 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 an unusual look. The bed was made as if someone was about to go to bed, and a nightgown lay on the pillow in an envelope.

It is not true that he will never see her again. It is not true, because it cannot be. Philip scrambled onto the bed and rested his head on the pillow. He lay motionless and hardly breathing.

Chapter 4

Philip wept as he parted from Emma, but the journey to Blackstable amused him, and by the time they drove up, the boy was already calm and cheerful. Blackstable was sixty miles from London. After handing over the luggage to the porter, Mr. Carey and Philip walked home; it took only five minutes to walk. Approaching the gate, Philip suddenly remembered them. They were red, with five crossbars, and walked freely on hinges in both directions; they are comfortable to ride on, although he was forbidden to do so. After passing the garden, they came to 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, people entered the house through a side door. There was also a back door for the gardener, beggars and vagabonds. House, quite spacious, of yellow brick, with a red roof, was built twenty five years ago in the 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 were coming by, and waited for them in the drawing-room, listening to the sound of the gate. When the latch clinked, she stepped out onto the threshold.

“There is Aunt Louise,” said Mr. Carey. - Run and kiss her.

Philip ran awkwardly, dragging his limp leg. Mrs. Carey was a small, withered woman of the same age with her husband; her face was covered with a dense network of wrinkles, Blue eyes faded. Her gray hair was curled in rings in the fashion of her youth. There was only one decoration on a black dress - gold chain with a cross. She was shy 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 replied, glancing at his nephew.

"Was it easy for you to go, Philip?" Mrs. Carey asked the boy.

- Not. I like walking.

This conversation surprised him a little. Aunt Louise called him into the house and they entered the hallway. The floor was paved with red and yellow tiles, which alternated images of the Greek cross and the lamb of God. A grand staircase of polished pine with a peculiar scent led up from here; the priest's house was lucky: when new pews were made in the church, there was enough wood for this staircase. The carved railings were decorated with the emblems of the four evangelists.

“I told them to heat the stove, I was afraid you would freeze on the way,” said Mrs. Carey.

The big black stove in the hallway was only heated in very bad weather or when the priest had a cold. If Mrs. Carey had a cold, the stove was not heated. Coal was expensive, and the servant, Mary Ann, grumbled when all the stoves had to be fired. If they are impatient to make fires everywhere, let them hire a second servant. In the winter, Mr. and Mrs. Carey sat more in the dining room and made do with one stove; but in the summer the habit took its toll: they also spent all the time in the dining room; Mr. Carey was the only one who used the living room, and even then on Sundays when he went to nap after dinner. On the other hand, every Saturday he had an oven heated in his study so that he could write his Sunday sermon.

Aunt Louise took Philip upstairs to a tiny bedroom; her window looked out onto the road. There was a large tree in front of the window. 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 priest’s house, 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 can wash myself,” he said proudly.

“Okay, when you come to have tea, I'll see if you washed your hands well,” Mrs. Carey said.

She did not understand anything about children. When it was decided that Philip would come to live at Blackstable, Mrs. Carey thought a lot about how best to deal with the child; she wanted to do her duty in good faith. And now, when the boy arrived, she was as shy in front of him as he was in front of her. Mrs. Carey hoped from the bottom of her heart that Philip would not turn out to be a naughty or ill-mannered boy, because her husband could not stand playful and ill-mannered children. Apologizing, Mrs. Carey left Philip alone, but returned a minute later - knocked and asked outside the door if he could pour water into his own basin. Then she went downstairs and called the maid to serve tea.

In the spacious, beautiful dining room, the windows faced two sides and were hung with heavy curtains of red reps. In the middle stood big table, by 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 to the backs; one of them, with pens, was called "spouse", the other, without pens, "spouse." Mrs. Carey never sat in a chair, saying that she prefers chairs, although they are not so comfortable: there are always a lot of things to do, but you will sit in a chair, lean on the arms, and you will not want to get up.

When Philip entered, Mr. Carey was lighting a fire in the fireplace; he showed his nephew two pokers. One was large, polished to a shine, and completely new — they called her “the priest”; another, smaller and many times in the fire, was called "the priest's helper."

A person learns much more from mistakes that he makes of his own free will than from the right actions committed at someone else's direction.

With Maugham, everything went by no means rosy. I didn't like "The Moon and a Penny" at all, "Theater", which I hardly forced myself to take on, caused a better impression, and the notorious list "1001 books you must read before you die", coupled with the TTT game, forced me to take up the third his significant novel is The Burden of Human Passions. The mice cried and gagged, but they continued to gnaw on the cactus ... To be honest, I was happy to anticipate how I would overcome this threshold and then I could make Maugham a pen. And here on you - the novel captured, carried away, even, one might say, dragged into its bowels, did not let go, and, in short, I liked it terribly ...

The action of the novel begins with a tragic event - the mother of little Philip, the main character of this story, dies. A boy, lame from birth, is given to the upbringing of an uncle and aunt who have never had children, and they do not know point-blank how to treat them. In their own way, they became attached to the foster child, but from the very childhood the child was deprived of the main thing - parental love, tenderness, support. Later, he realizes how badly he missed all this. But the realization is so far away ...

Ahead of Philip thorny path- school, rejection of a certain and more or less bright future, renunciation of faith, moving to other countries, attempts to become an accountant, artist, physician ... Finally, cruel, tormenting love that falls on your head like a serious and incurable disease. Short ups and hardest falls, stormy searches and constant disappointments, bright ideals and mossy grayness of reality, endless tangled roads of life, seemingly equally hopeless. How to break free, how to find yourself, how to be happy?

I am glad to announce that the hero has found answers to these questions for himself, and after long wanderings across the sea of life, his soul seems to have found refuge and calmed down.

It’s hard to explain why I liked the novel. After such powerful, all-encompassing things, finding words is incredibly difficult. Probably, the fact is that this is life in all its colors, a wonderfully described search, a journey not around the world, but according to the human soul, in which everyone will find something close to themselves. Who has never been at a crossroads, did not feel helpless before a huge and faceless world, did not give up, did not ask questions, what is the meaning of human existence and how to find your place in it? Finally, this is a difficult struggle with passions that often paralyze the mind and knock a person off the right path, the transition from one life step to another through the pain of loss and disappointment ... Which, in general, returns to the fact that human life is hidden under the cover of this book, not easy, but with a spark of hope in a dull gray.

I don't know if I will continue my acquaintance with Maugham, but I will remember this novel for a long time as an excellent thing, which, fortunately, I was advised to take.