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  • “The Image of the Virgin”
  • William Somerset Maugham

IT WAS EASTER DAY; the bells were ringing peal upon peal to announce the heavenly tidings of Resurrection. And with the sad time of the Passion had passed the winter. The new life of the Redeemer had burst the grey winding-cloths of Nature and the breezes of the spring filled the air with fresh odours and men’s hearts with happiness. They walked with springing step, eager for the joy of living; some of them sobbed in the ecstasy which they could not understand.

An old man stood on the cathedral steps between the two great doors; and he looked upon the crowd below. The square was filled with the people who had gathered together to hear the Easter Mass. Fine ladies with sweeping trains went with downcast eyes, accompanied by their servants, and the gallants pointed out to one another the beauties as they passed, to the ladies of their acquaintances making low bows. Rich merchants walked in twos and threes, talking gravely, conscious of the bulging purses in their girdles. The wives and daughters of the trades-folk were arrayed in all their best, with white-starched head-dresses, carrying books of devotion in their hands; and the ’prentice boys filled the square with clamour, laughing, shouting, singing. The old man saw the sparkle of jewels on the gorgeous raiment and the glittering dyes; green, which was the colour of the hope which he had lost, and yellow, which was the colour of the envy that he felt for all that was strong and beautiful; red, the colour of blood, the colour of youth and power, of the brave endeavor, the colour of the feast of the Body of Christ; and purple was the colour of women beautiful; and grey was the colour of his life, of human sorrow, of tears, of death. Above all was the blue sky, milky and soft; and blue and white are the colours of the Virgin. A white bird flew through the summer air, and many bared their heads and crossed themselves, thinking it was the Holy Ghost. The old man heard the glad noises, the shouts of the ’prentices, the Easter greeting which one gave to another, the ringing of a hundred bells. And he was quite alone. [End Page 23] He had outlived love and friendship, he had outlived the joy of life, he had outlived even the desire for knowledge. The very earth had shaken off its age and was young again, there was delight in every heart, and his was as heavy as lead. The warm sunshine had brought him from his house for the first time since many months; and at first he thought that the springtime had to him also given new strength, but now he was a-weary, weary to death; and he leaned heavily against the carved pilasters of the porch.

He thought that life was a wonderful thing. He looked at the young men that passed him with proud carriage, gay and careless in their insolent felicity; and he looked at himself, at his hands, which were thin and wrinkled, with no fair roundness or strength of muscle, with the veins showing blue through the wax-like skin; he thought of his dull and sunken eyes, his bended back, his tottering gait, and the coldness which was over everything like a forewarning of the Hand of Death.

He groaned in pity for himself. “I cannot look upon their life; I hate it.”


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He wandered back into the church, away from the light. Leaning on his stick he walked through the aisle and restfully the incense came [End Page 24] towards him. A woman was kneeling on the stones, and sobs shook her as she prayed.

“What has she to trouble for?” he said. “She is young, and youth has no sorrows.…”

He turned aside, down the transept, and he came to the Chapel of the Mother of Sorrows. On that glad day of rejoicing it seemed to have been overlooked, for no candles burned, and only dimly could one see the image. Wearily the old man sank...

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