I was perfectly overwhelmed by this stream of verbosity hurled at me in one breath, and before I could answer the consul had turned to the sergeant, who stood helplessly by.
“You are an idiot. You, with your mania for finding spies all over the place. Monsieur is not a spy any more than you are. He is a man of letters, and my wife has read a book that he has written. You are an imbecile, Sergeant. Come, monsieur, or the eggs will be cold.”
He seized my arm and dragged me away, leaving the sergeant and his myrmidons astounded and perplexed. The consul led me to a charming dining-room where stood a tall, rather stout lady of forty-five. Her hair, of a pleasant brown, was very simply arranged; her features were placid and handsome; her soft grey eyes suggested infinite good nature. She was by no means beautiful, but gave one the impression that advancing years had only added to her attractiveness, and there was about her a staid gracefulness which was very comforting and restful.
“Allow me to present you to my wife, Madame de Pomichet,” said the consul with a flourish.
In one breath, voluble as ever, he related the whole story of my misadventure, told her who I was, and added that he had asked me to stay at the consulate for the rest of my visit to the island. This was the first I had heard of such an invitation, but when it was seconded by the amiable, stately lady, I made no difficulty in gratefully accepting. It was as delightful as it was unexpected to eat in that distant spot an admirable French luncheon; and everything was so fresh, so clean, so dainty, that I felt amply rewarded for my trivial sufferings. My hostess was not talkative, nor was this strange, since her husband monopolised the conversation; but now and then she put in a little kindly word, whereupon he stopped suddenly and looked at her as though some precious feast of wit had fallen from her lips. And while he rolled out anecdote after anecdote, fact upon fact (all of which I discovered later was highly unreliable), with regard to the island he governed, her eyes rested upon him with a tender smile of almost maternal affection.
Coffee and liqueurs were brought in, and we lit our cigars.
“I’m sure it’s very good of you to be so hospitable,” I said. “I was looking forward to abominable discomfort on this island.”
“Good!” cried the consul. “You don’t know how pleased I am to have a civilised man to entertain my wife. I always fear that she will be bored to death, for there is no one here to amuse her but myself.”
“And I’m sure you do it very well,” I answered.
Madame de Pornichet gave me a radiant smile of gratitude.
“Ah, you are right,” she said. “No one could be bored in Lucien’s company.”
“Come, come, my dear,” said the consul, deprecatingly but delighted.
She stretched out her hand, and most gallantly he kissed it.
“Mon petit chou,” she said, and tears of happy love actually glistened in her eyes. She turned to me. “You see, love sometimes comes before marriage, and sometimes after. But when it comes after it lasts till death.”
“Sophie, ma chère enfant” said the consul, and it was rather amusing that he should so address her, for she was a great deal bigger and more imposing than he. “I must tell Monsieur how I had the good fortune to make your acquaintance.”
“It is insupportable,” she answered, to me, smiling. “He tells this story to everyone he meets.”
It was evident, however, that Madame de Pornichet was not unwilling I also should hear it, and the consul settled himself more comfortably in his chair.
“Well, you must know that the best years of my life were spent with our Colonial Army in Algeria, in Senegal, in Tonquin; and I was successively lieutenant, captain, and major. But, my dear friend, I succumbed at last to a pestiferous climate, and at the age of forty-five my health forced me to leave the service. That was twelve years ago, and I am still an active man, not unfit for work nor unused to it. I applied for a colonial appointment, I had some influence, and in due course the minister sent for me to offer the governorship of this island. The post was one that exactly suited me, the salary was adequate, and it was not so far from civilisation that I should feel myself cut off from all my friends. I accepted there and then, and told the minister I was ready to start whenever he chose.
“‘Very well,’ he said. ‘You will take up your duties in six weeks from now. That will allow your wife time to make all needful preparations.’
“‘But I have no wife,’ I said. ‘I am a bachelor.’
“‘What?’ cried the minister. ‘But that is very unfortunate, for I make a point of never sending an unmarried man to such a place. For a hundred reasons it is essential that you should be married.’
“‘I regret enormously,’ I answered.
“‘I am afraid I cannot break an important and salutary rule. You must marry at once.’
“‘I?’
“You can imagine my consternation, for nothing of the sort had ever entered my head, and I ventured mildly to expostulate. But the minister would not listen to a word.
Voyons,’ he said, ‘you have six weeks. In that time you can easily find a wife.’
“He dismissed me and I walked away sorely troubled. On the one hand I was delighted with my good fortune in getting precisely the post of all others which I should have chosen: on the other I was dismayed at the thought of marriage. An old bachelor of my age would have great difficulty in changing his habits to those of a matrimonial life. Fortunately, I met an old friend of mine, a professor at the Sorbonne, a native of Geneva, and I told him at once of my great perplexity.
“‘But don’t hesitate, my friend,’ he said. ‘Of course you must marry. Du reste, at your age it is fit that a man should settle down and live a respectable life.’
“‘But, mon Dieu, where am I to find a wife in six weeks? You cannot expect me to advertise in the Figaro’
“‘Why not? It is as good a way as another.’
“The result of this conversation was that within twenty-four hours an advertisement appeared in that widely circulated paper, stating my age and position, income, and giving as flattering an account as I honestly could, of my personal attractions. Then began my troubles. I went to the office of the Figaro next day to call for any replies that might have come, and the clerk brought me a sack — a large sack, sir.
“‘Here are the answers to your advertisement, monsieur,’ he said, with a malicious grin.
“I staggered, and gave a cry of horror. However, in a moment I regained my self-possession, seized the sack, and, laden like a coal-heaver, hailed a cab. I drove to my hotel, and once in my room emptied it out on the floor. Monsieur, seven hundred and forty-eight ladies desired to marry me. I spent two days reading the letters, in which they described their charms, and examining the photographs, which, according to my request, they had sent me. They were of all years, from sixteen to those who described themselves as of a certain age; they were fat, they were thin, they were dark or blond, they were of every station, from sempstresses to the widows of noblemen. They were single, or divorced, or widows; and some were betwixt and between. But all offered a loving heart and a sincere devotion. At the end my brain reeled. My Swiss friend came to see me, and when he saw the piles of letters, the piles of photographs, he laughed as though he would never stop.
“‘But it is a serious matter,’ I said. ‘Time is flying and I have but five weeks and four days to marry a wife. You cannot expect me to interview seven hundred and forty-eight blushing ladies. I cannot raise hopes, only to crush them, in seven hundred and forty-seven palpitating hearts.’
“‘What will you do, then?’
‘“I will send back all their photographs, and write to the minister that what he asks is impossible. I must lose my island.’ “‘Now listen,’ answered the professor. ‘You know I was born in Geneva, and I have relations living there. It has suddenly occurred to me that my cousin Sophie Vienqué would exactly suit you. She is no longer quite young; nor are you, my friend; she is thirty, of pleasing appearance, and unmarried.�
�
“‘But what makes you think she would marry me?’
“He shrugged his shoulders.
“‘I do not see why she shouldn’t. She has had time to grow bored with a single life, and I dare say will be pleased with the thought of an establishment of her own. You have much to offer. I can say without flattery that you are an agreeable man, robust still, and not lacking in intelligence. Anyhow, you can try.’
“‘But, mon cher, how can I see her? On what pretext? I cannot call upon your cousin and take stock of her as though I were buying a horse.’
“The professor meditated for two minutes.
“‘I have it. You will go to Geneva and offer her a box of chocolates from me. That will be an introduction. You can talk to her, and if she does not please you, all you have to do is to go your way. She will think you have merely come to make a trifling present on my behalf, and no harm will be done. On the other hand, if you like her it is easy for you to prosecute the acquaintance.’
“I was delighted with the idea. We went out at once, bought the chocolates, and I took the next train to Geneva. I assure you a lover of eighteen could not have been more excited than I was. I arrived early in the morning, and, having attended to my appearance at the hotel, went about ten o’clock, the box of chocolates in my hand, to the address my friend had given. I was so fortunate as to learn that Mademoiselle Vienqué was at home, and, being shown into the drawing-room, found myself in the presence of a very fine young woman. Tenez — I need not describe her, for there she sits before you; and, though twelve years have passed since then, she has altered only to become more ravishing each day.”
“Voyons, Lucien,” expostulated Madame de Pornichet. “Monsieur will think you perfectly ridiculous.”
“Well, I executed my commission, received her thanks, and told her the professor was in the best of health. We began to chat, and the conversation went so easily that I was astounded when the clock struck eleven. I said to myself at once that if’ this charming lady was able to talk for an hour to a perfect stranger so that it seemed to him no more than five minutes, on closer acquaintance she could not fail to be entertaining during a lifetime. Everything about her pleased me. She was evidently fitted for the duties of a consul’s wife: her attractive person, her amiable conversation—”
“How often have I told you, Lucien,” interrupted his wife, “that you talked so incessantly on that occasion that I was not able to make one observation?”
He smiled and patted her hand.
“I rose to my feet,” he continued, “and addressed her as follows: ‘Mademoiselle, it will have occurred to you that I did not take the long journey from Paris to Geneva merely to present you with a box of chocolates.’
“‘Evidently,’ said she.
“‘I came, in point of fact, to make you an offer of marriage.’ “Before she recovered from her astonishment I explained the circumstances, told her my position, and so far as possible sketched my character and my idiosyncrasies. Finally, I proposed that we should be married in a week from that day.
“‘But, monsieur, I don’t know you,’ she said.
“‘You will have abundant opportunities of making my acquaintance when we are settled on our island. There will be nothing else to do.’
“I saw that she did not dislike the idea, and I ventured a little to insist.
“‘Well, I will consult my father,’ she said at last.
“‘But, mademoiselle, though Monsieur your father is without doubt an excellent man, it is not he whom I wish to marry, but you. Do I displease you?’
“‘No,’ she admitted, ‘not precisely.’
“‘Then why should you refuse me?’
“‘Give me till to-morrow to think it over.’
“T regret infinitely, dear lady, but as I tell you, my time is excessively limited. I beseech you to give me an answer now.’ “‘This minute?’
“‘This very minute.’
“She smiled and reached out her hand. ‘Very well, monsieur, since you insist — I accept.’”
The consul drank a glass of wine.
“Monsieur, fourteen days after my visit to the minister, I was a married man, and I discovered that I had never known happiness before. My wife is a treasure, a jewel, and I think she loves me.”
“Mon petit chou” said Madame de Pornichet tenderly. “And if you are a bachelor, monsieur, go to Geneva. I assure you it is a beehive, a veritable beehive of young ladies.”
The consul thus ended his story; and, I who had come to this curious island searching for romance, felt that I had found it, and, of all places, in a marriage of convenience.
GOOD MANNERS
I
Most people thoroughly enjoyed the little dinners which Augustus Breton gave to his friends, for the company was always well chosen, the meats carefully ordered, and the wines unparalleled in the county. He was an epicure without grossness, who cultivated a delightful urbanity far from towns, living a hermit life by aid of the resources of civilisation and the consolations of philosophy. He was a recluse, dwelling among his books on the land he had inherited from his fathers, a student of men who prosecuted his inquiries by preference among the Kentish yokels and the squireens of that fertile county. A man with a certain ironic taste for self-analysis, he liked to observe himself against the background of the unsophisticated; and he practised, as a contrast to rustic manners, a courtesy which reminded you of the elaborate breeding of the eighteenth century. Augustus Breton’s peculiar standpoint might be imagined by the stately air of his Georgian house, filled with the graceful furniture of Chippendale and of Sheraton, with mezzotints, and with exquisite silver; and his appearance fitted the frame with a perfection that suggested the studied pose. He was a man of scarcely middle size, slender notwithstanding his fifty years, with small hands and small feet, of which perhaps he was immoderately proud; he wore his grey beard cut in the fashion of gentlemen in the reign of Elizabeth, and his well-shaped aquiline nose, his pale blue eyes recalled the ancestral portraits which adorned his walls. He preferred, without actually stating it as a fact, to give the impression that all the beautiful things in his house had been handed down to him, but in truth he himself had bought the great majority; he was an enthusiastic collector, talking most willingly of the great masters of mezzotint, of the marks and style of silver, of various cabinet-makers dead but still remembered; and during his rare visits to London, most of his time was spent where such things are bought and sold.
One evening I dined with him, to meet the rector, a youngish man with iron-grey hair and an ascetic manner, whom my host treated always with a peculiar deference; and a lieutenant in the Navy, who appeared to me to have been asked for his breezy ways and his adventurous air of having surpassed many strange perils. I felt sure Augustus Breton saw in him no ordinary young seaman, but an Elizabethan sailor who had passionate tales to tell of exploits on the Spanish Main. Our host liked to keep the conversation well in hand, and, with his exquisite politeness, took care that each guest in turn should speak of what most concerned him; he managed us with a lightness of touch that was admirable, talking himself but little, and then with a kind of grave wit, merely to change a topic that seemed to have been long enough debated, or to throw out a suggestion which might revive a languishing interest. We dealt with the rector, of vacant bishoprics and the influence of the Church in rural parts; with the sailor, of British armaments and the chance of war; and at last the admirable dinner was ended and port was set upon the table. Politely as ever at this stage, Augustus Breton inquired after the rector’s wife; he could never forget that at the beginning of the acquaintance, when dining with him, she had ventured to eat an orange while drinking her port; and though he had borne the affront with unexampled civility, the lady had not again been invited to his house.
“This is an admirable wine,” said the parson, who, for all his ascetic look, knew good port from bad.
“Yes,” said his host, holding it meditatively to the light,
“I have only just now begun to drink it. It has been in my cellar for some years, and this, in point of fact, is the first bottle I have tried. I will acknowledge that, besides wishing for the pleasure of your company, I asked you to be so good as to dine with me so that you might give me your opinion.”
The rector, flattered that such a master in these affairs should challenge his praise, slowly inhaled the exquisite aroma.
“It is something really most remarkable,” he said.
“My dear Rector,” answered Augustus Breton, “your virtues are so signal that I am quite overwhelmed.”
“How did you get hold of it?” I interrupted, to stop the interchange of compliments which I foresaw.
“Ah, that is a story which may interest you.”
We begged him to tell it, and, evidently not unwilling, he began in these words.
II
“Of course you know Graveney Hall, the largest house in this neighbourhood, a magnificent place which even an auctioneer could scarcely describe in exaggerated terms. But it was very much too fine for its owners, who have been going downhill steadily for a century and a half; the beautiful gardens were neglected, and even the most needful repairs were left undone; and at length, with a remnant of good sense, they made up their minds that it must be let. They put it in the hands of various agents; but it was not an easy place to deal with, since it is so far from a station that none but a man of leisure would care to live there, and none but a man of means could afford it. Finally, however, they discovered a certain Baron von Bernheim, who came to see the house, fell in love with it there and then, and at once arranged to take it on a long lease. The Graveneys were in the seventh heaven of delight. He was a millionaire, currently reported to have made a vast fortune in South Africa, and without doubt his liberality with the Graveneys pointed to wealth easily acquired: he was ready to do all they asked and to pay all they demanded.
Delphi Collected Works of W. Somerset Maugham (Illustrated) Page 282
