The Complete Short Stories of W. Somerset Maugham - II - The World Over (36 page)

“Egbert’s all right,” she remarked. “There’s nothin’ wrong with Egbert.”

Just then the French official, who had been sitting down, got up and began walking up and down. He had been accompanied on board by the French minister at Bangkok, one or two secretaries, and a prince of the royal family. There had been a great deal of bowing and shaking of hands and as the ship slipped away from the quay much waving of hats and handkerchiefs. He was evidently a person of consequence. I had heard the captain address him as Monsieur le Gouverneur.

“That’s the big noise on this boat,” said Mr Wilkins. “He was Governor of one of the French colonies and now he’s makin’ a tour of the world. He came to see my circus at Bangkok. I guess I’ll ask him what he’ll have. What shall I call him, my dear?”

Mrs Wilkins slowly turned her head and looked at the Frenchman, with the rosette of the Legion of Honour in his buttonhole, pacing up and down.

“Don’t call him anythin’,” she said. “Show him a hoop and he’ll jump right through it.”

I could not but laugh. Monsieur le Gouverneur was a little man, well below the average height, and smally made, with a very ugly little face and thick, almost negroid features; and he had a bushy grey head, bushy grey eyebrows, and a bushy grey moustache. He did look a little like a poodle and he had the poodle’s soft, intelligent and shining eyes. Next time he passed us Mr Wilkins called out:
“Monsoo. Qu’est-ce que vous prenez?
“ I cannot reproduce the eccentricities of his accent.
“Une petite verre de porto.”
He turned to me. “Foreigners, they all drink porto. You’re always safe with that.”

“Not the Dutch,” said Mrs Wilkins, with a look at the sea. “They won’t touch nothin’ but Schnapps.”

The distinguished Frenchman stopped and looked at Mr Wilkins with some bewilderment. Whereupon Mr Wilkins tapped his breast and said:

‘Moa,
proprietarre Cirque. Vous avez visité-“.

Then, for a reason that escaped me, Mr Wilkins made his arms into a hoop and outlined the gestures that represented a poodle jumping through it. Then he pointed at the Wa-Wa that Mrs Wilkins was still holding on her lap.

“La
petit fils de mon femme,”
he said.

Light broke upon the Governor and he burst into a peculiarly musical and infectious laugh. Mr Wilkins began laughing too.

“Oui, oui,”
he cried. “Moa, circus proprietor.
Une petite verre de porto. Oui. Oui. Nest-ce-pas?
”

“Mr Wilkins talks French like a Frenchman,” Mrs Wilkins informed the passing sea.

“Mais très volontiers,”
said the Governor, still smiling. I drew him up a chair and he sat down with a bow to Mrs Wilkins.

“Tell poodle-face his name’s Egbert,” she said, looking at the sea. I called the boy and we ordered a round of drinks.

“You sign the chit, Elmer,” she said. “It’s not a bit of good Mr What’s-his-name shakin’ if he can’t shake nothin’ better than a pair of treys.”

“Vous comprenez le français, madame?
“ asked the Governor politely.

“He wants to know if you speak French, my dear.”

“Where does he think I was raised? Naples?”

Then the Governor, with exuberant gesticulation, burst into a torrent of English so fantastic that it required all my knowledge of French to understand what he was talking about.

Presently Mr Wilkins took him down to look at his animals and a little later we assembled in the stuffy saloon for luncheon. The Governor’s wife appeared and was put on the captain’s right. The Governor explained to her who we all were and she gave us a gracious bow. She was a large woman, tall and of a robust build, of fifty-five perhaps, and she was dressed somewhat severely in black silk. On her head she wore a huge round topee. Her features were so large and regular, her form so statuesque, that you were reminded of the massive females who take part in processions. She would have admirably suited the role of Columbia or Britannia in a patriotic demonstration. She towered over her diminutive husband like a skyscraper over a shack. He talked incessantly, with vivacity and wit, and when he said anything amusing her heavy features relaxed into a large fond smile.

“Que tu es bête, mon ami,”
she said. She turned to the captain. “You must not pay any attention to him. He is always like that.”

We had indeed a very amusing meal and when it was over we separated to our various cabins to sleep away the heat of the afternoon. In such a small ship having once made the acquaintance of my fellow passengers, it would have been impossible, even had I wished it, not to pass with them every moment of the day that I was not in my cabin. The only person who held himself aloof was the Italian tenor. He spoke to no one, but sat by himself as far forward as he could get, twanging a guitar in an undertone so that you had to strain your ears to catch the notes. We remained in sight of land and the sea was like a pail of milk. Talking of one thing and another we watched the day decline, we dined, and then we sat out again on deck under the stars. The two traders played picquet in the hot saloon, but the Belgian colonel joined our little group. He was shy and fat and opened his mouth only to utter a civility. Soon, influenced perhaps by the night and encouraged by the darkness that gave him, up there in the bows, the sensation of being alone with the sea, the Italian tenor, accompanying himself on his guitar, began to sing, first in a low tone, and then a little louder, till presently, his music captivating him, he sang with all his might. He had the real Italian voice, all macaroni, olive oil, and sunshine, and he sang the Neapolitan songs that I had heard in my youth in the Piazza San Ferdinando, and fragments from
La Bohème,
and
Traviata,
and
Rigoletto.
He sang with emotion and false emphasis and his tremolo reminded you of every third-rate Italian tenor you had ever heard, but there in the openness of that lovely night his exaggerations only made you smile and you could not but feel in your heart a lazy sensual pleasure. He sang for an hour, perhaps, and we all fell silent; then he was still, but he did not move and we saw his huge bulk dimly outlined against the luminous sky.

I saw that the little French Governor had been holding the hand of his large wife and the sight was absurd and touching.

“Do you know that this is the anniversary of the day on which I first saw my wife?” he said, suddenly breaking the silence which had certainly weighed on him, for I had never met a more loquacious creature. “It is also the anniversary of the day on which she promised to be my wife. And, which will surprise you, they were one and the same.”

“Voyons, mon ami,”
said the lady, “you are not going to bore our friends with that old story. You are really quite insupportable.”

But she spoke with a smile on her large, firm face, and in a tone that suggested that she was quite willing to hear it again.

“But it will interest them,
mon petit chou.
“ It was in this way that he always addressed his wife and it was funny to hear this imposing and even majestic lady thus addressed by her small husband. “Will it not, monsieur?” he asked me. “It is a romance, and who does not like romance, especially on such a night as this?”

I assured the Governor that we were all anxious to hear and the Belgian colonel took the opportunity once more to be polite.

“You see, ours was a marriage of convenience pure and simple.”

“C
”est vrai,”
said the lady. “It would be stupid to deny it. But sometimes love comes after marriage and not before, and then it is better. It lasts longer.”

I could not but notice that the Governor gave her hand an affectionate little squeeze.

“You see, I had been in the navy, and when I retired I was forty-nine. I was strong and active and I was very anxious to find an occupation. I looked about; I pulled all the strings I could. Fortunately I had a cousin who had some political importance. It is one of the advantages of democratic government that if you have sufficient influence, merit, which otherwise might pass unnoticed, generally receives its due reward.”

“You are modesty itself,
mon pauvre ami,”
said she.

“And presently I was sent for by the Minister to the Colonies and offered the post of Governor in a certain colony. It was a very distant spot that they wished to send me to and a lonely one, but I had spent my life wandering from port to port, and that was not a matter that troubled me. I accepted with joy. The minister told me that I must be ready to start in a month. I told him that would be easy for an old bachelor who had nothing much in the world but a few clothes and a few books.

“‘Comment, mon lieutenant,’
he cried. ‘You are a bachelor?’

“‘Certainly,’ I answered. ‘And I have every intention of remaining one.’

“‘In that case I am afraid I must withdraw my offer. For this position it is essential that you should be married.’

“It is too long a story to tell you, but the gist of it was that owing to the scandal my predecessor, a bachelor, had caused by having native girls to live in the Residency and the consequent complaints of the white people, planters and the wives of functionaries, it had been decided that the next Governor must be a model of respectability. I expostulated. I argued. I recapitulated my services to the country and the services my cousin could render at the next elections. Nothing would serve. The minister was adamant.

“‘But what can I do?’ I cried with dismay.

“‘You can marry,’ said the minister.

“‘Mais
voyons, monsieur le ministre,
I do not know any women. I am not a lady’s man and I am forty-nine. How do you expect me to find a wife?’

“‘Nothing is more simple. Put an advertisement in the paper.’

“I was confounded. I did not know what to say.

“‘Well, think it over,’ said the minister. ‘If you can find a wife in a month you can go, but no wife no job. That is my last word.’ He smiled a little, to him the situation was not without humour. ‘And if you think of advertising I recommend the
Figaro.’

“I walked away from the ministry with death in my heart. I knew the place to which they desired to appoint me and I knew it would suit me very well to live there; the climate was tolerable and the Residency was spacious and comfortable. The notion of being a Governor was far from displeasing me and, having nothing much but my pension as a naval officer, the salary was not to be despised. Suddenly I made up my mind. I walked to the offices of the
Figaro,
composed an advertisement, and handed it in for insertion. But I can tell you, when I walked up the Champs Elysees afterwards my heart was beating much more furiously than it had ever done when my ship was stripped for action.”

The Governor leaned forward and put his hand impressively on my knee.

“
Mon cher monsieur
, you will never believe it, but I had four thousand three hundred and seventy-two replies. It was an avalanche. I had expected half-a-dozen; I had to take a cab to take the letters to my hotel. My room was swamped with them. There were four thousand three hundred and seventy-two women who were willing to share my solitude and be a Governor’s lady. It was staggering. They were of all ages from seventeen to seventy. There were maidens of irreproachable ancestry and the highest culture, there were unmarried ladies who had made a little slip at one period of their career and now desired to regularize their situation; there were widows whose husbands had died in the most harrowing circumstances; and there were widows whose children would be a solace to my old age. They were blonde and dark, tall and short, fat and thin; some could speak five languages and others could play the piano. Some offered me love and some craved for it; some could only give me solid friendship but mingled with esteem; some had a fortune and others golden prospects. I was overwhelmed. I was bewildered. At last I lost my temper, for I am a passionate man, and I got up and I stamped on all those letters and all those photographs and I cried: I will marry none of them. It was hopeless, I had less than a month now and I could not see over four thousand aspirants to my hand in that time. I felt that if I did not see them all, I should be tortured for the rest of my life by the thought that I had missed the one woman the fates had destined to make me happy. I gave it up as a bad job.

“I went out of my room hideous with all those photographs and littered papers and to drive care away went on to the boulevard and sat down at the Café de la Paix. After a time I saw a friend passing and he nodded to me and smiled. I tried to smile but my heart was sore. I realized that I must spend the years that remained to me in a cheap
pension
at Toulon or Brest as an
officier de marine en retraite. Zut!
My friend stopped and coming up to me sat down.

“‘What is making you look so glum,
mon cher
?’ he asked me. ‘You who are the gayest of mortals.’

“I was glad to have someone in whom I could confide my troubles and told him the whole story. He laughed consumedly. I have thought since that perhaps the incident had its comic side, but at the time, I assure you, I could see in it nothing to laugh at. I mentioned the fact to my friend not without asperity and then, controlling his mirth as best he could, he said to me: ‘But, my dear fellow, do you really want to marry?’ At this I entirely lost my temper.