Bombard
Life often seemed very hard to Simon Bombard! He was born with an incredible capacity for doing nothing and with an immoderate desire to follow this vocation. All effort, whether moral or physical, every movement accomplished for a purpose, appeared to him beyond his strength. As soon as he heard anyone speak of anything serious he became confused, his mind being incapable of tension or even attention.
The son of a linen-draper in Caen, he took things easily, as they said in the family, until he was twenty-five years of age. But as his parents were always nearer bankruptcy than fortune, he suffered greatly for want of money.
He was a big, tall fine-looking fellow, with red whiskers, cut Norman fashion, of florid complexion, blue eyes, with the first signs of a paunch, and dressed with the swagger elegance of a provincial on a holiday. He laughed and gesticulated on every occasion, displaying a noisy good nature with all the assurance of the commercial traveler. He considered that life was made principally for love and laughter, and as soon as it became necessary to curb his noisy enjoyment, he fell into a kind of chronic somnolence, being incapable of sadness.
His need of money harassed him until he formed the habit of repeating a phrase now celebrated in his circle of acquaintance: “For ten thousand francs a year, I would become an executioner.”
Now, he went each year to Trouville for a fortnight. He called this “spending the season.” He would install himself at the house of his cousins, who gave him the use of a room, and from the day of his arrival to that of his departure he would promenade along the board walk which extends along the great stretch of seashore.
He walked with an air of confidence, his hands in his pockets or crossed behind his back, always clothed in ample garments, with light waistcoats and showy cravats, his hat somewhat over his ear and a cheap cigar in one corner of his mouth.
He went along, brushing up against the elegantly dressed women and staring contemptuously at the men like a fellow ready for a fight, and seeking—seeking—seeking.
He was after a wife, counting entirely upon his face and his physique. He said to himself: “Why the devil, in all the crowd that comes here, should I not be able to find what I want?” And he hunted with the scent of a foxhound, with the keen instinct of a Norman, sure that he would recognize her, the woman who would make him rich, the moment he perceived her.
One Monday morning he murmured: “Hello! hello! hello!” The weather was superb, one of those yellow and blue days of the month of July, when one might say that there was a deluge of heat. The vast shore covered with people, costumes, colours, had the air of a garden of women; and the fishing boats with their brown sails, almost immovable upon the blue water which reflected them upside down, seemed asleep under the great sun at ten o’clock in the morning. There they remained, opposite the wooden pier, some near, some further off, some still further, as if overcome by a summer day idleness, too indifferent to seek the open sea, or even to return to port. And in the distance one could vaguely perceive in the mist the coast of Havre, showing two white points on its summit, the lighthouses of Sainte-Adresse.
He said to himself: “Hello, hello, hello!” For he had passed her now for the third time and perceived that she had noticed him, this mature woman, experienced and courageous, who was making a bid for his attention. He had noticed her before, because she seemed also in quest of someone. She was an Englishwoman, rather tall, a little thin, an audacious Englishwoman whom circumstances and much journeying had made a kind of man. Not bad, on the whole, walking along slowly with short steps, soberly and simply clothed, but wearing a queer sort of hat as Englishwomen always do. She had rather pretty eyes, high cheekbones, a little red, teeth that were too long and always visible.
When he came to the pier, he retraced his steps to see if she would meet him again. He met her and threw her an ardent glance, a glance which seemed to say: “Here I am!”
But how should he speak to her? He returned a fifth time, and when he was again face to face with her she dropped her parasol. He rushed forward, picked it up and presented it to her, saying:
“Permit me, Madame—”
She responded: “Oh, you are very kind!”
And then they looked at each other. They had nothing more to say. But she blushed. Then becoming courageous, he said:
“We are having beautiful weather here.”
And she answered: “Oh, delicious!”
And then they again faced each other, embarrassed, neither thinking of going away. It was she who finally had the audacity to ask: “Are you going to be here long?”
He answered, laughing: “Oh! yes, about as long as I care to.” Then suddenly he proposed: “Would you like to go down to the pier? It is pretty there on a day like this.”
She simply said: “I should be much pleased.”
And they walked along side by side, she with her stiff, rigid movements, he with the rolling swagger of a gander showing off in a farmyard.
Three months later the leading merchants of Caen received one morning a square white card which said:
“M. and Mme. Prosper Bombard have the honour to announce the marriage of their son, M. Simon Bombard, to Mme. Kate Robertson.”
and on the other side:
“Mme. Kate Robertson has the honour of announcing her marriage to M. Simon Bombard.”
They settled in Paris. The fortune of the wife amounted to fifteen thousand francs a year free of incumbrances. Simon wished to have four hundred francs a month for his personal expenses. He had to prove that his tenderness merited this amount; he did prove it easily and obtained what he asked for.
At first everything went well. Young Mme. Bombard was no longer young, assuredly, and her freshness had undergone some wear; but she had a way of exacting things which made it impossible for anyone to refuse her. She would say, with her grave, wilful, English accent: “Oh! Simon, now we must go to bed,” which made Simon start toward the bed like a dog that had been ordered, “To your kennel.” And she knew how to have her way by day and night, in a manner there was no resisting.
She did not get angry; she made no scenes; she never raised her voice; she never had the appearance of being irritated or hurt, or even disturbed. She knew how to talk, that was all; and she spoke to the point, and in a tone that admitted no contradiction.
More than once Simon was on the point of rebelling; but against the brief and imperious desires of this singular woman he found himself unable to stand out. Nevertheless, when the conjugal kisses began to be meagre and monotonous, and he had in his pocket what would bring to him something greater, he paid for satiety, but with a thousand precautions.
Mme. Bombard perceived all this, without his knowing how; and one evening she announced to him that she had rented a house at Mantes where they would live in the future.
Then existence became harder. He tried various kinds of pastimes which did not at all compensate for the feminine conquests for which he longed.
He fished, learned how to tell the places which the gudgeon liked, which the roach and carp preferred, the favourite spots of the bream and the kinds of bait that the different fish will take.
But in watching his floater as it trembled on the surface of the water, other visions haunted his mind. Then he became the friend of the chief of the office of the Subprefect and the captain of the police; and they played whist in the evening at the Café du Commerce, but his sorrowful eye would disrobe the queen of clubs or of diamonds, while the problem of the absent legs on these two-headed figures would confuse the images awakened in his mind.
Then he conceived a plan, a typical specimen of Norman cunning. He would have his wife take a maid who suited him; not a beautiful girl, a coquette, fond of clothes, but a gawky woman, rough and strong-backed, who would not arouse suspicions and whom he had carefully coached in his plans.
She was recommended to them by the collector of tolls, his accomplice and obliging friend, who guaranteed her in every way. And Madame Bombard accepted with confidence the treasure they brought to her.
Simon was happy, happy with precaution, with fear, and with unbelievable difficulties. He could never escape the watchful eye of his wife, except for a few short moments from time to time, and then without security. He sought some plan, some stratagem, and he ended by finding one that succeeded perfectly.
Madame Bombard, who had nothing to do, retired early, while Bombard, who played whist at the Café du Commerce, returned each evening at half past nine, exactly. He got Victorine to wait for him in the passageway of his house, under the vestibule steps, in the darkness.
He only had five minutes or more for he was always in fear of a surprise; but five minutes from time to time sufficed for his ardour, and he slipped a louis into the servant’s hand, for he was generous in his pleasures, and she would quickly remount to her garret.
And he laughed, he triumphed all alone, and repeated aloud, like King Midas’s barber fishing for whitebait from the reeds on the river bank: “Fooled, old girl!”
And the happiness of having fooled Madame Bombard made up to him in great part for the imperfection and incompleteness of his salaried conquest.
One evening he found Victorine waiting for him as was her custom, but she appeared to him more lively, more animated than usual, and he remained perhaps ten minutes at the rendezvous in the corridor.
When he entered the conjugal chamber, Madame Bombard was not there. He felt a cold chill run down his back and sank into a chair, tortured with fear.
She appeared with a candlestick in her hand. He asked trembling:
“You have been out?”
She answered quietly: “I went to the kitchen for a glass of water.”
He forced himself to calm his suspicions of what she might have heard; but she seemed tranquil, happy, confident, and he was reassured.
When they entered the dining room for breakfast the next morning, Victorine put the cutlets on the table. As she turned to go out, Madame Bombard handed her a louis which she held up delicately between her two fingers, and said to her, with her calm, serious accent:
“Here, my girl, here are twenty francs which I deprived you of last night. I return them to you.”
And the flabbergasted girl took the gold piece, gazing at it stupidly, while the terrorized Bombard looked at his wife with wide-open eyes.