Cousin Bette

by Honoré de Balzac

  Making levies, raiding the raiders, and selling the Fischer business could not immediately raise sixty thousand francs for Hortense’s dowry, and about five thousand francs for her trousseau, in addition to the forty thousand francs already spent or about to be spent on Madame Marneffe. And how had the Baron found the thirty thousand francs which he had brought with him? In this way.

  A few days before, Hulot had insured his life for a hundred and fifty thousand francs, for three years, with two different insurance companies. Armed with the policies, with the premiums paid, he had spoken as follows to Monsieur le Baron de Nucingen, Peer of France, on the way home to dinner with him, after a sitting of the House of Peers:

  ‘Baron, I need seventy thousand francs, and I am asking you to lend it to me. If you will appoint some man of straw, I can assign my salary to you under cover, or at least such part of it as money can be raised on. It amounts to twenty-five thousand francs a year, that’s seventy-five thousand in three years. You will say, “What if you die?”’

  The Baron nodded.

  ‘Here are insurance policies for one hundred and fifty thousand francs, which you can hold as security until eighty thousand francs have been paid off,’ the Baron continued, drawing papers from his pocket.

  ‘And subbose you are tismissed?’ said the German-Jewish millionaire Baron, with a laugh.

  The other Baron, the reverse of a millionaire, knitted his brow.

  ‘Ton’t worry. I only raised the opjection to show you that it’s rather goot of me do gif you the money. You musd pe hart bressed, for the Pank has your signadure?’

  ‘I’m marrying my daughter,’ said Baron Hulot, ‘and I have no money, like everyone else who has gone on serving the Government of the country in this ungrateful age, for it will be a long time before five hundred bourgeois representatives sitting on benches know how to reward devoted service in the grand manner, as the Emperor did.’

  ‘Gome now, you had Chosépha!’ returned the Peer of France. ‘And that egsblains eferything. Bedween ourselves, the Tuke of Héroufille did you ein goot durn when he bulled that ploodsucker off your burse. “I haf known like mischance, and can mingle my tears,”’ he added, in the belief that he was quoting a line of French verse. ‘Dake a frient’s atvice: shud ub shob, or you will gome to grief.…’

  This dubious piece of business was arranged through the intermediary of a little money-lender named Vauvinet, one of those agents that hang about large banking-houses, rather like the little fish that seems to attend the shark. This apprentice predator promised Monsieur le Baron Hulot – so anxious was he to win the favour of an eminent man – to raise thirty thousand francs in bills at ninety days, renewable four times, pledging himself not to put them into circulation.

  Fischer’s successor was to give forty thousand francs for the business, with the promise of a contract to supply forage in a Department near Paris.

  Such was the frightening labyrinth into which his venery was leading a man until then of unimpeachable integrity, one of the ablest administrators of the Napoleonic régime: peculation, in order to repay money borrowed for the sake of his passions, whose indulgence had forced him to borrow to marry his daughter. This ingeniously organized expenditure of money and effort, all this endeavour, were for the sake of impressing Madame Marneffe, to play Jupiter to this bourgeoise Danaë. The energy, intelligence, and enterprise the Baron employed in order to dive head first into a hornet’s nest might have made an honest fortune. He attended to the affairs of his department, urged on the decorators, superintended the workmen, minutely checked every detail of the establishment in the rue Vanneau. Although all his thoughts and plans were for Madame Marneffe, he attended the sittings of the Chamber. He was everywhere at once; and neither his family nor anyone else noticed his preoccupation.

  Adeline, amazed to learn that her uncle had been repaid, to see a dowry figuring in the marriage contract, felt a certain uneasiness, in spite of the happiness with which she saw Hortense’s marriage arranged on such honourable terms. But on the eve of her daughter’s wedding, planned by the Baron to coincide with the day when Madame Marneffe was to take possession of her apartment in the rue Vanneau, Hector ended his wife’s surprise with this magisterial pronouncement.

  ‘Adeline, our daughter’s future is now provided for, and all our anxieties on her account are at an end. It is now time for us to withdraw from social life, for in another three years I shall reach retiring age and take my pension. Why should we go on bearing expense not necessary now? Our rent is six thousand francs a year, we keep four servants, we run through thirty thousand francs per annum. If you want me to fulfil my obligations, since I have signed away my salary for three years in exchange for the sums needed for Hortense’s establishment, and to meet your uncle’s bills…’

  ‘Ah! you did well, my dear,’ she interrupted, and kissed her husband’s hands.

  This confession allayed Adeline’s fears.

  ‘I have some small sacrifices to ask of you,’ he went on, disengaging his hands and placing a kiss on his wife’s forehead. ‘I have been told of a very good apartment in the rue Plumet, on the first floor. It’s a handsome place with very fine wood panelling, very suitable, and costs only fifteen hundred francs. You would need only one maid there, and I could make do with a boy.’

  ‘Yes, dear.’

  ‘To run the house simply, and at the same time keep up appearances, you’ll need to spend barely six thousand francs a year, apart from my personal expenses, which I’ll take care of myself…’

  This generous wife threw her arms round her husband’s neck, in complete content.

  ‘What joy to be able to show you once more how much I love you! And what a resourceful man you are!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘We will have our family to dinner once a week, and I rarely dine at home, as you know.… You can very well go out to dinner twice a week with Victorin, and twice with Hortense; and as I think I’ll be able to make it up with Crevel, we’ll dine once a week with him. These five dinners and our own will fill the week, allowing for some invitations outside the family.’

  ‘I’ll save money for you,’ said Adeline.

  ‘Ah!’ he exclaimed. ‘You are a pearl among women!’

  ‘My dear wonderful Hector! I’ll bless you to my dying day,’ she replied, ‘for having made such a good marriage for our darling Hortense.’

  So was the beautiful Baroness Hulot’s household diminished, and she herself, it must be said, deserted, in accordance with the solemn promise made to Madame Marneffe.

  Little Monsieur Crevel, portly and self-important, who was naturally invited to the ceremony of signing the marriage contract, behaved as if the scene with which this story opened had never taken place, as if he had no grudge against Baron Hulot. Célestin Crevel was genial; he was, as always, a little too much the ex-perfumer, but he was beginning to acquire an air of majestic patronage in keeping with his new dignity as Major. He talked of dancing at the wedding.

  ‘Fair lady,’ he said graciously to Baroness Hulot, ‘people like ourselves know how to forget. Do not banish me from your home, and deign to adorn my house sometimes by accompanying your children there. Do not fear, I will never speak to you of what lies hidden in my heart. I acted like a fool, for I should lose too much if I never saw you again…’

  ‘Monsieur, a self-respecting woman doesn’t listen to speeches like those you are referring to; and if you keep your promise, you may be sure that I shall be very glad to see the end of a difference between us, always a sad thing in one’s family.…’

  ‘Well, my sulky friend,’ said Baron Hulot, carrying Crevel off to the garden; ‘you keep out of my way wherever you are, even in my own house. Is it right that two old amateurs of the fair sex like us should quarrel over a petticoat? Really, upon my word, it’s too vulgar.’

  ‘Monsieur, I’m not such a handsome man as you, and my slight powers of attraction prevent me from making good my losses as easily as you do.’

  ‘Ah, s
arcasm!’ replied the Baron.

  ‘It is permissible against victors by the vanquished.’

  The conversation begun on this note ended in complete reconciliation; but Crevel was careful to state and reserve his right to have his revenge.

  Madame Marneffe wanted to be invited to Mademoiselle Hulot’s wedding. In order to see his future mistress in his own drawing-room the Councillor of State was obliged to invite all the underlings of his department as far down in grade as to include the deputy head clerks, so that it became necessary to give a large ball. As an economical housekeeper, the Baroness calculated that an evening party would cost less than a dinner, and would allow more people to be received. Hor-tense’s wedding, therefore, made a great stir.

  Marshal Prince de Wissembourg and Baron de Nucingen were the witnesses on behalf of the bride, and Counts de Rastignac and Popinot for Steinbock. Since Count Steinbock had become well known, the most distinguished members of the colony of émigré Poles had taken him up, and the artist thought that he was bound to invite them. The Council of State, the Baron’s own department, and the Army, in compliment to the Comte de Forzheim, were to be represented at the highest level. It was estimated that there were two hundred indispensable invitations. Small wonder, then, that little Madame Marneffe should be eager to appear in all her finery among such an assembly!

  A month before, the Baroness had sold her diamonds, keeping back the finest stones for the trousseau, and had devoted the money to furnishing her daughter’s house. The sum realized was fifteen thousand francs, of which five thousand was spent on Hortense’s trousseau. And how far does ten thousand francs go towards furnishing a flat for a young couple, with all the requirements of modern luxury? But young Monsieur and Madame Hulot and old Crevel and the Comte de Forzheim gave valuable presents; for Hortense’s old uncle had kept a sum of money in reserve to buy silver plate. Thanks to many contributions, the most exigent woman in Paris would have been satisfied with the way in which the new young couple were set up in the apartment they had chosen in the rue Saint-Dominique, near the Invalides. It made a harmonious setting for their love, so whole-hearted, so transparent and sincere on both sides.

  At last the great day arrived, for this was to be a great day for Hortense’s father as well as for Hortense and Wenceslas. Madame Marneffe had decided to have a house-warming on the day after she had burned her boats, and the wedding day of the two lovers.

  Everyone has attended a wedding ball at least once in his life, and can hardly fail to smile as he recalls all those wedding guests in their Sunday best with expressions to match. Of all ceremonial social occasions, this is the one that most effectively demonstrates the influence of atmosphere, afflicting even habitually well-dressed people with the self-consciousness of those dressed up for a red-letter day in their lives. Then one thinks of the unfestive guests: the old men so indifferent to all the fuss that they have not changed their everyday black suits, and the men, many years married, whose faces proclaim their sad experience of the life that the young are just beginning. Do you remember the effervescing gaiety, like the bubbles in the champagne, and the envious girls, and the women with their minds preoccupied with the success of their toilettes, and the poor relations in their skimped finery, and the smart people in fiocchi – in their smartest – and the greedy thinking only of supper, and the gamblers only of the game? There they all are, as one remembers them, rich and poor, envious and envied, the cynics and the dazzled dreamers, all clustered like the flowers in a bouquet around one rare flower, the bride. A wedding ball is a miniature world.

  When the excitement was at its height, Crevel took the Baron by the arm, and said in his ear, in the most natural manner possible:

  ‘Bless me, what a pretty woman that is, there, in pink, aiming killing glances at you!’

  ‘Which one do you mean?’

  ‘The wife of that deputy head clerk that you’re pushing on, God knows how! Madame Marneffe!’

  ‘How do you come to know that?’

  ‘Look here, Hulot, you have done me some damage, but I will try to forgive you if you will introduce me to her, and in return I will invite you to meet Héloïse. Everyone is asking who that charming creature is. Are you sure that no one in your department will tumble to the circumstances in which her husband’s nomination was signed? Oh, you lucky rascal, she’s worth more than a department! Ah! I would gladly work in her department.… Come now. “Let us be friends, Cinna”!’

  ‘The best of friends, never better!’ said the Baron to the perfumer. ‘And I’ll show you what a real friend I am. I’ll ask you to dinner before a month is out, with that little angel.… For we’re dealing with angels now, old man. Take my advice, do like me and give up the devils.’

  Cousin Bette, now installed in the rue Vanneau in a pretty little set of rooms on the third floor, left the ball at ten o’clock in order to go home and look at her bonds, representing an income of twelve hundred francs, one in the name of Countess Steinbock, and the other in that of the younger Madame Hulot. Monsieur Crevel, by what means we now guess, had been able to speak to his friend Hulot with full knowledge of something no one knew; for, with Monsieur Marneffe away, only Cousin Bette, the Baron, and Valérie were in the secret.

  The Baron had been so unwise as to give Madame Marneffe a dress much too expensive for a deputy chief clerk’s wife. The other wives were jealous both of Valérie’s toilette and of her beauty. There were whisperings behind fans, for the Marneffes’ money troubles had been common gossip in the department. The clerk had been applying for an advance of salary at the very moment when the Baron had become enamoured of his wife. Besides, Hulot was quite unable to hide his intoxication while he watched Valérie’s success as, demure but conspicuous and envied, she underwent that careful scrutiny so dreaded by many women when they enter a new social world for the first time.

  When he had seen his wife, daughter, and son-in-law to their carriage, the Baron managed to slip away unnoticed, leaving the duty of playing host and hostess to his son and daughter-in-law. He got into Madame Marneffe’s carriage to escort her home; but he found her silent and pensive, to the point of melancholy.

  ‘My happiness makes you very sad, Valérie,’ he said, drawing her to him in the darkness of the cab.

  ‘My dear, would you not expect a poor woman to be a little thoughtful when she first falls from virtue, even when her husband’s ill-treatment sets her free? Do you think I have no soul, no beliefs, no religion? The way you showed your joy this evening was most indiscreet, and you have made me horribly conspicuous. Really, a schoolboy would have been less youthfully triumphant. And all those women have been tearing me to pieces, with any amount of knowing glances and spiteful remarks! What woman does not value her reputation? You have done for mine. Ah! I am certainly all yours now, and if I’m to justify my lapse I’ll have to be faithful to you. Oh! you’re a monster!’ she said, laughing and letting him kiss her. ‘You knew very well what you were doing. Madame Coquet, the wife of our chief clerk, came and sat down beside me and admired my lace. “It’s English lace,” she remarked. “Is that very expensive, Madame?” “I haven’t the least idea,” I answered her. “It was my mother’s. I can’t afford to buy anything like that!”’

  Clearly, Madame Marneffe had succeeded in fascinating the old Empire beau so completely that he believed that he was persuading her to be unfaithful for the first time and that he had inspired her with a passion strong enough to make her forget all her vows. She told him that the odious Marneffe had completely neglected her after three days of marriage, and for the vilest of motives. Since then she had been living a quiet virtuous life like a well-behaved child, and been glad to do so, for marriage seemed horrible to her. That was the reason for her present sadness.

  ‘Suppose love should be like marriage!’ she said, in tears.

  These coy fairy-tales, invented by nearly all women in Valérie’s situation, raised the Baron to a rose-strewn seventh heaven. So Valérie coquettishly delayed her sur
render, while the love-sick artist and Hortense were waiting, perhaps impatiently, until the Baroness should have given her last blessing and her final kiss to the girl.

  At seven in the morning, the Baron, full of bliss – for he had found a girl’s innocence and the most consummate devilry in his Valérie – returned to relieve his son and daughter-in-law at their post of duty. Those dancers, almost strangers to the house, who at all weddings soon take possession of the floor, were still engaged in the final interminable figure-dances called cotillions, the bouillotte players were intent on their tables, old Crevel was in process of winning six thousand francs.

  The morning papers being distributed by the newsvendors carried the following short notice among the social news of Paris:

  The marriage of Monsieur le Comte Steinbock and Mademoiselle Hortense Hulot, daughter of Baron Hulot d’Ervy, Councillor of State and a Director of the Ministry of War, niece of the illustrious Comte de Forzheim, was solemnized this morning at the Church of Saint-Thomas d’Aquin. The ceremony was attended by a large gathering. Among those present were a number of our best-known artistic celebrities: Léon de Lora, Joseph Bridau, Stidmann, Bixiou; eminent representatives of the Ministry of War and the Council of State; and several Members of both the Upper and Lower Chambers; as well as distinguished members of the Polish colony, Count Paz, Count Laginski, and others.

  Monsieur le Comte Wenceslas Steinbock is the grand-nephew of the famous general who served under King Charles XII of Sweden. The young Count took part in the Polish rising, and has found political refuge in France, where his high reputation as a sculptor has made it possible for him to obtain naturalization papers.

  And so, in spite of Baron Hulot’s desperate financial straits, his daughter’s wedding lacked nothing that public opinion requires, not even newspaper publicity, and was in all respects similar to the celebration of his son’s marriage with Mademoiselle Crevel. This occasion did something to kill the rumours that were being spread about the Director’s financial position; and the dowry given to his daughter, too, explained his need to borrow money.