Cousin Pons

by Honoré de Balzac

  When a banker of forty emerges after twenty years from the cocoon of a rake, he uses his eyes. Brunner’s powers of observation were all the more keen in that he was well aware of the advantage a German can draw from a show of naïveté. That morning he wore the pensive air of a man faced with the alternative of taking to family life or continuing his bachelor dissipation. This cast of countenance, in a gallicized German, appeared superlatively romantic to Cécile. She looked upon this scion of Verlaz stock as a replica of Goethe’s Werther. Is there any girl who does not make a little romance of her wedding preliminaries? Cécile regarded herself as the happiest of women when Brunner, at the sight of those magnificent antiques, the product of forty years’ patient searching, waxed enthusiastic, and, to Pons’s great satisfaction, was the first person to appreciate them at their true value.

  ‘He’s a real poet!’ thought Mademoiselle de Marville. ‘He thinks they are worth millions.’ A poet is a man who doesn’t haggle over expense, leaves his wife to look after the capital, can be easily led and kept amused with trifles.

  Every pane in the two windows of Pons’s room was of Swiss stained glass. Each one of them was worth a thousand francs, and he possessed sixteen of these masterpieces, for which in our days connoisseurs seek far and wide. In 1815 these panes had cost from six to ten francs. As for the sixty pictures in this superb collection – all of them masterpieces, all genuine, not one of them touched up – only the heated atmosphere of an auction room could reveal what they were worth. Each picture was girt with a resplendent frame of untold value, and every style was represented : Venetian frames with the elaborate ornamentation of present-day English plate; Roman frames remarkable for what artists call flafla; Spanish frames with their audacious scroll-work; Flemish and German frames with their naïve-looking figures, shell-work frames inlaid with pewter, copper, mother-of-pearl and ivory; ebony frames; boxwood frames; frames in all the styles from Louis XIII to Louis XVI; in short, a unique collection of all the finest examples. Pons, luckier in this than the curators of the Dresden and Vienna museums, had in his collection a frame by the famous Brustolone, the Michelangelo of wood-carving.

  Naturally, Madame de Marville had to have each fresh curio explained to her. She sought initiation in the understanding of these marvels from Brunner. She uttered such naïve exclamations and seemed so delighted for Frederick to tell her the value and beauty of this or that painting, sculpture or bronze that the German thawed completely; his face became youthful again. In the end, both parties went farther than they intended in this first encounter, which was still, in theory, only a chance meeting.

  The viewing lasted three hours. Brunner offered a hand to Cécile to help her downstairs. As she went down each step with decorous slowness, Cécile, still talking art, expressed astonishment at her prospective fiancé’s admiration of Pons’s knick-knacks.

  ‘So you think that everything we have been looking at is worth a lot of money?’

  ‘Indeed, Mademoiselle, if your respected cousin would sell me his collection, I would give him eight hundred thousand francs for it this very evening, and I should be doing very well. The sixty canvases alone would reach a higher sum in a public sale.’

  ‘I believe it if you say so,’ she replied; ‘and it must be true, for that is what has monopolized your attention.’

  ‘Oh, Mademoiselle!’ exclaimed Brunner, ‘my sole answer to that reproach is this : I am going to ask your lady mother for permission to come to your house, just for the happiness of seeing you again.’

  ‘Isn’t my little girl clever!’ thought the Présidente, following hard on her daughter’s heels.

  ‘That will give us great pleasure, sir,’ she replied out loud. ‘I hope you will come at dinner-time with our cousin Pons. My husband will be delighted to make your acquaintance… Thank you, cousin.’

  She gave such an expressive squeeze to Pons’s arm that the sacramental phrase ‘We are friends for life’ could not have said more. And the melting glance she cast at Pons as she said: ‘Thank you, cousin’ was as good as an embrace.

  After seeing the young lady into her carriage, and after the hired brougham had disappeared into the rue Chariot, Brunner discussed bric-à-brac with Pons, but the latter talked only of matrimony.

  ‘So you don’t see any obstacle?’ said Pons.

  ‘I don’t know,’ replied Brunner. ‘The girl is nothing to get excited about, and the mother’s a bit prim. We’ll see.’

  ‘A fine fortune in prospect,’ remarked Pons. ‘More than a million…’

  ‘We shall meet on Monday,’ interjected the millionaire, ‘and if you would like to sell your collection of pictures, I wouldn’t mind giving you five or six hundred thousand francs for them.’

  ‘Oh,’ said the good Pons, surprised to learn how rich he was, ‘I could never part with the things which bring me happiness. I would only sell my collection for delivery after my death.’

  ‘Well, we shall see…’

  ‘That sets two transactions going,’ said the collector; but his mind was on the marriage project. Brunner took his leave of Pons and rattled off in his splendid turnout. Pons watched the little brougham speeding away without noticing Rémonencq, who was smoking his pipe on the doorstep.

  *

  That very evening the Présidente went to talk over the matter with her father-in-law, and she found the Popinot family there. In her desire to satisfy a little grudge – very natural in a mother who had previously failed to capture a son and heir – Madame de Marville hinted that Cécile was making a splendid match. ‘Who’s the happy man?’ – this question was on everybody’s lips. Then, thinking she was letting nothing out of the bag, the Présidente gave so many hints and half-revelations – which moreover Madame Berthier confirmed – that the following remarks were made next day in that middle-class Elysium in which Pons used to perform his gastronomical exercises:

  ‘Cécile de Marville is going to marry a young German setting up as a banker out of sheer disinterestedness, for he has a capital of four millions. He’s a hero straight out of a novel, a real Werther, charming, good-hearted, with all his wild oats sown. He has fallen madly in love with Cécile. Love at first sight! And that is certain, because Cécile had to compete with all the painted Madonnas in Pons’s collection’, etc., etc.

  Two days later, a few persons came to congratulate the Présidente – but in fact to find out whether the goose with the golden eggs really existed. The Présidente played wonderful variations on the following theme (mothers might find them useful, as in former days we found The Model Secretary useful) : ‘A marriage is only concluded,’ she said to Mme Chiffreville, ‘when one leaves the registry-office and the church; and as yet we are only at the interview stage. So I rely on your friendship not to tell anyone of our hopes.’

  ‘You are very lucky, Madame la Présidente. Marriages are difficult to arrange nowadays.’

  ‘Well, after all, it’s a matter of luck. Marriages are often made in this way.’

  ‘So you are getting Cécile married after all?’ asked Madame Cardot.

  ‘Yes,’ answered the Présidente, well aware of the spite behind the words ‘after all’. ‘We were rather particular, and that is what delayed us in getting Cécile settled. But we have found what we wanted: plenty of money, a personable man, amiable and easy to get on with. And my little darling deserves it. Monsieur Brunner is a charming and distinguished bachelor. He likes the very best things. He knows the ways of the world. He is infatuated with Cécile – really in love with her. And, in spite of the three or four millions he possesses, Cécile is willing to take him… We were not aiming so high, but why boggle at such advantages?… It’s not the money, but the affection my daughter has inspired that decides us,’ said the Présidente to Madame Lebas. ‘Monsieur Brunner is in such a hurry that he wants to be married as soon as the law permits.’

  ‘Isn’t he a foreigner?’

  ‘Yes, Madame, but I confess I am very happy. Monsieur Brunner is a man of charm
ingly delicate feeling. I shall be gaining, not a son-in-law, but a son. You can scarcely imagine how eager he is to marry on a trust settlement basis – such a safeguard for prospective families! He is buying twelve hundred thousand francs’ worth of pasture-land which will one day be added to Marville.’

  The next day there were similar variations on the same theme. For instance, Monsieur Brunner became a man of great distinction, doing everything in a most distinguished manner. Money did not matter with him, and if Monsieur de Marville could arrange for him to take out naturalization papers (after all, the Ministry of Justice owed the magistrate this little concession), his son-in-law could be made a Peer of France. By now the Brunner fortune was beyond calculation: he sported the finest horses and the finest carriages in Paris. And so forth.

  The pleasure the Camusots took in broadcasting their expectations bore witness to the unexpectedness of their triumph.

  Immediately after the interview at Pons’s flat, Monsieur de Marville, prompted by his wife, persuaded the Minister of Justice, his Chief Justice and the Attorney-General to dine with him on the day when this phoenix of sons-in-law was to make his appearance. All three of these important persons accepted, even though invited at such short notice. Each one of them was aware of the role the paterfamilias expected them to play, and they came to his help with pleasure. In France, succour is very willingly given to mothers who are trying to net a rich son-in-law. The Comte and Comtesse Popinot also lent themselves to the impressiveness of the occasion, although they thought that the invitation was in bad taste. There was a total of eleven guests. Cécile’s grandfather, Camusot senior, and his wife, were bound to attend this gathering, since its purpose was, through the prestige of the guests, to get Monsieur Brunner definitely committed. As we have seen, he was cried up as one of the richest German capitalists, a man of taste (he was in love with the ‘little girl’), and a rival to-be of such bankers as Nucingen, the Keller brothers, du Tillet, etc.

  ‘This is our at-home day,’ said the Présidente with studied simplicity as she introduced her other guests to the man she already regarded as her son-in-law. ‘Just an intimate little gathering. First of all, my husband’s father who, as you know, is to be promoted to the peerage. Also Monsieur le Comte and Madame la Comtesse Popinot – their son was not in a sufficiently wealthy position to marry Cécile, but none the less we are good friends. Our Minister of Justice, our Chief Justice, and our Attorney-General. In short, only our friends. We shall have to dine rather late because my husband never leaves the Court before six o’clock.’

  Brunner gave Pons a meaning look, and Pons rubbed his hands as if to say: ‘You see what our friends, my friends, are like!’

  With feminine skill the Présidente thought of something to say in private to her cousin, so as to leave Cécile alone with her Werther. Cécile chatted away volubly, and managed to draw Frederick’s attention to a German dictionary, a German grammar, and a copy of Goethe which she pretended to be hiding.

  ‘Ah, you are learning German?’ cried Brunner, colouring up.

  Only Frenchwomen know how to lay this kind of trap. ‘Oh,’ she replied, ‘how unkind you are!… It isn’t nice of you to be so curious about my secret belongings. I want to read Goethe in the original, and have been learning German for two years.’

  ‘Then this grammar-book must be very difficult to follow,’ was Brunner’s ingenuous remark, ‘for there are not more than ten pages cut.’

  Cécile was embarrassed, and she turned her head away to hide her discomfiture. But a German finds it hard to resist such proofs of the interest he inspires, and he took Cécile’s hand, turned her round to face him again, and gazed at the bashful girl like a fiancé in a novel by that chaste writer, the late Auguste Lafontaine.

  ‘You are adorable!’ he exclaimed.

  Cécile tossed her head roguishly as if to say: ‘But what about you? Who could help liking you?’

  ‘Mamma, we are getting on fine!’ she whispered in her mother’s ear, as the latter came back with Pons.

  The atmosphere reigning in a family on such an evening baffles description. Everyone was happy to see a mother fastening her hooks into an eligible son-in-law. Congratulations – cryptic or elliptic – were proffered, both to Brunner who pretended not to understand, to Cécile who understood only too well, and to the Présidente, who was on the look-out for compliments. The blood tingled in Pons’s ears, and all the gas-jets in the footlights of his theatre seemed to be flaring up before his eyes when Cécile told him in a whisper, and with the most ingenious tactfulness, of her father’s intention to settle a life income of twelve hundred francs per annum on him. The old man was firm in his refusal, basing it on the information Brunner had given him about the high value of his furniture.

  The Minister, the Chief Justice, the Attorney-General, the Popinots and all their guests with business to attend to went off. There soon remained only Monsieur Camusot senior and Cardot, the retired notary, with his son-in-law Berthier. The worthy Pons, now that the family was left to itself, gave clumsy thanks to the Président and his wife for the offer Cécile had just made to him. Simple-hearted people are just like that: they do not stop to think things out. Brunner interpreted the income thus offered as being a sort of payment for services rendered: his Hebrew instincts were aroused, and he assumed an attitude indicative of the more than frosty withdrawal of a man counting his gold.

  ‘My collection or the price it fetches will always belong to your family, whether I do a deal with our friend Brunner or whether I keep it,’ said Pons, as he informed the astonished family that he had such valuable assets.

  Brunner noticed the flutter of approval that passed through all these philistines in favour of a man passing from a state of presumed indigence to one of wealth. He had already noticed how completely Cécile, the idol of the household, was spoiled by her father and mother, and thereupon he took pleasure in rousing these respectable bourgeois to exclamations of surprise.

  ‘I told Mademoiselle Cécile that Monsieur Pons’s pictures were worth that sum to me. But judging by the value which rare objects of art have acquired, no one could foretell the price this collection would reach at a public sale. The sixty pictures alone would fetch a million – several of them are worth fifty thousand francs each.’

  ‘Your heir will be a lucky person,’ said the notary to Pons.

  ‘I shall leave everything to my cousin Cécile,’ the old fellow replied, still emphasizing the family tie.

  There was a general stir of admiration for the old musician.

  ‘She will be a very rich heiress,’ said Cardot as he smilingly took his departure.

  The gathering was thus reduced to Camusot senior, the Président and his wife, Cécile, Brunner, Berthier and Pons, for everyone supposed that a formal demand for Cécile’s hand was about to be made. It turned out that, as soon as these persons were alone together, Brunner asked a question which struck the parents as a promising beginning: ‘Am I right in believing,’ asked Brunner, addressing the Présidente, ‘that Mademoiselle is an only child?’

  ‘Certainly,’ the Présidente proudly replied.

  ‘There will be no rival to stand in your way,’ added the good Pons, in an endeavour to bring Brunner to the point.

  Brunner’s face clouded over, and an ominous silence brought a strange chill to the atmosphere. One would have thought that the Présidente had confessed that her ‘little girl’ was an epileptic. The Président, judging that his daughter had better not stay, made Cécile a sign which she understood: she left the room. Brunner remained mute. They all scrutinized one another. The situation became embarrassing. The elder Camusot, a man of experience, led the German into the Présidente’s bedroom under the pretext of showing him the fan which Pons had discovered, for he guessed that some difficulty was arising. He gave a silent hint to his son, his daughter-in-law and Pons to leave him alone with the bridegroom-elect.

  ‘Here is the masterpiece,’ said the old silk-mercer as he handed over t
he fan.

  ‘It’s worth five thousand francs,’ replied Brunner after looking it over.

  ‘Did you not come here, Monsieur,’ asked the future Peer of France, ‘to ask for my grand-daughter’s hand in marriage?’

  ‘Yes, Monsieur,’ said Brunner, ‘and I beg you to believe that no match could be more gratifying to me. I shall never find a more beautiful young lady, one more amiable and more suitable than Mademoiselle Cécile. But…’

  ‘Ah, no “buts”, please,’ said Camusot senior, ‘or at any rate tell us straight away how you translate these “buts”, my dear sir.’

  ‘Monsieur,’ continued Brunner gravely, ‘I am very glad that no engagements have been undertaken on either side, for the fact of her being an only child, which everyone but myself values so much – believe me, I was quite ignorant of it – is an absolute impediment…’

  ‘What, Monsieur,’ cried the old man in stupefaction, ‘you regard a tremendous advantage as á disqualification? This is an extraordinary line to take, and I should like to have your reasons.’

  ‘Monsieur,’ the German went on, unperturbed, ‘I came this evening intending to ask the Président for his daughter’s hand. I wanted to guarantee Mademoiselle Cécile a brilliant future by offering her all she would have consented to accept of my fortune. But an only daughter is a child whom her parents’ indulgence accustoms to doing as she pleases and whose will has never been crossed. What goes on here is the same as in several families in which, some time ago, I was able to take note of the worship that is paid to these heavenly creatures: not only is your grand-daughter the idol of the household, but also Madame la Présidente wears the… you know what I mean! Monsieur, I saw my father’s home turned into an inferno for this very reason. My stepmother, the cause of all my misfortunes, an only daughter, an object of worship, the most charming of fiancées, became a fiend incarnate. I don’t doubt that Mademoiselle Cécile would prove an exception to the rule. But at forty I am no longer a young man, and the difference of age between us involves difficulties which would prevent me from giving happiness to a young person who is used to seeing the Présidente doing everything she wants and listening to her as if she were an oracle. What right have I to demand a change in Mademoiselle Cécile’s ideas and habits? Instead of having a father and mother ready to satisfy her slightest whims, she would be up against the selfish habits of a man of forty. If she stood firm, the man of forty would have to give way. And so I act as a gentleman would act, and withdraw. Moreover, I wish to take the entire blame on myself, if by chance it becomes necessary to explain why I made only one visit here.’