Cousin Betty | Page 4

a pair, like twins of opposite
sexes. This is a literary vagary to which a writer may for once give way,
especially as part of a work in which I am endeavoring to depict every
form that can serve as a garb to mind.
Most human quarrels arise from the fact that both wise men and dunces
exist who are so constituted as to be incapable of seeing more than one
side of any fact or idea, while each asserts that the side he sees is the
only true and right one. Thus it is written in the Holy Book, "God will
deliver the world over to divisions." I must confess that this passage of
Scripture alone should persuade the Papal See to give you the control
of the two Chambers to carry out the text which found its commentary
in 1814, in the decree of Louis XVIII.
May your wit and the poetry that is in you extend a protecting hand
over these two histories of "The Poor Relations"
Of your affectionate humble servant,
DE BALZAC. PARIS, August-September, 1846.

COUSIN BETTY

PART I
THE PRODIGAL FATHER
One day, about the middle of July 1838, one of the carriages, then
lately introduced to Paris cabstands, and known as /Milords/, was
driving down the Rue de l'Universite, conveying a stout man of middle
height in the uniform of a captain of the National Guard.
Among the Paris crowd, who are supposed to be so clever, there are
some men who fancy themselves infinitely more attractive in uniform
than in their ordinary clothes, and who attribute to women so depraved
a taste that they believe they will be favorably impressed by the aspect
of a busby and of military accoutrements.
The countenance of this Captain of the Second Company beamed with
a self-satisfaction that added splendor to his ruddy and somewhat
chubby face. The halo of glory that a fortune made in business gives to
a retired tradesman sat on his brow, and stamped him as one of the elect
of Paris--at least a retired deputy-mayor of his quarter of the town. And
you may be sure that the ribbon of the Legion of Honor was not
missing from his breast, gallantly padded /a la Prussienne/. Proudly
seated in one corner of the /milord/, this splendid person let his gaze
wander over the passers-by, who, in Paris, often thus meet an
ingratiating smile meant for sweet eyes that are absent.
The vehicle stopped in the part of the street between the Rue de
Bellechasse and the Rue de Bourgogne, at the door of a large, newly-
build house, standing on part of the court-yard of an ancient mansion
that had a garden. The old house remained in its original state, beyond
the courtyard curtailed by half its extent.
Only from the way in which the officer accepted the assistance of the
coachman to help him out, it was plain that he was past fifty. There are
certain movements so undisguisedly heavy that they are as tell- tale as a
register of birth. The captain put on his lemon-colored right-hand glove,
and, without any question to the gatekeeper, went up the outer steps to

the ground of the new house with a look that proclaimed, "She is
mine!"
The /concierges/ of Paris have sharp eyes; they do not stop visitors who
wear an order, have a blue uniform, and walk ponderously; in short,
they know a rich man when they see him.
This ground floor was entirely occupied by Monsieur le Baron Hulot
d'Ervy, Commissary General under the Republic, retired army
contractor, and at the present time at the head of one of the most
important departments of the War Office, Councillor of State, officer of
the Legion of Honor, and so forth.
This Baron Hulot had taken the name of d'Ervy--the place of his birth
--to distinguish him from his brother, the famous General Hulot,
Colonel of the Grenadiers of the Imperial Guard, created by the
Emperor Comte de Forzheim after the campaign of 1809. The Count,
the elder brother, being responsible for his junior, had, with paternal
care, placed him in the commissariat, where, thanks to the services of
the two brothers, the Baron deserved and won Napoleon's good graces.
After 1807, Baron Hulot was Commissary General for the army in
Spain.
Having rung the bell, the citizen-captain made strenuous efforts to pull
his coat into place, for it had rucked up as much at the back as in front,
pushed out of shape by the working of a piriform stomach. Being
admitted as soon as the servant in livery saw him, the important and
imposing personage followed the man, who opened the door of the
drawing-room, announcing:
"Monsieur Crevel."
On hearing the name, singularly appropriate to the figure of the man