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BALZAC: A MEMOIR
BALZAC'S NOVELS.
Translated by Miss K. P. Wormeley.
Already Published:
PERE GORIOT.
DUCHESSE DE LAWGEAIS.
RISE AND FALL OF CESAR BIROTTEAU.
EUGENIE GRANDET.
COUSIN PONS.
THE COUNTRY DOCTOR.
THE TWO BROTHERS.
THE ALKAHEST.
MODESTE MIGNON.
THE MAGIC SKIN (Peau de Chagrin).
COUSIN BETTE.
LOUIS LAMBERT.
BUREAUCRACY (Les Employes).
SERAPHITA.
SONS OF THE SOIL.
FAME AND SORROW.
THE LILY OF THE VALLEY.
URSULA.
AN HISTORICAL MYSTERY.
ROBERTS BROTHERS, Publishers,
BOSTON.
' f\e rue •
OF THE
UNIVEBSITl
A MEMOIR
OF
HoNORE DE Balzac
COMPILED AND WRITTEN BY
KATHARINE PRESCOTT WORMELEY
HERS
3 SOMERSET STREET
BOSTON
1892
Copyright, 1892,
By Rqberts Brothers.
All rights reserved.
Sanibersttg ^tes2:
John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, U.S.A.
CONTENTS.
Chapter Pa'ge
I. Introductory 1
II. His Sister, Madame Surville's Narra-
tive 5
III. Childhood and Youth 47
IV. His Sister's Narrative Continued . . 70
V. Early Manhood 113
VI. Literary Life 149
VII. Judgment of Contemporary Friends . 192
VIII. His Sister's Narrative Concluded . . 231
IX. Retrospective 258
X. Last Years 291
Appendix 351
Index 365
ILLUSTRATIONS.
A Portrait of Balzac, taken one hour after
DEATH, BY EuGENE GiRAUD Frontispiece
Madame de Balzac considered this the best likeness of her
husband ; she bequeathed it to her niece, Mnie. de Saint-
Yves, who allowed Lord Lytton to take a photograph of it.
Lord Lytton, in turn, permitted the publisher of " Le Livre
Moderne " to cop}' it, and it was first given to the world in
that periodical, Sept. 10, 1891.
A Sketch of the Prison of the College de
Vendome 53
Drawn from nature b}' A. Queyroy for Cliampfleur3''s
pamphlet, " Balzac au College."
EBSITl
HONORE^l^E^ALZAa
CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCTORY.
A COMPLETE life of Balzac cannot be written at the
present time, and possibly never can be. The necessary
documents either do not exist or they are not obtain-
able. Unpublished letters and papers there are, in pos-
session of the compatriot who best understood him and
who ought to write his life, if it be ever written, — the
Vicomte de Spoelberch de Lovenjoul ; but it is doubtful
if even these papers will throw light on that inner self
which Balzac's own will, aided by circumstances, with-
drew from the knowledge of others. There are periods
in his life when he disappears. Nearly the whole of
what he was to himself, what his own being was, what
were the influences that moulded it, how that eye that
saw the manifold lives of others saw his own life, how
that soul which crowned its earthly work with a vision
of the Living Word was nurtured, — what that soul
was, in short, has been concealed from sight.
Wiien he reappears, it is chiefly as he was seen and
known bj^ his literary friends and associates in Paris ;
bearing up against the trials of a hard life with his
hearty Tourainean gaj'ety, battling for his rights with
2 Honore de Balzac.
editors and publishers, and letting the reaction from his
heavy toil and from the inward stress of his spirit have
full swing in the eccentric joviality which was a phase
of his nature. This is almost the sole aspect under
which the man, taken apart from his work, has been
made known to the world. The men who saw him
thus, his literary associates, had the ear of the pubUc,
and to this day their books and publications, with two
or three exceptions, remain, not false perhaps, but mis-
leading, — so misleading that they have concealed the
real man and have forced us to look at the feet of the
statue, not suffering us to see its head. Unfortunately,
the}^ are the text-books from which the present gener-
ation of writers and readers derive their ideas of Balzac
in his manhood.
Of his childhood and early youth his sister Laure,
Madame Surville, has written a charmingly sincere and
simple narrative. If read in connection with the parts
of Balzac's books which are derived from that period of
his life, a sufficient idea of him as child and youth will
be obtained by those who will take some pains to study
the subject. But Madame Surville pauses on the thresh-
old of his manhood. She gives certain facts of his
struggling life, and relates his conduct under them ; but
to the man himself, the matured spirit, the great soul
who has bequeathed to us so rich a legac}^, we are left
without a guide. Madame Surville says, at the close of
her little book, written six years after his death, that the
time might come when she would complete her account
of his life and show another aspect of his character ; but
the time, apparently-, never came.
The next authentic source of information, his corres-
Honors de Balzac. 3
pondence, throws much invaluable light on his ideas
and opinions about his books, and also (in the letters
to Madame Hanska) on the closing years of his life ;
but on the formative years of his youth and early man-
hood they are silent. By his own will, apparently,
little trace of his real self at that period, or in his middle
manhood, remains, except as it ma}- be found in his
writings. Of the records left by the contemporaries who
knew him, that of Theophile Gautier is incomparably
the best. Materialist himself, and seeing Balzac chiefly
on his material side, which was very strong and real, he
nevertheless has left us almost the only true apprecia-
tion of Balzac's spirit shown in the writings of those
who came in contact with him. It would seem as
though the sincere affection which united them gave
him insight, if not intuition.
Scattered among the writings of his associates are a
few just estimates of Balzac as a man ; but even these
are derived from a one-sided knowledge of him. George
Sand, with her broad, generous, and loving spirit, knew
him personally, and comprehended him in her waj\
Champfleur}^ saw him at the close of his life for a short
time only, but he has made a good portrait of him, and
records the fact that having read all which up to that
time had been written of Balzac, he found nothing
useful or representative.
It is from tliese various sources, and from two vol-
umes written by contemporaries which have done much
to mislead the judgment of the world (those of Leon
Gozlan and Edmond Werdet) that all memoirs and
studies of Balzac as a man have been derived. In fact,
the latter are mostly' reproductions of the former, put
4 Honors de Balzac,
into the language of the compilers, and overlaid with
fanciful additions (as in the case of Gabriel Ferry's
"Amies de Balzac"), which often obscure real facts,
or put them out of focus.
The sole object of the present volume is to present
Balzac to American readers. This memoir is intended
to precede the American translations of his work.
Translated work is necessarily addressed to those who
have not easy access to originals. Bearing this in
mind, it has been thought best to go back to the only
authentic sources of information and present them in
their own words, with such simple elucidations as a
close intercourse with Balzac's mind, necessitated by
conscientious translation, naturally gives, — an inter-
course which cannot be wholly confined to the work of
such a mind but, if it exists at all, must reach to the
spirit that produced the work.
The reader is asked to remember that this memoir is
meant to be a presentation of the man,* and not of his
work, except as it was a part of himself. Three
fourths of that work, in translation, is, or will be, before
the American public which will thus have the means of
judging for itself.
In giving this volume to the public sincere thanks
are offered to those who have encouraged and promoted
it : to M. le Vicomte de Spoelberch de Lovenjoul for
the more than courtesy, the cordial kindness with
which he answered inquiries ; and to Prof. Edward S.
Holden, LL.D., etc., Director of the Lick Observatory,
University of California^ for his sympathetic and inspir-
ing advice.
Honore de Balzac,
CHAPTER II.
HIS SISTER, MADAME SURVILLE'S NARRATIVE.^
I FEEL it a duty to my brother and to the world to
publish certain details which, at the present da}', I
alone can give, in order that a true and faithful biogra-
phy may at some future time be written of the author
of the Comedie Humaine. Balzac's friends have urged
me to cut short as soon as possible the legendary tales
which never fail to collect around illustrious names
and so prevent the growth of errors which might come
in time to be believed, as to my brother's character
and the circumstances of his life. I full}' understand
that it is best for me to tell the facts now, while a
goodly number of persons are still living to confirm
them.
The Comedie Humaine has excited almost as much
antagonism as appreciation. Quite recently certain
critics have harshly judged it in the name of religion
and morality, — two powers which the opponents of all
great renowns have ever sought to summon on their
side. I believe that never, at any period of French
history, has there been a painter of manners and morale
1 Balzac, sa vie et ses oeuvres, d'apres sa correspondance, par
Mrae. L. Surville, nee de Balzac. 1 vol. Calmann Le'vy, Paris,
1878. The book was first published in 1856.
6 Honor e de Balzac,
who has not incurred the reproach of immorality ; but
I find it difficult to imagine what sort of literature
would be the outcome of the principles such critics are
seeking to impose upon writers, if those who profess
them were to put them into practice. For instance,
would they succeed in proving that Balzac was mis-
taken in his belief that the novel of social life and
morals cannot avoid the contrasts of light and shade,
and that mankind cannot be rightly instructed by the
picture of their virtues only ?
I have neither the power nor the desire to argue
against such judgments ; I am not seeking in these
pages to defend my brother. Time, which has laid its
chrism upon many a genius insulted and rejected in its
day, will assign him his place in the literature of his
country. On that judge, who alone is impartial and
infallible, we must rely.
My brother was born at Tours, May 16, 1799, Saint-
Honore's day. The name pleased m}" father, and
though it had no precedent in either line of the family,
he gave it to his son. My mother had lost her first
child by endeavoring to nurse it herself A wet-nurse
for little Honore was therefore chosen, who lived just
outside the gates of the town in an airy house sur-
rounded by gardens. My father and mother were so
satisfied with this woman that they put me with her
and left my brother in her care after he was weaned.
He was nearly four j-ears old when we returned to-
gether to our father's house.
Honore's fine health saved our mother from those
latent anxieties which commonly find expression in ten-
der solicitude and the indulgences which spoil a child,
Honore de Balzac. 7
but are so dear to it. In those da3's chiklren did not
pla}^ the important part now assigned to them in many
families. They were not brought into notice ; they were
kept children ; and, above all, they were trained in re-
spect and obedience to their parents. Our governess,
Mademoiselle Delahaye, may have had too much zeal
in this direction, for it is certain that, with respect
and obedience, she also inspired us with fear. My
brother long remembered the small terrors that beset
us when she took us to bid good-morning to our mother,
or when we entered the latter's presence to wish her
good-night. To us these were solemn ceremonies,
though repeated dail^'. It is true that by certain signs,
previously agreed upon with Mademoiselle, our mother
saw (on our faces, she said) the traces of our misdeeds
which drew down upon us her stern displeasure, for she
alone had the right to punish or reward us. The result
was that Honore was neither petted nor transformed
into a prodig3' at an age when a child understands its
parent's love only through smiles and kisses. If he
showed at an early age any sign of the qualities which
were destined to make him famous no one remarked it,
and no one has since recalled it. He was a charming
child; his joyous temper, his smiling, well-cut lips, his
great brown eyes, both soft and brilliant, his high fore-
head, and his wealth of black hair made him an object
of admiration when we were taken to walk in the public
promenades.
FamiW surroundings react so powerfully on the char-
acters of children, and exert such influence on their
fate that some account of our parents seems to me
quite necessary. It will, moreover, serve to explain
8 Honors de Balzac.
the first events of my brother's youth. Our father,
born in Languedoc in 1746, was advocate of the Council
under Louis XVI. His profession led him into rela-
tions with the notabilities of that time, and with the
men whom the "Revolution brought to the surface and
made famous. These affiliations enabled him in 1793
to save more than one of his old friends- and former
protectors. Such services exposed him to some danger,
and a very influential Conventional, who felt an interest
in citizen Balzac, hastened to remove him from the
sight and memory of Robespierre by sending him to
the North to organize a commissariat for the army.
Thrown thus by chance into the War department, my
father remained in it, and was in charge of the com-
missariat of the Twenty-second Military Division when
he married, in 1797, the daughter of one of his supe-
riors, then director of the Paris hospitals. Subsequently,
he lived nineteen 3'ears in Tours, where he bought a
house and some landed property in the vicinity of the
town. At the end of ten years it was proposed to ap-
point him ma3'or, but he declined the honor, not wishing
to give up the management of a large hospital which
he had taken upon himself. He feared he should not
find time to properly fulfil these triple functions.
My father was a mixture of Montaigne, Rabelais,
and my uncle Toby in his philosophy, his originality,
and his goodness of heart ; and he had, like my uncle
Toby, a predominant idea. That idea was health. He
managed his life with the view of living as long as pos-
sible. He calculated, from the number of years re-
quired to bring a man to perfect maturity, that his life
ought to last one hundred 3'ears and more ; to attain
Honore de Balzac. 9
that 7nore he took the most extraordinary care of him-
self, and was constantly on the watch to maintain what
he called the " equilibrium of the vital forces." And
a mighty labor it was, truly ! His fatherly solicitude
still further increased this desire for longevity. When
forty-five years of age, not having married, and not
expecting to do so, he had put the bulk of his property
into life annuities, half on the Grand-livre [the Public
Funds], half with Lafarge's bank, then just established,
he being one of its largest shareholders. When he
died in 1829, at the age of eighty-three, from the effects
of an accident, he was receiving an income of twelve
thousand francs from this source. The reduction of
interest, anc^ tho^aste which took place in the admin-
istration oi^neTontine diminished his immediate rev-
enues, but his green old age seemed to justify his hope
of sharing with the State the immense capital of the
Tontine by the extinction of all the other shareholders
of his class, — a result which might have repaired the
■wrong he did to his family by the investment. This
hope had passed into a conviction with him, and he was
constantly urging his familj^ to preserve their health so
that they migiit enjoy the millions he should leave
them. This conviction, which we all shared, made him
happy and consoled him under the reverses which over-
took him at the close of his life. " No matter, Lafarge
will put everything right," he used to say.
His originality, which became proverbial at Tours,
was quite as marked in his talk as in his actions ; he
said and did nothing like other people ; Hoffmann might
have used him as a type for one of his creations. My fa-
ther was wont to scoff at other men who, as he declared,
10 Honor e de Balzac.
were toiling incessantl}' for their own misfortunes. He
could not meet a poor sickly or deformed being without
railing at the parents, and, above all, at the rulers who
did not give as much care to the preservation of the
human race as they did to that of animals ; and he
held certain singular theories on this debatable subject,
which he propounded in a manner no less singular.
" But wh}' give them to the world?" he used to say,
walking up and down the room in his wadded gown of
puce-colored silk, his chin buried in a huge cravat cher-
ished from the days of the Director}'. ' ' The}^ would
call me an ' original ' " (a term which greatlj' angered
him), " and there would n't be one poor ricketj^ being
the less. Has any philosopher, except Cervantes, who
gave the death-blow to knight-errantrj^, ever been able
to correct humanity ? — that palsied being, alwa3's 3'oung
always old, which keeps alive somehow — happily for
us and our successors," he would add, with a laugh.
But he never scoffed at humanity unless he was un-
able to succor it, as he proved on man}' occasions.
Epidemics broke out in the hospital, especiall}' after
the return of the soldiers from Spain ; at such times
my father took up his abode in the hospital building,
and forgetting his own health to watch over that of
others, he displa3'ed a zeal which in him was devotion.
He put down man}- abuses without fearing the enmities
that sort of courage invites ; and he introduced great
and beneficent improvements, such, for instance, as
work-shops for the old men, for whom he obtained
wages.
His memory, his spirit of observation, and his gift of
repartee were not less remarkable than his originality.
Honors de Balzac. 11
He remembered after an interval of twenty years the
exact words that were said to him. At seventy years
of age, meeting unexpectedly a friend of his childhood,
he spoke to him, without the least hesitation, in the
dialect of their province, though he had not retuinied
there since he left it at fourteen. His keen observation
enabled him more than once to predict the success or
failure of men whom the world appreciated far other-
wise than as he judged them ; time often proved the
justice of his prophec^^ As for his repartees, they
never failed him under any circumstances. I remem-
ber that some one read aloud an article on a centenarian
(not allowed, as will readily be imagined, to pass in
silence), and m}" father, against his usual custom, in-
terrupted the reader to exclaim enthusiastically, "He
Uved wisel}', and did not squander his health in ex-
cesses, like the imprudent 30uth of the present day." It
turned out, however, that this wise man was in the
habit of getting drunk, and (this in my father's eyes
was an enormity against health) ate a supper every
night. " Well," he said, without a sign of discompos-
ure, " he shortened his life, that 's all."
When Honore was of an age to understand and ap-
preciate his father the latter was a fine old man still
full of energy, with courteous manners, speaking sel-
dom, and rarely of himself, indulgent to youth, with
which he was in sympathy, leaving to all the liberty he
demanded for himself, possessed of a sound and upright
judgment, in spite of his eccentricities, and a temper so
equable, a character so kind that he made his home
happy to all about him. His fine education enabled
him to follow with delisfht the advance of science and
12 Honore de Balzac.
of social amelioration, the future of which he foresaw
from the start. His wise remarks and his many curious
anecdotes helped his son greatl}- to a knowledge of life,
and supplied him with the subject of more than one of
his books.
M3" mother, who was rich and beautiful and very
much younger than her husband, had a rare vivacity of
mind and imagination, an unwearying activit}", great
firmness of decision, and boundless devotion to her
family. Her love for her children brooded over them,
but she expressed it more by actions than b}" words.
Her whole life proved her love ; she forgot herself for
us, and this self-forgetfulness brought misfortunes upon
her which she bore courageousl3\ Her last and bitter-
est trial was to survive, at the age of seventy, her
glorious son, and to succor him in his last moments ;
she prayed beside his dying bed, supported by that
religious faith which enabled her to exchange her
earthly hopes for those of heaven.
Those who knew my father and my mother will con-
firm the truth of these brief sketches. The qualities of
the author of the Comedie Humaine are undoubtedly
the logical result of those of our parents ; from our
father he derived his originalit}", memory, spirit of
observation, and judgment ; from our mother, his ac-
tivity and imagination ; and from both, his energy and
kindheartedness.
Honore was the eldest among two sisters and two
brothers. Our sister, Laurence, died a 5'oung woman
after five j^ears of married life. Our brother, Henry,
went to the colonies, where he married and settled.
At Honore's birth all things combined to promise him
Honors de Balzac. 13
a fine future. Our mother's fortune, that of our mater-
nal grandmother, who lived with her daughter from the
time she became a widow, the salary and the annuities
of our father made a handsome income for the family.
My mother devoted herself wholl}' to the education of
her children, and thought herself obliged to treat them
with severity to neutralize the effects of the indulgence
shown to us by our father and grandmother. This sever-
ity repressed the tender feelings of little Honore, who,
was also reserved and sh\' in presence of his father's
age and gravity. This state of things was profitable
to fraternal affection, which was certainly the first feel-
ing to bud and blossom in his heart. I was only two
years younger than Honore, and in the same situation
as he towards our parents. Brought up together in our
nurse's home we loved each other tenderlj'. My recol-
lections of his tenderness date far back. I have not
forgotten the headlong rapidity with which he ran to
save me from tumbling down the three high steps
without a railing which led from our nurse's room to
the garden.* His loving protection continued after we
returned to our father's house, where more than once
he allowed himself to be punished for my faults without
betraying me. Once, when I came upon the scene in
time to accuse myself of the wrong, he said: "Don't
acknowledge next time ; I like to be punished for you."
Such pure and artless devotion is never forgotten.
Our affection was fostered still farther by propi-
tious circumstances. We lived together, then and
later, in a confidence and close intimacy which had
no limits. Throughout his life I knew my brother's
joys and troubles, and I had, at all times, the precious
14 Honors de Balzac.
privilege of consoling him : that certainty is now my
joy-
The greatest event of his childhood was a journey to
Paris, where my mother took him in 1804, to show him
to his grandparents. They were delighted with their
pretty little grandson, and showered him with gifts and
kisses. Little accustomed to such petting, Honore re-
turned to Tours with his head full of joyous memories
and his heart filled with love for those dear grand-
parents, about whom he talked to me incessantl}^ de-
scribing them as best he could, also their house, their
beautiful garden, not forgetting Mouche, the big watch-
dog, with whom he had struck up an intimac3\ This
visit to Paris gave food to his imagination for a long
time. Our grandmother was fond of relating his say-
ings and doings on this occasion, especiallj' the follow-
ing. One evening she had sent for a magic-lantern.
Honore, not seeing his friend Mouche among the audi-
ence, jumped up, calling out in a tone of authority :
" Stop ! stop ! " (Probably he felt himself master in his
grandfather's house.) Then he left the room and
presently returned, dragging the dog, to whom he
said : "Sit you there, Mouche, and look at the show ;
it won't cost you anything, for grandpapa pays."
Some months after this trip Honore's brown silk
jacket and handsome blue belt were changed for mourn-
ing garments. His dear grandpapa was dead, struck
down by apoplexy. It was the child's first grief; he
wept bitterly when told that he would never again see
his grandfather, and the recollection of the kind
old man remained so present to his mind that on one
occasion, long after the sad event, seeing me go off
Honore de Balzac, 15
into a wild burst of laughter while 1113' mother was rep-
rimanding me, he endeavored to put a stop to such
tempestuous gayetj', which threatened serious con-
sequences, b}' putting his lips to my ear and saying in
tragic tones : —
'-'- Think on the death of your grandpapa ! "
Ineffectual succor, alas ! as I had never seen m}^
grandpapa, and knew nothing as yet of death.
Thus the only words that we can recall of Honore's
first years showed kindness of heart rather than intelli-
gence. I remember, however, that he did show imag-
ination in some of those childish games which George
Sand has so well described in her Memoirs. My
brother improvised little comedies, which amused us
(not always the case with greater ones). For hours
together he would twang the strings of a little red vio-
lin, while his radiant face expressed the belief that he
was making melody ; consequently, he was much sur-
prised when I entreated him to stop a noise which
might have set his friend Mouche to howling. " Don't
you hear how pretty it is ? " he would say. Like other
children, he read with eager interest all those fairy-
tales in which catastrophes, more or less dramatic,
made him cry. Perhaps they inspired him with other
tales, for sometimes to his usual bewildering loquacity
there succeeded long periods of silence which were
attributed to fatigue, but which may really have been
reveries carrying him, even then, to imaginary worlds.
When he was seven years of age he was taken from
the da}^ school at Tours and sent to the seminary at
Vendome, then very celebrated. We went to see him
regularly at Easter of every year, and also on the
16 Honors de Balzac.
days when prizes were distributed ; but he was seldom
crowned ; reproaches were more plentiful than praises
for hira on those great da3's which he awaited so im-
patiently, and out of which he expected such delight.
He remained seven 3'ears at this school, and during
that time he had no holidays. The memory of those
days inspired him with the first part of Louis Lambert.
In that part he and Louis Lambert are one ; it is Bal-
zac in two persons. The school routine, the small
events of his daily life, what he suffered and what he
thought, all is true ; even the Treatise on the Will
which one of the professors (whom he names) burned
without reading in his anger at finding it in place of a
theme which he had ordered the boy to do. My brother
always regretted the loss of that paper, regarding it as
a proof of his intellect at that period.
He was fourteen years of age when Monsieur Mares-
chal, the head of the school, wrote to our mother, be-
tween Easter and the prize-giving, to come at once
and remove her son. He was attacked with a sort of
coma, which was all the more alarming to his masters
because the}' saw no cause for it. My brother was to
them an idle scholar ; they could not, therefore, attrib-
ute this peculiar affection of the brain to intellectual
fatigue. Honor^, who had become thin and pun}-, was
like a somnambulist sleeping with open ej'es ; he
heard scarcely an}' of the questions that were addressed
to him, and could not reply when asked abrupth',
''What are you thinking of?" "Where are 3'ou?"
This extraordinary state, which in after j'ears he fully
understood, came from a sort of congestion of ideas
(to use his own expression). He had read, unknown
Honor e de Balzac. 17
to his masters, the greater part of the rich librarj- of the
college, vvliich had been formed by the learned Orato-
rian founders and proprietors of this vast institution,
where more than three hundred lads were educated at
a time. It was in the punishment cells, to which he
was sent almost daily, that he devoured these serious
books, which developed his mind at the expense of his
body at an age when the pli3'sical powers should be
exercised at least as much as the intellectual. No one
in the family has ever forgotten the amazement caused
by Honore's appearance when his mother brought him
back from Vendome.
" See how a college returns to us the blooming
children we trust to it ! " said our grandmother,
mournfull3\
My father, at first very anxious at the state of his
son, was soon reassured when he saw that the change
of scene, the fine air and the beneficent effect of home
life sufficed to restore the liveliness and gayety of the
lad in the adolescent period which was just beginning
for him. Little by httle the classification of ideas
took place in his vast memory, where he already regis-
tered the beings and the events which were about him ;
these recollections were put to use later in his pictures
of provincial life. Impelled by a vocation of which,
as yet, he knew nothing, he was instinctively led to
books and to observations which prepared the way for
his future toil and made it fruitful ; he amassed ma-
terials without knowing the use to which they were
destined. Certain types in the Comidie Humaine
belong undoubtedly to this period.
In the long walks which our mother made him take,
2
18 Honor e de Balzac.
lie already admired with an artist's e3'e the tender
seener}' of his dear Touraine which afterwards he de-
scribed so well. He would sometimes stop short with
enthusiasm before those glorious sunsets which illumine
with such picturesque effects the gothic steeples of
Tours, the scattered villages on the hill-slopes, and that
beautiful Loire, alwa^'s so majestic and covered with
sails of every size and shape. But our mother, more
solicitous about his exercise than his reveries, obliged
him to fly the kite of our little brother, or to run with
iny sister and me. He would then forget all about the
landscape, and be the youngest and the gayest of the
four children who surrounded their mother. But it was
not so in the cathedral of Saint-Gatien, to which she
took us regularly on fete-days. There, Honore might
dream at his leisure, and nought of the poetr3^ and the
splendor of that noble church was lost upon him. He
noticed all, — from the marvellous effects of hght pro-
duced by the old stained windows, and the mists of
incense enveloping, as with a veil, the officiating priests,
to the pomps of the divine service, rendered all the
more imposing by the presence of the cardinal-arch-
bishop. The countenances of the priests, which he
studied dail}', enabled him later to describe the abbes
Birotteau and Lorau, and the cure Bonnet, whose tran-
quillity of soul forms so fine a contrast to the agitations
of remorse which torture the repentant Veronique.^
This church had made so great an impression on him
that the mere name of Saint-Gatien awakened a world
of memories in which the fresh and pure sensations of
early youth, and the religious feelings which never left
1 In the Cur€ de Village.
Honors de Balzac. 19
him throughout his life, were mingled with the ideas of
manhood already germinating in that powerful brain.
He attended the lectures of the college course, and
studied under his father's roof with tutors. Already
he began to say that the world would talk of him some
day ; a speech that made us laugh, and which became
the text for endless witticisnis. In the name of his \
future fame we made him submit to innumerable little
tortures, preludes to the greater tortures he was to bear
as the cost of his acquired glor3\ This youthful appren-
ticeship was far from useless. He accepted all such
teasing with a heartier laugh than ours, (he was
always laughing in those most happy days). Never
was a nature more amiable than his, and 3'et never did
any one develop so young the desire and the intuitive
expectation of fame.
But we were far from increasing or encouraging this
desire. My brother, who was, as I have alread}' said,
somewhat repressed b}- awe, thought much more than
he ever said in presence of his father and mother.
They, of course, being unable to judge him from a full
knowledge of what he was, regarded him, like his mas-
ters, as an ordinary boy who had to be prodded and
forced to do his lessons in Greek and Latin. Our
mother, who more particularly took the management of
him, had so little suspicion of what her elder son al-
ready was that she attributed to accident the sagacious
remarks and observations which sometimes escaped
him. " You certainly cannot know what j'ou are talk-
ing about, Honore," she would say to him. He, for all
answer, would look at her with the sagacious, or the
quizzical, or the kindly smile with which nature had
20 Honors de Balzac,
endowed him. This mute and 3'et eloquent protest was
called impertinence if our mother chanced to see it ; for
Honore, not daring to argue with her, was unable to
explain either his thoughts or his smile. The repres-
sion which our elders exercise over genius, the injustices
which wound it, the obstacles that are put in its way,
maj' possibly double its strength and give more vigor to
its wing. At any rate, one likes to think so.
At the close of the year 1814 my father was sum-
moned to Paris and placed in charge of the commissa-
riat of the First division of the army. Honore finished
his studies with Monsieur Lepitre, rue Saint Louis, and
with MM. Sganzer and Beuzelin, rue de Thorigny in
the Marais, where we lived. He was not more thought
of in those institutions than he had been at Vendome.
While doing his exercises in Rhetoric he first became
attracted to the beaut}^ of the French language. I have
preserved one of his competitive compositions (a
speech of the wife of Brutus to her husband after the
condemnation of her sons). The anguish of the mother
is given with great force, and mj^ brother's all-powerful
faculty of entering into the souls of his personages is
already noticeable.
His studies over, Honore returned for tlie third time
to his father's house. This was in 1816. He was then
a handsome 3'outh, seventeen and a half years old, full
of health and vigor ; no study tired him ; a smile was
always on his lips ; he was indeed a fine 3'oung lad, the
very personification of happiness. M3' mother regarded
work as the basis of all education, and she thoroughly un-
derstood the business of employing time. Consequently
she did not allow her son one idle moment. He received
Honors de Balzac. 21
lessons in all those sciences which had been neglected
in his schools, and he attended the lectures at the Sor-
bonne. I still remember the enthusiasm he felt at the
eloquent extempore speeches of such men as Ville-
maiu, Guizot, Cousin, and others. Glowing with in-
terest, he would repeat them, trying to associate us
in these jo3's and enable us to comprehend them. He
wouid rush to the public libraries to stud}- books and
so prepare himself to profit more by the teachings of
those illustrious professors. During his peregrinations
through the Latin quarter he bought, from the book-
stalls along the quays, many rare and precious books
which he had learned how to choose. They were the
nucleus of that fine librarj' which his constant relations
with publishers in after days enabled him to render so
complete, — a library which he wished to bequeath to his
native town, until the indifference shown to him by his
townsmen whenever he returned to Tours wounded him
so deeply that he resigned this intention.
Monsieur Brun, the present prefect of the Indre-et-
Loire, a former schoolmate of Honore at Vendorae, has
lately, in conjunction with the mayor, Monsieur Mame,
brother of the celebrated publisher who brought out
Balzac's first works, placed an inscription on the house
where the author of the Comedie Humaine was born.
This is not the house, however, in which he passed his
childhood. My father's residence now belongs to Ma-
dame la Comtesse d'Outremont, a friend of our famil3\
It was formerly numbered 29 in the long street which
divides the town and crosses it from the bridge to the
Avenue de Grammont. The relations and friends of
Balzac would have been greatly astonished in 1817, and
22 Honors de Balzac.
even later, to have been told that he would one day
merit this honor paid to his memory, and still more
amazed had the announcement been made to them that
the street in Paris in which he died was to bear his
name, and that a noble procession of great men would
follow him to his last resting-place. The}^ would not
have known how to reply to such prophecies, for, in
spite of the vivacious mind which was beginning to
make itself felt in Honore, no one believed as yet in
his intellect. It is true that he chattered a great deal,
amused himself with nonsense like a child, and showed
a good-humor and at times a guilelessness which often
made him our butt. Still, we might have observed at
the time, had we paid attention to it, the attraction
which he felt to thoughtful minds and solid conversa-
tions. Above all he liked to listen to an old friend of
our grandmother, Mademoiselle de R , who had
been intimately connected with Beaumarchais, and who
lived in the same house that we lived in. M3' brother
loved to make her talk of that celebrated man until,
thanks to her details, he knew Beaumarchais's life so
well that he might have furnished the materials for the
fine biograph}' that Monsieur de Lomenie has lately
published.
M}' father wished his son to stud3' law, pass through
all the examinations, and spend three years in a law-
3'er's and in a notary's office, so as to learn the de-
tails of legal procedure together with the form and
terms of deeds. A man's education was not complete,
according to ni}' father's ideas, if he did not have a
knowledge of ancient and modern legislation, and,
above all, of the laws of his own country. Honore
Honore de Balzac. 23
therefore entered the law office of Monsieur do Mer-
ville, a friend of ours. Monsieur Scribe had just left
it. After eighteen months spent in this office he was
received into that of Monsieur Passez, notary, where
he remained for the same length of time. Monsieur
Passez lived in the same house with us, and was also
one of our intimates. These circumstances will ex-
plain the fidelity of the descriptions of legal offices
which is so observable in the Comedie Humaine, and
the profound legal knowledge therein revealed. I
once found a copy of Cesar Blrottecm among the legal
works of a Parisian barrister, and he told me that the
work was an excellent one to consult in the matter of
bankruptcy. ,
My brother led a busy life during these 3'ears ; for,
independently of the time spent in these offices and on
the work given him to do b}' his masters, he had also
to prepare himself for successive examinations. But
his activity, his memor\-, and his natural faculty were
such that lie often found time to finish his evenings
with a game of whisf or boston with my grandmotiier,
at which the kind and gentle old lad}' would contrive,
^by some voluntary imprudence or inattention, to let
him win her money, whicli he devoted to the purchase
of his books. He always loved those games in mem-
ory of her ; and the recollection of her sayings and of
her gestures used to come to him like a happiness
which, as he said, he wrested from a tomb.
Occasion all}' Honore accompanied us to a ball ; but
having unfortunately slipped and fallen, in spite of the
lessons he had taken from the Opera danciiig-master,
he renounced the practice of dancing, so much did the
24 Honore de Balzac.
smiles of the women who saw him fall rankle in his
mind ; and he vowed then to master society in some
better wa}' than by the graces and talents of a drawing-
room ; from that time forth he was a spectator only
in festal scenes which, later in life, he utilized in his
books.
At twenty-one he had ended his legal studies and
passed all his examinations. My father now confided
to him the plans he had made for his future, which
would undoubtedly have led him to wealth ; but wealth
was then the least of Honore's desires. My father had
formerl}' protected a man whom he met again in 1814
as a notary- in Paris. The latter, being ver}^ grateful
and desirous of returning to the soji the service he had
received from the father, offered to take Honore into
his office and leave him his practice at the end of a few
j^ears. My father's security for part of the expenses, a
prosperous marriage, and certain regular advances from
the splendid income of the practice would have cleared
the position of incumbrance in a very few years.
But imagine Balzac bending, for ten 3'ears perhaps,
over deeds of sale, marriage contracts, inventories, — he
who was now aspiring secretly to literary fame ! His,
stupefaction was great when the plan was divulged to
him. But he openly stated his wishes, and then it was
our father's turn to be stupefied. A livel}' discussion
followed. Honore eloquently combated the powerful
reasons given to him ; and his looks, words, and tones .
revealed so genuine a vocation that my father granted
him two years in which to give proofs of his talent.
This fine legal chance thus thrown away explains the
severity with which he was afterwards treated, and
Honors de Balzac. 25
also the hatred which he always felt to the notarial
profession, — a hatred which may be noticed in several
of his books.
My father did not yield to Honore's wishes without
regrets, which vexatious events increased. He had
just been retired from active service, and he had lost
money in two enterprises. In short, we went to live
in a country house which he had lately bought at Ville-
parisis, about sixteen miles from Paris. Fathers of
families will understand the uneasiness of our parents
under these circumstances. M}- brother had given no
proof of literary talent, and he had his way to make ; it
was, therefore, reasonable to desire a less doubtful
career for him than that of literature. For one vocation
like that which Honore declared he felt (and which he
did indeed justify so grandly) how many mediocrities
have been suffered to drift into hopeless careers hy
such indulgence ! Consequentl}', this yielding of my
father to his son's wishes was regarded as a weakness
and generally blamed b}' the friends who took an in-
terest in our welfare. *' He was allowing Honore to
waste the most precious years of his life. Did the
career of a literary man ever, under any circumstances,
lead to fortune? Had Honore the makings of a man of
genius? They doubted if What would these friends
have said of my father's weakness if he had told them
of the offer that had been made to him and refused ?
One intimate friend who was somewhat brusque and
very dictatorial declared that in his opinion Honore was
only good for a copying-clerk. The poor fellow wrote
a good hand^ to quote the expression of a writing
master who had taught him after leaving Vendome.
26 Honore de Balzac.
" If I were in 3^0111' place/' added this friend, " I should
not hesitate to put Honore in some government clerk-
ship, where, with your influence, he will soon manage to
support himself." Mj father, however, judged his son
ditlerenth' at this time ; and (his theories aiding) he
believed in the intellect of his children. He contented
himself with smiling at such advice, holding firm all the
while to his own way. It is to be presumed that his
friends left him that evening deploring to each other
his paternal blindness.
My mother, less confiding than her husband, thought
that a little hardship would soon bring Honor6 to sub-
mission. She therefore installed him, just before we
moved from Paris, in a small attic room, chosen b}"
him for its nearness to the Bibliotheque de I'Arsenal,
the onl}' librarj- unknown to him, and where he now
proposed to work. She furnished this room with the
strict necessaries of a bed, table, and a few chairs ; the
allowance which she made to her son for his living
would certainlv not have sufficed for his bare wants if
she had not left behind her in Paris an old woman, for
man}' 3'ears attached to our service, whom she charged
to keep an eye upon him. It was this woman whom
he calls Iris in his letters.^
To pass suddenl}' from a comfortable home where
everything was abundant to the solitude of a garret,
where all comfort was lacking to him, was surely a
hard transition. But Honore made no complaint of
this lodging, where, in truth, he found freedom, and to
which he carried the glorious hopes which his first liter-
Sivy disappointments were unable to extinguish. It
1 This attic room was in the house No. 9 rue Lesdiguieres.
Honors de Balzac. 27
was then that his correspondence with me began, — a
correspondence tenderly preserved, and now so full of
dear and precious memories. I ask. indulgence for the
familiar playfulness of the first few extracts which I
now quote. That ver}' familiarity is their natural plea
for it. I cannot suppress them, for they picture in a
striking way the rudiments of my brother's character ;
and I believe that the gradual development of such a
mind is interesting to follow. In his first letter, after
enumerating the costs of moving (items which had no
other purpose than to show our mother he was alread}''
short of money) he confides to me that he has taken a
servant.
"Paris, April! 2, 1819.
*' ' A servant, brother ! — what are you thinking of! *
''Yes, a servant; with a name as queer as that of
Dr. Nacquart's servant. His was called Tranquil ;
mine is named Myself. And a bad bargain he is,
truly ! Myself is lazy, clumsy, thoughtless. His mas-
ter is hungry or thirst\', and often enough he has
neither bread nor water to give him ; he does n't even
know how to shield him from the wind, which whistles
through the door and window, like Tulou in his flute
— but less agreeably. As soon as I am awake I ring
for M3'self and he makes my bed. Then he sweeps
the room, and clumsy he is at it.
'''Myself!'
" ' Yes, sir.*
"'Look at that cobweb with the big fly buzzing
in it till I'm half giddy with the noise — and the fluff
under the bed — and the dust on the window-panes
which blinds me.'
28 Honors de Balzac,
" The lazy beggar gazes at me and does n't stir, and
yet, in spite of all his defects, I can't get rid of that
unintelligent Myself. . . .
'' Don't be surprised that I write on half a sheet of
paper, with a bad pen, and that I talk nonsense. I
must be careful of my expenditures, and I economize
everywhere, in writing and in mind, as you see."
In his second letter he excuses the first, which our
mother had thought too careless.
" Tell mamma 1 work so hard that writing to you is
recreation, for then I go — saving your dignity and my
own — like Sancho's ass browsing on anything I get
hold of. No, I won't make rough copies — for shame !
the heart knows nothing of rough copies. If I don't
punctuate, and if I don't read over what I have written,
it is that you may have to read and reread it, and think
of me a long time. There ! I '11 fling my pen to the
geese if that is n't a refinement of sentiment worthy
of a woman. . . .
"Let me tell you, mademoiselle, that economy
reigns here for the purpose of buj-ing a piano ; when
my mother brings 3'ou to see me 3'ou will find one. I
have taken all dimensions ; by setting back the walls a
piano can be got in. If m}^ landlord objects to the
expense I shall add it to the cost of the piano, and
Rousseau's Dream [a piece by Cramer then much in
vogue] shall echo in my garret, where a need of
dreams makes itself felt."
What work he meditates ! novels, comedies, comic
operas, tragedies are all upon his list of things to be
done. He is like a child with so many words to say he
Honors de Balzac, 29
does not know where to begin. First, it is Stella and
Coqsigrue^ two booivs that never saw the light. Of
his projected comedies I remember only Les Deitx
Philosophes^ which he would certainly have taken up
again in after years had he lived. The pair scoffed at
each other and quarrelled incessantly (like friends,
Honore said, when relating the plot). These philos-
ophers while despising the vanities of the world strug-
gled with each other to obtain them ; and their failure
to do so finally reconciled them to each other, by caus-
ing both to curse the odious selfishness of the human
race. For which of these works could it have been
that he so urgently wanted our father's Tacitus, a work
that was lacking to the librarj^ of the Arsenal? This
want was the subject of his next letter.
*' I positively must have father's Tacitus ; he can't
want it now that he is so full of China and the Bible."
My father, a great admirer of the Chinese (perhaps
because of their longevity as a nation), was at this
time reading those thick volumes of the Jesuit mission-
aries who were the first to describe China. He was
also engaged in making notes to a precious edition
which he possessed of the Bible, a book which at all
times called forth his admiration.
"June, 1819.
*' You can easily find out where the key of the library
is kept. Papa is not always at liome ; he does go to
walk ; and miller Godard is at hand to bring me
Tacitus.
" By the bye, Coqsigrue is beyond my powers, as 3'et.
I must ruminate over it and take time before writing.
"My dear, I don't like your historical studies and your
30 Honore de Balzac,
maps of the centuries. Why do you * amuse * 3'our-
self (what a word to use ! ) in rewriting Blair? Get him
out of the Ubrary — you will find him close to Tacitus —
and learn him by heart. But what good will that do
you? A girl knows enough historj' when she does n't
jumble up Hannibal with Caesar, and doesn't take Thra-
symene for a general, or Pharsalia for a Roman matron.
Read Plutarch and books of that calibre, and you will
be freighted for life without losing any of 3-our de-
lightful claims to womanhood. You don't want to be
a femme savante^ fie !
" I dreamed deliciously last night ; I was reading the
Tacitus you sent me.
'' Talma is playing Auguste in Cinna. I am terribly
afraid I can't resist going to see hira — madness ! my
very stomach trembles. . . . M3' household news is dis-
astrous ; toil interferes with cleanliness. That rascal
of a Myself neglects me more than ever. He won't go
down oftener than every third or fourth da}- to make
my purchases, and then to the nearest and worst dealers
in the neighborhood ; the others are too far off, and the
fellow economizes in steps. And so it is that your
brother (destined to fame) is already fed like a great
man, — that is to say, he is dying of hunger.
"Another malign fact: coffee makes a terrible mess
upon the floor ; much water is necessary to repair
damages ; now as water does not rise naturalh' to my
celestial regions (it comes down upon them in stormy
days) , it will be necessar}', after buying the piano, to
obtain the services of an hydraulic machine to wash up
the coffee while master and valet are gaping after fame.
When you send Tacitus don't forget the coverlet ; and
Honor^ de Balzac, 31
if j-ou could add an old, a very old_sliawl, it would be
useful to me. Are you laughing? It is the one thing
wanting to my nocturnal garb. 1 had to think first of
my legs, where I suffer most with cold ; those I wrap in
the Tourainean top-coat which Grogniart, of bungling
memory, constructed. [Grogniart was a little tailor
at Tours, who used to make over the clothes of the
father for the son, not at all to the satisfaction of
Honore.] The said top-coat coming onl}' to my mid-
dle, the upper half of me is ill-protected from the
frost, which has only the roof and a flannel waistcoat
to get through before reaching my brotherly skin, too
tender, alas, to bear it, — in short, the cold nips me.
As to my head, I am counting on a Dantesque cap,
which shall enable it to brave the blast of door and
window. Thus equipped, I shall inhabit my palace in
much comfort. . . .
*' I finish this letter as Cato finished his discourse ; he
said ' Let Carthage be destroyed.' I say ' Let Tacitus
be taken ; ' and I shall be, dear student of history, of
your four feet eight inches, the very humble servant."
Here follows a letter which I give entire ; prefacing
it with a few remarks to make it intelligible. M,y
father, wishing to spare his son the mortifications
of self-love in case lie failed in his new career, gave
out, among our friends, that he was absent in the
countr3^ Monsieur de Villers, of whom Honore
speaks in the following letter, was an old friend of the
family, a former priest and Comte de Lyon, living at
Nogent, a little village near the Isle-Adam. My brother
had stayed with him several times. The witty conver-
32 Honors de Balzac.
sation of the good old man, his curious anecdotes about
the old Court, where he had been a favorite, the en-
couragement he gave to Honore, who made him his con-
fidant, had given rise to so true an affection between
them that in later days Honore used to speak of Isle-
Adam as his "paradise of inspiration."
"November, 1819.
" You ask for news. I shall have to manufacture it ;
no one sets foot in m}^ garret. I can onlj^ tell 3'ou a lot
of items about m3'self; for instance: A fire broke out
rue Lesdiguieres, No. 9, in the head of a poor lad,
and no engines have been able to put it out. It was
kindled by a beautiful woman whom he does not
know. The}^ say she lives at the Quatre-Nations, the
other side of the Pont des Arts ; she is called Fame.
Unfortunatel}' the burned youth reasons ; he says to
himself: 'Either I have or I have not genius; in
either case I am laying up a store of sorrows. Without
genius, I am done for. I must then pass m^^ life in
feeling desires I cannot satisfy, in miserable envy, cruel
pain. With genius, I shall be persecuted, calumniated ;
and I know very well that Mademoiselle Fame will have
to wipe away abundant tears.
" There is still time to make myself a nonentit}^, and
to become like M , who calml}^ judges others with-
out knowing them, takes the opinions of politicians
without understanding them, wins at cards, lucky man,
though he wastes his trumps, and who will one day be
a deputy, because he is rich, — a perfect man ! If I
were to win fives in a lottery to-morrow I should be as
successful as he, no matter what else I could say or do.
Honore de Balzac. 33
But not having the money to buy his hopes, I have not
liis wonderful opportunit}' to impose on fools ! Poor,
pitiful humanity !
*' Let's talk of my pleasures. Yesterday I played a
game of boston with my landlord, and after piling up
miseres and piccolos, and having the luck of fools
(perhaps I was thinking of M ), I won — three
sous ! Mamma will sa}' : ' Dear, dear ! Honore will be
a gambler.* Not at all, mother, I keep watch over
my passions.
*' I have been thinking that after the laborious winter
I am about to go through, a few days in the country
would do me good. No, mamma ; it is not because I
am sick of m}- hardships — I love them. But some one
close at 3'our elbow will tell you that exercise and fresh
air are ver}^ good for the health of man. Now, as
Honore is not allowed to show himself in his father's
house why should n't he go to that kind Monsieur Vil-
lers, who loves and encourages the poor rebel? An
idea, mother! Suppose you write and propose the
trip? There, now it is as good as done ; you need n't
put on your stern look, for we all know you are kind at
heart, and we only half fear you.
''When are you coming to see me? — to drink my
coffee and eat scrambled eggs, stirred up in a dish you
must bring with you ; for if I succumb and go to see
Cinna, I shall have to renounce household utensils, and
perhaps even the piano and the hydraulic ram.
"Iris, the goddess messenger, has not arrived.^ I
will finish this letter to-morrow.
1 This was the old woman deputed by his mother to keep an
eye upon liis wants.
3
34 Honore de Balzac.
" To-morrow. Still no Iris. Can she be misconduct-
ing herself? [She was seventy years old.] I never
see her except on the fly, and so out of breath she cannot
tell me one quarter of what I want to know. Do you
think of me as much as I think of you ? Do you some-
times cry out when at whist or boston, ' Honore,
where art thou ? ' I did not tell you that besides the
conflagration in my head I have had a frightful tooth-
ache, followed by a swelling, which makes my present
appearance hideous. Do I hear 3'ou sa}-, '- Have it
drawn '? The devil ! a man clings to his teeth ; he has
got to bite sometimes, I suppose, even in my career,
if only at toil. Hark ! I hear the puflSng of the
goddess.
'' Thanks for 3'our tenderness and the provisions ; I
recognize you in the jam-pot and the flowers."
After long hesitation, he chose the traged}^ of Crom-
well for his opening work, — tragic enough, as will be
seen by the sequel.
" I have chosen Cromwell for my subject, because it
is the finest in modern histor}^ Ever since I began to
take it up and weigh it I have flung myself into that
period tooth and nail. Ideas crowd upon me ; but I
am constantly held back by my want of facult^^ for
versification. I shall bite m}' nails off" more than once
before I get through the first scene. If you onl}^ knew
the difficulties of such work ! The great Racine spent
two whole years in polishing Phedre, the despair of
poets. Two years ! two years ! think of it — two years !
'•' But how sweet it is, working night and day, to asso-
Honore de Balzac. 35
date m}' work with those so clear to me. Ah, sister, if
heaven has indeed endowed me with talent my great-
est joy will be to see m}- faniQ^ reflect on all of you !
What happiness to vanquish ol)livion, and to shed
another lustre on the name of Balzac ! ^ My blood glows
at the thought. When a fine idea comes into my mind
I fancy I hear 3'our voice saying to me, ' Courage ! '
" In my off hours I am scratching off Stella^ a pretty
little story. I have abandoned the comic opera. There
is no way, in my burrow, of finding a composer. Be-
sides, I ought not to write for the taste of the present
day, but do as the Racines and the Corneilles did —
work for posterity ! And then, I must own the second
act was weak, and the first too full of brilliant music."
'' Too full of brilliant music^"" how much of
Honore's character is in those five words ; he actually
saw and heard that opera.
"Well, reflection for reflection, I prefer to reflect
on Cromwell. But there are usually two thousand
verses in a tragedy ; imagine my reflections on that !
Pity me — what am I sa3'ing? No, don't pity me, for I
am happy ; emy me rather, and think of me often."
His hopes were sometimes mingled with anxieties.
Here is a letter in which he expresses them : —
" 1820.
*' Ah, sister, what tortures are mine ! I shall offer a
petition to the pope for the first vacant niche of a mar-
1 This allusion is to Jean-Louis de Balzac, one of the creators
of French prose, 1594-1654. He wrote " Le Socrate Chretien,"
" Aristippus," etc.
36 Honors de Balzac.
t}'!'. I have just discovered a fault of construction in
my regicide^ and it swarms with bad lines. I am a
pater doloroso this da}'. If I am, indeed, a miserable
rhymester I ma}' as well go hang myself. I and my
tragedy are like Perrette and her milk jug ; perhaps
the comparison will turn outonlj'too true. But I must
succeed in this work and, no matter what it costs me,
have something finished to show when mamma re-
quires me to account for my time. . Often I sit up all
night to work ; but I do not tell her, it would make her
uneas}'. What troubles come of a love of fame ! Long
live the grocers, hang them ! they sell all day and
count up their gains at night, and delectate themselves
now and then with some horrid melodrama, and then
they are happ}- ! — yes, but they have to spend their
lives between soap and cheese. So, long live the men
of letters, sa}^ I. Yes, but they have n't a penny in
their pockets, and are only rich in pride. Pooh ! let us
live and let live, and long live all the world ! "
He sends me the plan of his tragedy ; but in the ut-
most secrecy, for he wants to surprise the family. So
he writes at the head of his letter, '' For 3'our eye only."
Months are consumed over the work, about which he
writes to me incessantl3^ with continual alternations of
hope and fear. Serious thoughts begin to mingle with
his boyish gavety.
" 1820.
*'I have abandoned the Jardin des Plantes," he
wi'ites, " for Pere-Lachaise. The Jardin des Plantes is
too sad. I get good strong inspiring thoughts during
my walks in Pere-Lachaise, where I go to study sor-
Honore de Balzac. 37
rows ; true sorrow is so hard to paint — it needs so
much simpUcit3\ Of all the affections of the soul grief
is the most difficult to represent ; in that we moderns are
the very humble servants and followers of the ancients.
" Surely the noblest epitaphs are the single names:
La Fontaine, Massena, Moliere, — names that tell all
and make the passer dream ! "
He dreams of great men ; he pities those who are
victims of the vulgar crowd which understands them
not, neither their ideas, nor their actions, nor their
work, and he thus concludes : —
'' The lives of great men must ever be in all ages the
consolation for mediocrity."
He tells how he takes particular pleasure on that
height of Pere-Lachaise from which all Paris can be
seen ; the spot where his Rastignac stood after render-
ing his last duty to Pere Goriot, where Balzac himself
now rests. Standing on that spot, he asked himself
more than once, as he thought on the illustrious dead
about him, whether the world would hereafter pay
homage at his tomb. Sometimes, in his days of hope-
fulness, he exclaims, like Rastignac, " The world is
mine, for I understand it ! " And then he returns to
his garret, ''where all is dark as an oven, and no
one but me could see at all," he adds merrily.
Like his own Desplein in the Messe de VAthee he
complains that the oil of his lamp costs him more than
bis bread ; but still, he loves his dear garret.
*' The time I spend here will be to me a source of
tender memory. To live as I fancy, to work according
38 Honors de Balzac.
to my taste and in my humor, to do nothing if I so will,
to rest in thought on a future which I am able to make
noble, to think of 3'ou and know 3'ou are happ}', to
have the Julie of Rousseau for my mistress, La Fon-
taine and Mohere for my friends, Racine for my mas-
ter, and Pere-Lachaise for my walks — Ah ! if it could
only last forever."
The opinion of the family friend who advised mak-
ing him a copying-clerk came back to his mind at times
and made him anxious ; then he would wax indignant
and exclaim, "I'll give the lie to that man ! " The lie
given, he dedicated to him, for all vengeance, one of
his finest works. Neither did he forget the smiles of
the women who saw his slip at the ball ; he resolved to
win quite other smiles from their lips. Such thoughts
redoubled his ardor for work ; trifling circumstances
lead often to great results ; the^^ do not make a voca-
tion, but they spur the mind to follow one.
In another letter, sufficiently remarkable for me to
remember it at this distance of time, he showed he was
beginning to distinguish the different horizons of social
life, the obstacles to be overcome in all careers before
we can force our way through the crowds which throng
the outskirts. This letter, evidently written for my
mother's e^'e, was no doubt given to her, for it is not in
my collection. In it he analyzed the cares and the toil
which inevitably awaited the lawyer, doctor, soldier,
merchant ; the lucky chances they must encounter
before they could get enough recognition to succeed.
He did not conceal the difficulties and the thorns of the
literary profession, but he showed that they were every-
Honor6 de Balzac. 39
where; "if so," be concluded, "why not grant liberty
to one who feels within him an irresistible vocation? "
This was the moral of the letter. I transcribe one
more fragment of the correspondence dated from his
garret. It is curious on account of the period at which
it was written (April, 1820) and shows the clearness of
a mind wliich was beginning to meditate widely on
many subjects.
"I am more infatuated than ever with ray career;
for a crowd of reasons from which I will select only
those which you may not have thought of. Our revo-
lutions are far from being over. I foresee, from the
way in which things are stirring, many more storms.
Be it good or evil the representative system demands
immense talent of all kinds ; great writers must neces-
sarily be sought for in political crises, for they alone
unite with scientific knowledge the spirit of observation
and a profound perception of the human heart. If I
am to be a great one (which we don't yet know, I ad-
mit) I ma}- some day be illustrious in other ways than
literature ; to add to the title of a great writer that of a
great citizen is an ambition which may well tempt a
man."
The scene was now to change. Honore's first hopes
were to be followed by his first disappointments. He
returned to his father's house at the end of April, 1820,
with his traged}' completed. He arrived all joyful, for
he counted on a triumph, and he wished certain friends
to be present at the reading, — not forgetting the one
who had been so mistaken about him.
The friends assembled ; the solemn trial began. The
40 Honore de Balzac.
enthusiasm of the reader became more and more chilled
as he noted the slight impression he was making, and
saw the icy or the downcast faces of those about him.
Mine was among the downcast. What I suffered during
tliat reading was a foretaste of the terrors which the first
representations of Vautrin and Quinola were destined
to give me. Cromicell did not revenge him, as 3'et,
upon M , who, rough as ever, gave his opinion upon
the tragedy without mincing it. Honore cried out
against him, refused to accept his verdict ; but the rest
of the audience agreed, though more kindly, in think-
ing the work a failure. My father met with the ap-
proval of all by proposing to submit the play to a com-
petent and impartial authorit}'. Monsieur Surville, the
engineer of the canal de I'Ourcq, who became soon
after his brother-in-law, proposed his former professor
at the Ecole Polytechnique. My brother accepted this
literary elder as sovereign judge. The good old man,
after reading the play conscientiously, declared that
the author ought to do anything, no matter what, ex-
cept literature. Honore received the verdict full in the
face without flinching, for he did not admit himself
beaten.
" Tragedies are not my line, that 's all," he said, and
returned to work.
But fifteen months of garret life had so reduced him
that my mother would not let him go back to it. She
insisted on his coming home, where she looked after
him solicitously. It was then that he wrote, in the
space of five years, ten novels in forty volumes, which
he considered mere attempts at his art, and very im-
perfect ones ; for this reason he published them under
Honore de Balzac. 41
various pseudonyms, out of respect for the name of
Balzac, once celebrated, and to which he so much de-
sired to add a lustre of his own. Mediocrity is not so
modest I T am careful not to give the names of these
books, wishing to obey his express wish that thej^
should never be acknowledged.
Materially most comfortable in his father's house he
nevertheless regretted his dear garret, where he had
the quiet that was lacking to him in a sphere of activ-
ity in which ten persons (counting masters and ser-
vants) revolved about him ; where the small as well as
the great events of the family disturbed him ; and
where, even when at work, he heard the wheels of the
domestic machine which the vigilant and indefatigable
mistress kept in motion. Eighteen months after his
return to his father's roof I was living, for the time be-
ing, at Bayeux, and our correspondence began again.^
My brother, then among his own people, wrote much
more of them than of himself, and with the freedom his
confidence in me permitted. He gives me domestic
scenes and conversations which might be thought whole
pages taken from the Com^die Humaine. In one of
these letters he compares his father to the pyramids of
Egypt, unchangeable, immutable amid the sand-storms
of the desert. In another he announces the marriage
of our sister Laurence. Her portrait, that of her lover,
the enthusiasm of the family for the new son-in-law,
are all painted with a master's hand, and the pen of
Balzac. He concludes with these words : —
i Mademoiselle Laura de Balzac married, May, 1820, Monsieur
Midy de la Greneraye Surville, engineer of the department of
Tponts et chaussees, — public works.
42 Honors de Balzac,
"We are fine originals in this holy family of ours.
What a pity I can't put us all into my novels." ^
As the majority of these letters would have no interest
for the public, I can only extract such parts as relate to
Honore himself. The following ^ill show his first dis-
couragements. He is advancing in life and sees that
the way is difficult.
"You ask for particulars of the fete, and to-day I
have nothing to give 3'ou but sadness of heart. I think
myself the most unhappy of all the unhappy beings
who are struggling to live beneath that beauteous ce-
lestial vault which the Eternal has starred with his
almighty hand. Fetes ! it is but a mournful litany I
can send you in replj'. My father, on his way back
from Laurence's marriage was struck in the left eye by
Louis's whip. To think that Louis's whip should injure
that fine old age, the joy and pride of us all ! . . . My
heart bleeds. At first the injur}- was thought greater
than it is, happil}' . Father's apparent calmness pained
me. I would rather he had complained ; I should have
thought that complaints would relieve him. But he is so
proud, and justly so, of his moral strength, that I dared
1 Mme. Surville's family loyalty omits the rest of this letter in
which, after relating " very confidentially " the nervous condition
of his mother and grandmother he adds, " Alas ! how comes it
that people have so little indulgence for others in this life ; why do
they seek to turn everything into a means of wounding their fel-
lows ? How few are willing to live in that hearty good-will that
you and I and papa can live in. Nothing angers me so mucli as
these great demonstrations of affection which smother you with
kisses and call you selfish if you don't exaggerate your own, and
have no conception of inward feelings which only manifest them-
selves when the right time comes."
Honore de Balzac. 43
not even comfort him ; yet an old man's suffering is as
painful to see as a woman's. I could neither think nor
work and 3'et I must work, must write, write to earn
the independence they will not give me. I must en-
deavor to get m}" freedom b}' these novels ; and what
novels ! Ah, Laure, what a fall for mj' glorious pro-
jects ! If they would only have given me an allowance
of fifteen hundred francs a year I might have worked
for fame ; but for such work I must have time, and I
must live ! ^ 1 have no other waj' than this ignoble one
hy which to win my independence. And if I do not
quickly earn some money the spectre of the place will
reappear. I may not be made a notary, for Monsieur
T has lately died ; but I think that M , that
dreadful man, is even now inquiring for a place for me.
Regard me as dead if thej^ put me under that extin-
guisher ; I shall become like the horse of a treadmill
which does his thirt}^ or forty rounds an hour, eats,
drinks, and sleeps by rule and measure. And the}'
call that mechanical rotation, that perpetual recurrence
of the same things, living !
" Ah, if something would cast a charm over my cold
existence ! I have no flowers in my life, and yet I am
at the season when they bloom. What good will for-
tune or enjoyments do me when my youth is gone?
Why wear the clothes of the actor if we never play the
role? The old man is one who has dined and looks on
to see others eat, but as for me, I am young, mj' plate
1 He had begged his parents to grant him an allowance of fif-
teen hundred francs a year that he might return to a garret in
Paris, where he could have solitude and the facilities for literary
training of wliich he was deprived at Villeparisis.
44 Honore de Balzac.
is empty, and I hunger ! Laure, Laiire, my two im-
mense and sole desires, — to be famous and to he
loved, — will they ever be satisfied ?
" I send you two new books. The}' are still very bad
and, above all, unliterary. You will find one or two
rather funnj^ things, and some types of character, but a
miserable plot. The veil does not fall, unluckily, till
after they are printed ; and as for corrections, I can't
even think of them, they would cost more than the
book. The only merit of these two novels is, dear,
that they bring me in a thousand francs ; but the
money is only payable in bills at long sight. Will it
be paid?
" Still, I am beginning to feel my pulse and under-
stand my powers. But to be conscious of what I am
worth, and to sacrifice the flower of my ideas on such
rubbish ! It is enough to make me weep. Ah, if I had
only the wherewithal to subsist on, I would soon find me a
niche where I could write books that would live — per-
haps ! My ideas change so much that my method must
change too. Before long there will be betwixt the me
of to-day and the me of to-morrow the difierence that
exists between the 3'outh of twenty and the man of
thirty. I reflect, my ideas mature ; I do know that
nature has treated me well in the heart and in the head
she has given me. Believe me, dear sister (for I need
a believer), I do not despair of one day becoming
something ; for I can now see plainly that Cromwell
had not even the merit of being an embryo. As for
my novels they are not worth a curse, but they pretend
to nothing."
Honors de Balzac. 45
He judged himself too severely ; it is true that these
early works contained as yet the mere germs of his
talent, but he made such progress from one to another
that he might have put his name to the last without
injury to his coming reputation. Happily, he could
pass quickly from grief to jo}', for the letters which
followed are full of gayety and high spirits. His
novels are better paid and cost him less pains to
write.
'' If you only knew how little trouble it is to me to
plan these books, to head the chapters, and fill the
pages ! You shall judge for yourself, however, because,
now that your husband invites me, I shall certainly
spend three good months with you this year."
He lays a host of plans, he has a multitude of hopes ;
he imagines himself rich and married. He begins to
wish for wealth, but only as a means of success. He
describes the wife he would like, and speaks of conjugal
happiness in the tone of a man who has not yet med-
itated on the Physiologie du mariage. He goes to
Isle-Adam to stay with his friend, Monsieur de Villers.
There he attends the funeral of a physician, such as he
describes in the Medecin de Campagne. This man,
whom he had known during his previous visits, the bene-
factor of the neighborhood, loved and mourned by all,
gave him the idea of that book. The man then buried
became in after j'ears the living Monsieur Benassis.
Wherever he went he studied what he saw, — towns, vil-
lages, country-places, and their inhabitants ; collecting
words or speeches which revealed a character or painted
46 Ilonore de Balzac.
a situation. He called, rather slightingly, the scrap-
book in which he kept these notes of what he saw and
heard his " meat-safe."
But, rocked to sleep for a time b}' hope, he was soon
awakened by sad realit3\ His novels not only did not
make him rich, but they barelj- sufficed for his necessary
expenses. The doubts and anxieties of his familj^were
renewed. His parents talked of taking a stand. To
have succeeded in getting his books printed at all was,
however, a success, and showed unusual ability and a
gift of fascination that was far from common ; for pub-
lishers are long unattainable to the poor aspirant, who
is usually rebutfed with the discouraging words, " You
are unknown, and yet you wish me to publish 3'our
books." To have a name before writing is therefore
the first problem to solve in this career, unless a man
can enter the literary battle-field like a cannon-ball.
Now m}^ brother did not think his works had, as yet,
that power of propulsion. Besides, he had no influence
to aid him in the world of letters, neither had he any
one to aid or to encourage him, except one school friend
who afterwards entered the magistrac}' and who wrote
Honore's first anonymous novel with him. Dreading
lest he should be forced to accept the chains which were
being forged for him, ashamed of the dependence in
which he was kept in his own home, he resolved to at-
tempt an enterprise which alone seemed to offer him a
chance of freedom. This was in 1823, when my brother
was nearly twenty-five years old. Here begin the dis-
asters which led to all the troubles and misfortunes
of his life.
Honori de Balzac. 47
CHAPTER III.
CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH.
Balzac's childhood was divided thus : four years in
tlie house of his peasant nurse, four 3'ears and one
month in his own home, six years and two months in
the seminary of Vendome without leaving it for a single
day. His sister has told us of his sunny nature during
the eight years the}' were together. Of the subsequent
six years passed in that gray and gloomy institution
she tells but three things : his eager longing for the
family visits ; the fact (which she states in positive
terms) that the first part of Louis Lambert is Honor^'s
own histor}' in all its particulars ; and, thirdly, the
condition in which the boy was returned to his parents.
Balzac himself takes up the tale from his eleventh year.
What voiceless sufferings must lie in the years from
eight to eleven, during which the sunny little child was
broken in to the stern rule and desolate loneliness from
which there was no escape. Remembering Balzac's
imagination, the mighty <i;ift that was born in him, it is
possible to form some idea of what his dawning soul
endured in its first struggle with experience.
We raiglit suppose tiiat the ties of familj^ would have
been weak in Balzac, exiled as he was in childhood
and later from his home, where it is quite plain, though
48 Honors de Balzac.
not acknowledged by his sister or himself, that he
was never understood or wiselj- treated. On the con-
trarj^, the spirit of filial reverence and affection which
is so marked a trait in French character was never
stronger than in Balzac ; and the abstract principle
of the Familj' is one of the b^ses on which he built his
work.
The dream}" little town of Vendome in Touraine was
the site of the chief French college of the Oratorians, a
fraternity instituted in Itah' in 1575 by Saint Philippe
de Neri, and brought to France by Cardinal de BeruUe
in 1611. The object of this brotherhood was the edu-
cation of 3'outh, more especiall}' that of preachers. To
this original' purpose, seems to have been added in
Balzac's da}" that of a semi-military academy, sending
a certain number of cadets to the army. When the
Convention decreed the abolition of the teaching fra-
ternities the Oratorians of Vendome quietly closed their
buildings and dispersed themselves about the neighbor-
hood. After the Revolution was over they returned
and re-established the school under its former rules.
On its register may be rea,d this entry : "- No. 460.
Honore Balzac, aged eight years and one month. Has
had the small-pox and is without infirmity. Tempera-
ment sanguine ; easily excited ; subject to feverish
attacks. Entered June 22, 1807. Left August 22,
1813."
Balzac's account of his life at this school is an in-
valuable record. Here we see the first making of his
spirit ; we see his mind beating its wa}" out to the
light, untrammelled by knowledge of the world, and con-
scious of no restraint or limit. The same' power of his
Honors de Balzac. 49
mind to sustain itself on its own pinions remained with
liiui through life, but we find other explanations of it ;
it was then a conscious power, affected by environment ;
here it is that of the pure, uninfluenced spirit, opening
itself to the knowledge of wisdom at that period of life
when the human creature is in simple relation to the
divine; for "can anything be nearer to God than
genius in the heart of a child?" The following is an
abridgment of his own account of his school years as
given in Louis Lambert.
Standing in the centre of the town on the little river
Loir, which bathes its outer walls, the College is seen
to be a vast inclosure of ancient brick and stone build-
ings, unchanged since the period of their erection, and
containing all the appurtenances necessary for an insti-
tution of its kind, — chapel, theatre, infirmary, bake-
house, gardens, and a sj-stem of irrigation and water
supph'. This college, the most important educational
establishment in the middle provinces, derived its
pupils from those provinces and from the colonies.
The rules forbade vacations bej'ond the walls. Letters
to parents were obligator}^ on certain days ; so was
confession. Sins and affections were thus under strict
supervision. All things bore the stamp of monastic
regularitj'.
The two or three hundred pupils contained in the
institution were divided into four sections : the Min-
imes^ the Petits^ the Mbyens^ and the Grands, the
latter being the head class in rhetoric, philosophy, spe-
cial mathematics, ph^'sics, and chemistr}'. Each section
occupied a building of its own, with classrooms and a
courtyard opening on a broad piece of ground leading
4
50 Honors de Balzac,
to the refectory, where the pupils took their meals to-
gether. To ameliorate their lives, deprived as they
were of all communication with the world without, and
severed from family pleasures, the Fathers allowed the
boys to keep pigeons and to cultivate little gardens.
They were also permitted to play cards and act dramas
during the holidays ; a band of music belonged to the
miUtary section of the college, and a shop was set up
on the common ground near the refectory, where the
pupils could buy pens, ink and paper, balls, marbles,
stilts, and knives, and other boyish treasures.
To tliis unnatural life, parted from mother and sis-
ters, alone among boys and men, and aware that until
his education was finished there would be no change in
it even for a single day, the child of eight was con-
demned. Happily, he was passionately fond of read-
ing (having already devoured all that came in his way
in his father s house) and the college librarian allowed
him to take such books as he liked, pa3ing little or no
attention to those he carried away with him, nor to
those he read in the tranquil precincts of the librar\'.
Absorbed in the delights of this passion he neglected
his studies, and composed poems which gave no prom-
ise of future greatness, if we ma}' judge by the follow-
ing unwield}' line, the first of an epic on the Incas ;
O Inca ! vol infortune et malheureux.
This epic fell into the hands of his schoolmates, who
dubbed him " Poet," in derision of the performance.
But ridicule did not repress him. He continued to
scribble sorry verses in spite of Monsieur Mareschal,
the director, who told him the fable of the fledgling that
Honors de Balzac. 51
fell out of the nest into man}- troubles, because it tried
to fl}^ before its wings were grown. All to no purpose,
however ; he persisted in his desultory- reading, and be-
came the least assiduous, the laziest, dreamiest pupil in
his division, and the oftenest punished. He was then
twelve years old. George Sand records : '' A friend of
mine, who sat on the same bench with him, told me
that he was a very absorbed child, rather heavy in ap-
pearance, poor at his classics, and appearing stupid to
his masters, — a great proof of either precocious genius
or strong individuality, and so it seemed in the eyes of
the person who told me."
During the first months of his life at Vendome he
fell a victim to a sort of nostalgia, the symptoms of
whicli were not perceived by the masters. Accustomed
to the open air, to independence, to the care of friends,
and to thinking and dreaming in the sunshine, it was
very hard for him to bow to college rules, and to live
within the four walls of a room where eighty lads were
forced to sit erect and silent before their desks His
senses were endowed with extreme delicac}', and he suf-
fered greatly from this community of life. Exhalations,
which poisoned the air and mingled with the other odors
of a classroom that was often dirty, gave forth the
fumes of a sort of humus which affected his sense of
smell, a sense, he says, in closer relation than any other
to the cerebral system, and which, if vitiated, must
create invisible disturbance to the organs of thought.
The loss of the pure countr\' air he had hitherto breathed,
the change in his habits, the discipline of the school,
all combined to depress his vitality. He would sit for
hours leaning his head upon his left hand, and gazing
52 Honors de Balzac.
into the court3'ard, at the foliage of the trees or the
clouds in the sky. He seemed to be studying his les-
sons, but from time to time the master, noticing his
motionless pen, would call out: ''You are doing
nothing!" That fatal " 3'ou are doing nothing" was
like a pin pricking his heart.
He had no recreation, because of the "pensums"
he was forced to write. The pensum was a varying
number of lines to be copied during recess ; and the
boy was so laden down with them that he did not have
six entirel}' free days in two years. He brought these
pensums upon him in a dozen different ways. His
memor}^ was so good that he never studied his lessons ;
it sufficed him to hear his schoolmates recite the ap-
pointed bit of French or Latin or even grammar, to be
able to repeat it when his turn came. Sometimes, by
ill-luck, the master would reverse the order and question
Balzac first, and then he often did not know what the
lesson was. He used to wait till the last moment to
write his themes, and if he had a book to finish, or a
revery to pursue, the theme was neglected, — fruitful
source of pensums.
Another of his trials was that of physical suflTering.
For want of motherly home-care, the Petits and the
Mi7iimes were covered with chilblains on their hands
and feet. During the winters he never walked without
severe pain. This he shared in common with others,
for he records the fact that out of sixt}- scholars in his
class scarcely ten were free from this torture. To add
to it, no gloves were allowed to protect their chapped
and bleeding hands.
For neglected themes, lessons ill-learned, and boy-
Honore de Balzac. 53
ish pranks, the pensum sufficed ; but other offences,
especially those of disrespect, real or imagined, to a
master were punished with what was called '' the
ferule." This was inflicted by a strip of leather, two
inches wide, applied to the shrinking hands of the
pupils with all the strength of an angry master. But
there was still a third punishment greatly dreaded by
the other pupils, but which Balzac came to look on as a
boon, for it gave him release from his lessons with soli-
tude and the freedom to dream. It was called by the
curious name of the calotte de bois, and consisted in
being locked up in a cell, or cage, six feet square, the
wooden sides of which had a grating round the top to
let in the air. Here he was sometimes imprisoned for
over a month. The old porter, pere Verdun, whose
duty it was to lock the recalcitrant scholars into these
cages, was still living, at the age of eightj'-four, some
time after Balzac's death. The old man remembered
" those great black eyes," and also the fact that he
sometimes took him to a prison of greater severity, a
gloomy turreted building, detached from the main col-
lege and standing at the very edge of the Loir.^
It may be very short-sighted of us to regret these
trials of the child's life, which strengthened the wings
of his spirit and developed an inward power of which he
might never have been fully conscious without them.
In the solitude of those cells, not greater though
more tangible than the solitude of mind in which he
lived, reading was impossible, and the time was spent
chiefly in mental arguments or in recalling curious facts
1 See the illustration, from a drawing made on the spot by
A. Queyroy,for Champfleury's pamphlet, '* Balzac au College."
54 Honore de Balzac.
to illustrate them. Thoughts came to him by intuition
(for he could not as yet have had insight) of which the
following may stand as specimens : —
" Happily for me there are joyful moments when the
walls of the classroom disappear, and I am away — in
the meadows. What dehght to float upon thought like
a bird on the wing ! "
"To think is to see. All knowledge rests on de-
duction, — a chink of vision by which we descend
from cause to effect, returning upward from effect to
cause."
"I feel, sometimes, that strange fantastic sufferings
are going on within me in spite of myself. For in-
stance, when I think strongly on the sensation the blade
of my penknife would cause me if thrust into my flesh
I instantly experience a sharp pain as though I had
really cut myself. An idea causing physical suffer-
ing ! what is to be made of that?"
It is well to remember that these speculations (and
others like them not given here) were made and written
down before the physiologists of the last half-century
had explained or even perceived them.
" When I first read of the battle of Austerlitz I saw
it all. I heard the cannon and the shouts of the
soldiers ; I smelt the powder ; 1 heard the tramp of
horses and the cries of men. I saw the plain where the
armies clashed together as though I stood on the heights
of Santon. The sight was awful, — like a page out of
the Apocalypse."
" How is it that men have reflected so little on the
events of sleep which prove to them that the}' have a
double life? Is there not a dawning science in that
Honore de Balzac. 65
phenomenon ? If it is not the germ of a science it cer-
tainly reveals extraordinary powers in man ; it shows a
frequent disunion of our two natures, — a fact round
which my mind is constanth' revolving."
Reading was a hunger of his soul which nothing ap-
peased. He devoured books of all sorts ; he even
found unspeakable pleasure in reading dictionaries in
default of other books. The analysis of a word, its
conformation, its histor}', were to him a text for rever3'.
"Often," he said, " ^ have made delightful journeys
embarked on a single word. Starting from Greece I
have reached Rome, and traversed the modern eras.
What a glorious book might be written on the life and
adventures of a word ! But who can explain to us
philosophically the transition from sensation to thought,
from thought to word, from the word to its hieroglyph-
ical expression, from hieroglyphs to alphabet, from the
alphabet to written language?"
A strong inclination led him to the study of mysti-
cism. '' Abyssus abyssum" he said, " our mind is an
abyss which delights in depths." This taste for the
'' things of heaven " (a phrase of his own), this mens
divinior, was due perhaps to the first books he had
read. The Old and New Testaments had fallen into his
hand in his father's librarj^ ))efore he was seven years
old. Was he merely fascinated by the romantic charm
of those poems of the Orient, or did tlie child's soul in
its first innocence sympathize with the sublime piety
which hands divine have shed within that book ? How-
ever this ma}^ be, he had since read the writings of
Saint Teresa and Madame Guyon, and the}' were to
him a continuation of the Bible and the first food of
66 Honor e de Balzac,
his adult intelligence. This study uplifted his heart
and purified it, and gave him a thirst for the Divine
nature. Thanks to these first impressions he continued
pure in thought throughout his college life, and this
noble virginity of the senses had the effect, necessarily,
of increasing the faculties of his mind.
Out of his mystical studies he formed for himself a
theory of angels, which ma}^ be summed up as follows :
There are within us two distinct beings, — an inner and
an outer being. The individual in whom the inward be-
ing has triumphed over the outward being is an angel.
If a man desires to obe}^ his true calling he must nourish
the angelic nature within him. If, failing to possess this
vision of his destiu}', he lets the lower tendencies pre-
dominate, his natural powers pass into the service of
his material being, and the angel within him slowlj^
perishes. On the other hand, if he nourishes the in-
ward angel with the essences that accord with it, the
soul rises above matter, endeavors to get free from it,
and when death comes the angel alone survives and
true life begins. Although created beings are appar-
ently all of one nature here below, they are in fact
divided, according to the perfection of their inward
being, into separate spheres whose sayings and ethics
are alien to each other.
He loved to plunge into that world of mystery, in-
visible to the senses, and exercise his mind on the toil
of thought. To him pure love, the love of which we
dream in youth, was the coming together of two angelic
natures. Nothing could equal the ardor with which he
longed to meet a woman-angel.
The apparent indolence and torpidity in which he
Honore de Balzac. 57
lived, his neglect of school duty, and the repugnance
he showed to themes and pensums, together with the
frequent punishments he incurred, gave him the unchal-
lenged reputation of being the idlest and most incorri-
gible pupil in the school. The masters thought slight-
ingly of his capacity, and pronounced him an ordinary
scholar and a dull boy. It is noticeable that Balznc
does not resent or greatly complain of the hardships
and punishments he was forced to endure ; he makes
no claim to pity on that score ; on the contrar}', he
seems to accept them as justly due in a measure to his
idle ways. The recognition of authority was a tenet of
his faith in after years, and he appears to have prac-
tised it in his earliest experience ; possibly that experi-
ence may have inculcated the doctrine in his mind.
It was during his last ^-ear at Vendome (he was then
fourteen) that he wrote the Treatise on the Will which
Father Haugoult, the master, or regent as he was
called, confiscated and destroyed in his anger at find-
ing it in place of a theme which ought to have been
written, saying as he did so: ''So this is the rubbish
for which you neglect jour lessons ! "
It does not come within the scope of this memoir to
give a descriptive account of that treatise, the loss of
which Balzac always regretted, believing that it gave a
true picture of his mind at that period of his life. He
endeavored to replace it in Louis Lambert ; and has
no doubt done so faithfully in the main, with some
assistance from his mature mind.-'
^ The reader is referred to the American translation of Louis
'Lambert. It is preceded by an introduction by Mr. George Fred-
eric Parsons, which develops and makes intelligible to a patient
58 Honore de Balzac.
Six months after the confiscation of the treatise Bal-
zac left college. He was attacked bj feverish symp-
toms which clung to him persistently and produced at
times a sort of coma, caused, as Balzac himself said,
by ''a congestion of ideas," and also, we may add, by
the accumulated suffering and unhealthiness of his
life. The head of the college, Monsieur Mareschal,
wrote to his parents, and his mother promptly removed
him from the school and brought him home.
No sooner did the boy return to a life of freedom
and natural enjoyment than he recovered his health ; a
strong proof of the vigor of his constitution and also of
his mind. In all estimates of Balzac's nature attention
must be paid to the fact that he was eminently sound
and healthy in mind and hody. Though his spirit rose
to regions that could be reached onty by intuition, and
ruminated over problems the studj' of which we asso-
ciate with fragility of body and aloofness from the
things of life, he was at the same time, and quite as
thoroughl}', a man with human instincts, loving life and
enjoying it. In this lies, no doubt, one of the secrets
of his power. It was a part of the many-sidedness of
his genius ; it enabled him to actually live and have his
being in the men and women whom he evoked from the
depths and heights of human nature. His temperament
was, above all things, genial, and his humor gay. No
pressure of worldly anxietj^ and debt, no crushing toil,
reader the thought of a book which contains divine wisdom, but
is so difficult of comprehension as to need a guide. The day will
come, no doubt, when its difficulties will have vanished before the
world's clearer knowledge. At present this book, written fifty
years ago, is still in advance of the times.
Honors de Balzac. 59
no hidden grief with wliichthe man, Hke the child in his
cell, was acquainted, could destroy that health}^ cheer-
fulness or prevent the rebound into hearty and even
jovial gayet}'. " Robust " is the word that seems to suit
him on the material side of his nature, applying even
to his mental processes. He was gifted with a strong
common-sense, which guided his judgment on men and
circumstances ; though at times, it is true, his imagina-
tion interfered with his judgment, as in the famous trip
to Sardinia, of which his sister will tell us, and in the
harmless eccentricities related (with a grain of truth
and much exaggeration) in the rather frothy and self-
conscious writings of his literary associates. We may
remark, in passing, that nearly all the contemporaries
(except a few choice minds) who rushed into print to
tell the public what they knew of Balzac, seem to have
been thinking more of themselves than of him. They
have done him some passing injury, but in judging of
Balzac we must always remember that he was a man
not for posterity only, but for the posterity of ages.
Therefore he needs no controversy about him. It is
sufficient to state such facts as can be proved, and
draw such natural deductions as may seem just and
reasonable, — making no attempt to gainsay the foolish
things that have been written of him. So with his
books ; each generation will have its own interpreta-
tion to put upon them, for the}' have their message to
all. Let the present day throw its best light upon his
work, and leave insufficient criticism to wear itself out,
— already this is happening.
The lad's health restored, his mind, which had hith-
erto been guided by the intuitions of a virgin spirit and
60 Honors de Balzac.
fed on abstract thought, now added to the mental
wealth thus acquired a registration of the beings and
events among which his new freedom cast him, amass-
ing materials which he stored away in his vast memory.
This was unconsciously done on his part, but we who
know the use he made of them can look back and see
the process. Here, then, were the sources of his train-
ing for his ultimate work.
His fifteenth year was spent at home among the beau-
ties of his dear Touraine. " Do not ask me why I
love Touraine," he says; "I love it as an artist loves
art ; I love it less than I love 3'ou, but without Tou-
raine perhaps I should not now be living." To this
j^ear we owe the inspiration of those exquisite descrip-
tions of scenery in Xa Grenadiere and the Lys dans
la ValUe. Perhaps it may be true to say that the
greatest charm of Balzac's work lies in his pictures of
nature, — waj'side sketches, as it were, never forced or
written to order, simply the necessary descriptions of
the scenes through which the reader has to pass as the
stor}^ leads him.^
At the close of the year 1814, when the family moved
to Paris and took a house in the rue du Roi-Dore, in the
Marais, Honore was again sent from home to schools
in the neighborhood, where he remained finishing his
education till the autumn of 1816, when he was seven-
teen and a half years old. Within that period he wit-
1 Among thera may be specified the description of the Lac de
Bourget in the Peau de Chagrin ; the beginning of the Medecin de
Campagne ; the park in Les Paysans ; that wonderful picture of
the desert in Une Passion dans le desert ; but above and before all,
the opening of Seraphita.
Honor e de Balzac. 61
nessed great national events : the return from Elba, the
Hundred Days, the presence of the Allied Armies, and
the Restoration. We can fauc}' what an effect these
scenes must have had on an imagination like his, — but
indeed we need not fancy it, for we can read it in his
books. Surely he knew the old hero of the Beresina in
the flesh, and the story of the Emperor was not altogether
the work of his brain ; and he must, beyond a doubt, have
been present at that last review in the Carrousel, which
he thus describes in the language of an eye-witness : —
**The expectant multitude throbbed with enthusi-
asm. France was about to bid farewell to Napoleon
on the eve of a campaign of which all present, even the
humblest citizen, foresaw the dangers. The French
empire hung in the balance,^ to be or not to be. That
thouglit appeared to fill all minds, of soldiers and citi-
zens alike, as they stood together silently in the great
inclosure above which hovered the genius and the eagles
of Napoleon. Arm}^ and people seemed to be taking
farewell of each other, — possibly an eternal farewell.
All hearts, even those most hostile to the Emperor,
breathed ardent prayers to heaven for the nation's
glory. Men who were weary of the struggle between
France and P^urope laid aside their hatreds as they
passed beneath the arch of triumph, acknowledging in
their souls that in the hour of danger Napoleon was
France. The clock of the palace struck the half-hour.
Suddenl}' the hum of voices ceased. The silence grew
so deep that the voice of a child was heard. The spec-
tators, who seemed to live by their e3'es only, became
aware of the clank of spurs and swords echoing among
the columns of the palace gateway.
62 Honore de Balzac,
''A small man, rather fat, dressed in a green uni-
form with white small-clothes and top-boots, suddenly
appeared, wearing on his liead a three-cornered hat in
v/hich la}' a spell almost as potent as that of the man
himself. The broad ribbon of the legion of honor
floated on his breast ; a small sword hung at his side.
The man was seen b}^ every eye, instantly, in all parts
of the great square. The drums beat ; the bands
played the first notes of a martial air, which was caught
up and repeated by all the instruments from the softest
flute to the kettledrums. All hearts quivered at the
warlike call ; the colors dipped ; the soldiers presented
arms with a simultaneous motion which moved each
gun throughout the whole Carrousel. Words of com-
mand flew through the ranks like echoes. Cries of
* Long live the Emperor ! ' came from the multitude ;
the whole mass swayed and quivered and shook. Na-
poleon had mounted his horse. That action had given
life to the silent assemblage, voice to the instruments,
movement to the flags and the eagles, emotion to all
faces. The high stone walls of the palace seemed to
or}' with the multitude, 'Long live the Emperor!' It
was not a human thing ; there was magic in it, — the
phantom of divine power ; or, to speak more truly, the
fleeting image of a fleeting reign. The man thus sur-
rounded with so much love, enthusiasm, devotion,
prayer, for whom the sun had driven everj- cloud from
the sky, sat motionless on his horse, three feet in ad-
vance of the dazzling escort that followed him, with the
grand marshal to right and his chamberlain to left of him.
In the midst of this mighty emotion of which he was the
object, not a feature of his face gave token of feeling.
Honor e de Balzac. 63
*' My God, yes," an old grenadier was heard to say :
*'it was always so; under fire at Wagram, among
the dead in the Moskowa, he was quiet as a lamb —
3^es, that 's he ! "
When Balzac finished his legal studies, which lasted
from 1816 to 1820, he was twenty-one years old. The
Restoration was fully accomplished, and during those
years he saw something of it socially through his famih^,
though not in the degree to which the fame of his books
afterwards introduced him. His political opinions (of
which more will be said later) leaned to those of the
old regime, but it was impossible for a mind so many-
sided in knowledge and insight to be partisan, and his
politics rested chiefly on certain broad lines of prin-
ciple. His absolute impartiality, which was not tliat of
an easy-going nature, but rather that of an ability to
see and judge all sides deliberately, is evident in his
books. All opinions are brought forward in the human
comedy, but it would be hard to find a partisan bias for
or against any of them ; and due notice of this should
be taken in reading his works. In fact, his admira-
tion, and even his sympathy, were often given where
his judgment saw and stated essential error, as in the
case of Napoleon. Wherever he brings him on the
scene it is as a mighty presence ; and certainh' few
things have ever been written in any language so vivid,
so impetuous, or so full of a certain inspiration as the
Story of the Emperor in the Medecin de Campagne.
But the fateful da}' came when he was to choose his
career, or rather when a career was to be chosen and
forced upon him. His sister has told us the stor}-, but
here, as elsewhere in her narrative, we nmst read be-
64 Honors de Balzac»
tween the lines. It is plain that his father (who,
we shonld remember, was fiftj'-two years old when
Honore was born), notwithstanding his own indepen-
dence, and his demand for liberty' of thought and action,
denied that libert}' to his son. He was totally ignorant
of the lad's real powers ; probably he took his opinion
of him from the Oratorian report: "a poor scholar
and a dull boy ; " and there is evidence in Balzac's let-
ters that this was the estimation in which his family
held him for man}' years. " Will they still call me an
incapable and a do-nothing?" he said after several of
his great works had been written. Madame de Balzac,
a stirring woman, seems not only to have shared her
husband's views, but also, at times, to have instigated
them. At an}- rate, the financial injury the father had
entailed upon his children by the purchase of an
annuity made it, according to French parental ideas, of
the utmost consequence that the son should go to work
in some way that might speedil}- bring wealth into the
famil}'. The profession of notary is one of the most
lucrative, with the advantage of little risk, and the op-
portunity of so placing his son fell, almost unsought,
into the father's hand.
Confronted with the family opinion of his mental
capacity, and with their reasonable worldly expecta-
tions of him, we see the dawning consciousness in the
youth who had written the Treatise on the Will of a
higher vocation, of a thirst to exercise some as yet
unknown but instinctive power of his own spirit, —
held in check, however, by the filial reverence of a
French son. The child had borne his trial in the
wooden cage ; this was the trial of the youth. His
Honors de Balzac, 65
sister has told us how it ended joyfullj' in freedom and
a garret.
We can fanc}' now what that garret was to him, —
the first freedom of his life ! freedom to make himself
that which his inner being told him he could be. It is
necessar}' to bear in mind this inward consciousness of
faith in himself; a faith, however inspired, which asked
no support from others ; which bore him triumphantly^
through something harder to endure and to conquer
than doubts of friends, incessant debt, or the gigantic
toil of after years, — through the discovery of his own
incapacity. For the strange fact remains that he proved
at first incapable in his chosen vocation. With all the
wealth of observation, imagination, intuition, and power
of philosophical thought that were even then at his
command, he could not construct or shape his work nor
bring his style into proper form. It seems incredible,
but his sister vouches for it as true, that he wrote and
published fort}^ volumes before he could write one to
which he was willing to put his name : "Ah! sister,"
he cries, " what a fall for my glorious hopes!" We
have only to pause and think upon these facts to per-
ceive the force of his struggle and the splendor of the
courage that carried him through it.
He has left a more interesting and valuable picture of
his life in the rue Lesdiguieres than that contained in
his merry letters to his sister. It is interesting to notice,
by the wa}', that his father insisted that Honore should
live there incognito, and that friends should be told he
was staying with a cousin at Alby ; so that in case of
failure his literary attempt might not be made known.
Perhaps this command of his father was the origin of
5
66 Honor e de Balzac.
his much talked-of habit of disappearing for months to
write in solitude, during which time his friends could
reach him only through a system of pass-words.
"I was then living," he says, addressing the lady
to whom he dedicated Facino Cane^ " in a little street
which you probabh^ do not know, the rue Lesdiguieres.
Love of knowledge had driven me to a garret, where I
worked during the night, passing my days in the library
of Monsieur, which was near by.^ I lived frugally, tak-
/ ing upon me the conditions of monastic life, so essential
to workers. I seldom walked for pleasure, even when
the weather was fine. One sole passion drew me away
from m}^ studies, but even that was a form of study. I
walked the streets to observe the manners and ways of
the faubourg, to study its inhabitants and learn their
characters. Ill-dressed as the workmen themselves, and
quite as indifferent to the proprieties, there was nothing
- about me to put them on their guard. I mingled in
their groups, watched their bargains, and heard their
disputes at the hour when their day's work ended. The
facult}' of observation had become intuitive with me.
I could enter the souls of others, all the while conscious
of their bodies — or rather, I grasped external details
so thoroughly that my mind instantly passed bej'ond
them ; I possessed the faculty of living the life of the
individual on whom I exercised my observation, and of
substituting myself for him, like the dervish in the
Arabian Nights who assumed the bod}- and soul of
those over whom he pronounced certain words.
"Often, between eleven o'clock and midnight, when
1 Afterwards called the Bibliotheque de I'Arsenal; but he
gives it the Bourbon name.
Honors de Balzac, 67
I met some workman and his wife returning home from
the Ambigu-Comique I amused myself by following
them. The worthy pair usually talked first of the play
they had just seen ; then, from one thing to another,
they came to their own affairs ; the mother would, per-
haps, be dragging her child along by the hand, paying
no attention to its complaints or inquiries ; husband and
wife reckoned up their gains ; told what they expected,
to make on the morrow, and spent that sum in fancy in
a dozen different ways. Then the}' dropped into house-
hold details, groaned over the excessive cost of pota-
toes, the increased price of fuel, and talked of the
strong remonstrance they intended to make to the
baker. Their discussions often grew heated, and each
side betrayed his and her character in picturesque lan-
guage. As I listened to these persons I imbibed their
life ; I felt their ragged clothing on my back ; my feet
walked in their broken shoes ; their desires, their wants
passed into my soul, — or my soul passed into theirs.
It was the dream of a waking man. I grew angry,
as they did, against some foreman who ill-used them,
against annoying customers who obliged them to call
many times before they could get their money. To quit
my own life, to become some other individual through
the excitation of a moral faculty, and to play this game
at will, was the relaxation of my studious hours.
*'To what have I owed this gift? Is it second-
sight? Can it be one of those faculties the abuse of
which leads to insanity ? I have never sought to dis-
cover the causes of this power; I only know that I
possess it and use it. I must tell you that ever since
I became aware of this facult}-, 1 have decomposed
68 Honors de Balzac.
the elements of those heterogeneous masses called the
Peoi)le, and I have analyzed them in a manner that
enables me to appraise both their good and evil
N^ qualities."
Balzac's mind dealt with more than one philosophical
problem of which his own life was a startling illustra-
tion ; but he was not introspective in a selfish and
personal wa}-, or he might have thought himself under
the ban of some pursumg fate. For all through his
life — even to death — no sooner had he gained a van-
tage ground than it was cut from under his feet. He
was now to lose his brief independence. Onl}' fifteen
months of his two 3'ears opportunity had expired, but
the failure of his traged\', and the deprivations he had
borne must have seemed to his parents to justify their
hope that " a little suffering would bring him to sub-
mission." He was not allowed to remain in his garret,
but was taken home to Villeparisis, eighteen miles from
Paris and from libraries, — this, we must remember,
was before the days of railroads. Here he had no soli-
tude and no tranquil time for stud3" ; on the contrary,
he was surrounded by disturbing domestic elements.
But, cheerful as ever, and "good to live with," as
Madame Surville sa3's of him, his letters of this period
make no complaint.
Still, with all his courage, his mind seems to have
misgiven him as to the possibility of working for his
vocation under such circumstances. He asked his
father to make him an allowance of fifteen hundred
francs a year and let him live in Paris. We smile at
the sum, which was scarcely more then than it would
be now ; for the times of the Restoration were costly.
Honore de Balzac. 69
His request was refused. This refusal appears to have
been the turning-point of his outward career. Had his
request been granted, it is certain that the circumstances
of that career would have been ver}' different from what
thej^ were ; so far as we can now judge, the incubus
that lay upon his whole life and was an agent in his
death, though not the cause of it, would never have
come to him.
70 Honore de Balzac,
CHAPTER IV.
Many persons are unaware that ray brother spent as
much mind and energy in struggling against misfortune
as in writing the Comedie Humaine^ that work which,
however it may be judged, satisfied the most ardent
desire of his life and gave him fame. Those who were
in the secret of his life and trials ask themselves, with
as much compassion as respect, how it was that a man
so weighed down could find the time, the physical
strength, and above all, the moral force to sustain such
enormous labor. If his parents had granted him the
modest income of fifteen hundred francs which was all
he asked to enable him to win his first success, what
adversities would have been spared to him and also to
his familj' ; what a fortune he would then have made
with his pen, of which he knew the value. Energetic
and patient, like all genius, he would have gone back
to solitude where that modest allowance would have
suflSced for his wants ; for, extreme in all his desires,
he needed either a palace or a garret ; lover of luxury
that he was, he knew how to do without it. "A gar-
ret has its poesy," he often said to me. It was only
where poesy did not exist that he was ill at ease.
But the insoluble question remains : Does not mis-
fortune develop talent ? Would Balzac, rich and happy,
Honore de Balzac. 71
have become the great inquisitor of humanity ; would
he have surprised its secrets, laid bare its feelings, and
judged its misery from so vast a height? That clear-
ness of vision granted to superior minds, which enables
them to seize all aspects of an idea, is it ever acquired
unless at the cost of privation and the experience of
suffering? Yet such clearness of vision itself has a
fatal side, for many who cannot comprehend these
mighty faculties (and their number is large) sometimes
cast doubts upon the moral worth of those who possess
them. The dry details that follow, which I shall en-
deavor to abridge as much as possible, are necessary
to explain the misfortunes of Balzac's life, — misfor-
tunes so little or so imperfectly known that even his
friends have sometimes attributed them to follies which
he did not commit.
Whenever Honore went to Paris he stayed in the
former apartment of the family in the Marais, which
his father still retained. There he became intimate
with a neighbor to whom he related his fears of being
forced into a profession he disliked. This friend, a
man of business, advised him to seek for some good
enterprise which should make him independent, and he
offered to supply the funds. Balzac, transformed into
a speculator, was advised to begin as a publisher of
books, and he accordingly did so. He was the first to
think of publishing compact editions (which have since
enriched so many libraries), and he brought out in
one volume the complete works of Moliere and also of
La Fontaine. He carried on the two publications at
the same time, so greatly did he fear that one or the
other might be snatched from him by competition.
72 ^ Honor e de Balzac.
Though these editions did not succeed, it was only be-
cause their publisher, unknown to the trade, was not
sustained by the fraternity, who refused to sell or to
receive his books. The sum lent to the enterprise did
not suffice to pay for wide advertising which might per-
haps have brought purchasers ; the editions therefore
were completely unknown ; at the end of a 3-ear not
twcnt}^ copies had been sold ; and to escape paying
further rent for the warehouse in which they were
stored, my brother sold the whole for the price, by
weight, of the fine paper it had cost him so much to
print.
Instead of making money on this first enterprise,
Honore was left in debt. It was the opening wedge to
that long series of such experiences which were eventu-
ally to make him so wise in judging of men and things.
In after years he would not have attempted to publish
books under such conditions ; he would have known
the probable failure of such an enterprise. But experi-
ence is never foreseen.
The friend who furnished the funds, having lost the
security for his loan, and being anxious that my brother
should find some business which would give him a
chance to pay off the debt, took him to one of his rela-
tives who was making a fine fortune in the printing
business. Honore made due inquiries, sought and ob-
tained the best information, and finally became so
enthusiastic over this industry that he determined to
become a printer. Books were alwaj'S his chief attrac-
tion. He did not renounce his intention of writing,
however ; for he remembered Richardson, who became
rich through printing and writing both, and his dreamed
Honore de Balzac. 73
of new Clarissas issuing from his press. My brother's
creditor, pleased with this determination, encouraged it,
and took upon himself to obtain the consent of our
parents and the necessary money to start the enter-
prise. He succeeded ; my father made over to Honore,
as a portion of his inheritance, the capital of the in-
come for which he had asked as a maintenance while
he should give himself to literature.^
Honore now took into partnership a very clever fore-
man, whom he had remarked in a printing-office at the
time his first novels were published. This young man,
who was married and the father of a family, inspired
him with confidence, but, unfortunatel}', he brought to
the partnership nothing more than his knowledge of
typography. This knowledge was, of course, lacking
to my brother, who thought that the zeal and activity
of his partner, combined with experience, were equiva-
lent to capital. Printing licenses were very costly
under Charles X. ; when fifteen thousand francs was
paid for the license, and the necessary material had
been purchased, there remained but little money to
meet the current expenses of the work. But my brother
was not alarmed ; youth is always so sanguine of lucky
chances ! The 3'oung partners installed themselves
gayly in the rue des Marais Saint-Germain, and ac-
cepted all customers who came to them. Payments,
however, were slow in coming, and did not balance with
the expenses ; pressure began to be felt. A splendid
opportunit}' now offered to unite a type foundr}' with
the printing-office. It promised such profits, a'ccording
to competent authorities whom Honore consulted, that
1 The sum is elsewhere stated to have been 30,000 francs.
74 Honord de Balzac.
he did not hesitate to purchase it. He hoped, by unit-
ing the two enterprises to obtain either a third asso-
ciate with means, or a loan. He did his best in these
directions, but all efforts failed, for the securities given
to his first creditor had of course the first claim, and
brought all negotiations to an end.
My brother, with bankruptcy looming in the future,
passed through a period of anguish which he never for-
got, and which compelled him once more to appeal to
his parents, M}^ father and mother saw the gravity of
the situation, and came to his assistance ; but after
some months of continual sacrifice, fearing that their
ruin might follow that of their son, they refused to fur-
nish more money, — at the very moment when, per-
haps, prosperit}^ was at hand. This is tlie history of
nearly all commercial disasters. i
Honore, unable to convince his parents that a fortu-
nate result was close at hand, now attempted to sell out ;
but his unfortunate position had become known, and the
offers made were so insufficient that by accepting them
he would have to lose all except the honor of his name.
However, to avoid an imminent failure, which might
have killed his old father and blasted his own young
life, he made over the foundry and printing-office to
friends for the price offered to him. In so doing he
secured the future of that friend ; for his judgment
proved to have been sound, and a fortune was made out
of the foundry alone. The price obtained being insuffi-
cient to pay the whole of the pressing debts, my mother
advanced what money was needed for them. Honore
retired from the business weighed down by obhgations,
— our mother being one of his chief creditors.
Honors de Balzac. 75
It was now the close of the year 1827; our parents
had sold their country-house at Villeparisis, and were
living near me at Versailles, where Monsieur Surville
was stationed as engineer of the department of the
Seine-et-Oise. Honor^, then nearly twenty-nine years
of age, possessed nothing but debts, and his pen with
which to pay them, — that pen, the value of which was
still unrecognized. Worse still, every one regarded
him as "incapable," — a fatal epithet which deprives a
man of all support, and often completes the sliipwreck
of the unfortunate victim. This verdict was in direct
denial of the sure and rapid judgment he possessed of
men and things, — a denial which exasperated him far
more than that of his talent, which continued to echo
about him long after he had given brilliant proofs to
the contrary. Certain of his friends undoubtedly
troubled him more than his numerous enemies. Even
after the publication of Louis Lambert and the
M^decin de Cumpagne they said to him: "Come,
Balzac, when are 3'ou going to give us some really fine
work?" In their eyes he was a trifler, a mere writer of
tales, not a " serious man," — a term which impresses
the common run of minds. Had he written some
weighty book, so learned that few could uli^erstand it,
they would have felt respect for him. And yet these
very persons, inconsistent with themselves, while they
deplored the frivolity of my brother's works, accused
him of presumption when he touched upon grave mat-
ters in his " little books " and lectured him paternally.
" Why meddle with philosophical or governmental
questions?" they said to him; "leave that to meta-
physicians and economists. You are a man of imagina-
T6 Honore de Balzac.
tion, — we all admit that; don't go outside of your
vocation. A novelist is not obliged to be a learned
man or a legislator,"
Such speeches, repeated under many forms, irritated
him greatly ; then he would turn with indignation on
himself for being wounded by those who did not under-
stand his powers, and his anger redoubled. " Must I
die," he said bitterly, " to let them know what I am
worth?"
And yet such blindness was not surprising. Those
who knew the child long saw him in the man ; and it is
so difficult to admit superiority in one whom we have
always ruled that when forced to grant him some one
special faculty we hasten to deny him all others. Be-
sides, his friends argued, is not one such faculty enough
for a man ? how many men have none at all ! Did
Honore pretend to universal genius? Such audacity
deserved repression. These friends did not spare him ;
and it was eas}' for them to persuade others that with
such an imagmation as my brother possessed he could
have no judgment. The union of the two quahties is,
doubtless, exceptionally rare, and Honore's two com-
mercial disasters seemed to justif}^ this verdict. If 1
seem to attach importance to opinions which have none
whatever to-day, it is because the}' were thorns in the
side of him whose hfe I am relating. Continually
wounded by such injustice, my brother would not stoop
to explain or defend his ideas and actions, which it
was now the custom to blame without endeavoring to
understand them ; he went his way alone towards his
goal, without encouragement, without support, — a way
strewn with the rocks and thorns of his two disasters.
Honors de Balzac. 11
When he attained that goal, that is to say, when
fame was his, many there were to cr}' aloud: >'What
genius ! I foresaw it ! " But Balzac was no longer
here to laugh at such palinodes, or to enjoy their tardy
reparation.
These memories have led me too far, and I return now
to the year 1827, the time at which my brother left the
printing-office and hired a room in the rue de Tournon.^
Monsieur de la Touche was his neighbor. He became
attached to my brother, but the friendship soon died
out, and he was afterwards among his bitterest enemies.
Honore was then writing Zes Chouans, the first book to
which he put his name. Overwhelmed with work he
no longer went to see his famil}^ at Versailles. Our
parents complained of his neglect ; and I wrote to
warn him of their feelings. My letter must have
reached him in a moment of great weariness, for he, so
patient and so gentle, answered sharply : —
Paris, 1827.
''Your letter has given me two detestable days and
two detestable nights. 1 have thought over my justifi-
cation point by point, as Mirabeau did his memorandum
to his father, and I am incensed in so doing. I shall
not write it ; I have not the time, sister, and besides, I
do not feel that I am wrong. . . .
" I am blamed for the furniture of my room ; but
every piece of it belonged to me before m}' catastrophe.
I have not bought a single thing. Those blue cambric
hangings about which such complaint is made were in
my bed-chamber at the printing-office. La Touche and
1 His debts at this time, as he mentions in a letter, amounted
to 120,000 francs.
78 Honors de Balzac,
I nailed them up to cover an old paper which must
otherwise have been changed. My books are my tools,
I cannot sell them. Taste, the thing that makes my
room harmonious, is not bought or sold (unfortunately
for the rich). But, even so, I care so little for what I
have that if my creditors were to put me, secretly, into
Sainte-Pelagie, I should be happier than I am now;
living would cost me nothing, and I could not be more a
prisoner than toil is making me. The postage of a
letter, the use of an omnibus are expenses I cannot
allow myself ; I do not go out, to save the wear and tear
of clothes. Is that plain enough for you ?
"Do not compel me therefore to make those trips,
those visits, which are impossible under m}^ circum-
stances. Remember that I have nothing left but time
and labor with which to make m}' wa}" ; I have no money
to meet even the smallest expenses. Think how my
pen is never out of my hand, and you will not have the
heart to require me to write letters. How can one write
with a weary brain and a tortured soul? I should only
grieve you, and why should I do that? You don't
understand that before my da3^'s work begins I some-
times have seven or eight business-letters to answer.
"Fifteen days more will see me through the Chou^,
ans ; till then, no Honore ; you might as well disturb
a founder when the metal is flowing. I am satisfied I
have done no wrong, dear sister ; if j'ou were to make
me think I had, my brain would give way. If my
father should be ill 3'ou will of course send me word.
You know that no human consideration would then
keep me from him.
" Sister, I must live without asking anything of any
Honore de Balzac, 79
one, — live to work that I maj^ pa}' 1113^ debts to all.
When the Chouans is finished I will bring it out to
you ; but I do not wish an}- one to say a word, good or
bad, to me about it ; a writer's own family and friends
are incapable of judging him. Thanks, dear champion,
whose generous voice defends my motives. Shall I live
to pay the debts of my heart ? "
A few days later I received another letter which I
copy, because it shows his nature. Two little screens
were wanted for the decoration of the room which had
already brought reproaches upon him. He wanted them
just as he had formerly wanted his father's Tacitus in
the old garret, eagerly.
" Ah ! Laure, if you did but know how passionately
I desire (but hush, keep the secret) two blue screens
embroidered in black (silence ever!). In the midst of
my troubles that 's a point to which my thoughts re-
turn. Then I say to myself: ' I '11 confide the wish to
sister Laure.* When I get those screens I can never
do anything wrong. Shall I not always have a re-
minder of that indulgent sister before my eyes? — so
indulgent for her thoughts, so stern for mine. The
designs can be anything you like, just what you please ;
I shall be sure to think them pretty if they come from
my alma soror.'*
Here he is interrupted by bad news. He tells me his
new misfortune with passionate eloquence, and then
concludes in two lines : —
" But my screens — I want them more than ever, for
a little joy in the hiidst of torment."
80 Honors de Balzac.
The CJiouans appeared. The work, though imper-
fect, and needing to be retouched (as it was later by
the master's hand) revealed, nevertheless, such remark-
able talent that it drew the attention of the public and
also of the press, which at first was very friendly to my
brother. Encouraged b}^ this first success he returned
with ardor to his work, and wrote his Catherine de Me-
dicis. The same withdrawal into solitude, same com-
plaints from his parents, same remonstrance on my part.
Feeling content, probabl}', with his work when m}- letter
arrived, he answers this time in a lively tone : —
Paris, 1829.
" I have received your scoldings, madame ; I see you
want particulars about the poor delinquent. Honore,
my dear sister, is a simpleton, who is crippled with debt
without having had one single jovial time to show for
it ; read}^ sometimes to dash his head against the wall
— though some persons do den}- that he has any. At
this moment he is in his room engaged in a duel ; he
has a half-ream of paper to kill, and he is stabbing it
with ink in a way to make his purse joyful. This fool
has some good in him. They say he is cold and indif-
ferent ; don't believe it, my darling sister. His heart is
excellent ; and he is ready to do services to any one, —
only, not having a credit with Mr. Shoemaker, he can't
go of errands for everybody as he used to do ; for this
he is blamed as Yorick was when he bought the mid-
wife's license.
*' In the matter of tenderness he is in funds, and will
return the double of what he receives ; but he is so con-
stituted that a harsh or wounding word expels all the joy
Honore de Balzac, 81
in his heart, — so susceptible is he to delicacy of feeling.
He needs hearts that can love largely, that understand
affection, and know that it does not consist in visits,
civilities, good wishes, and other conventions of that
kind ; he carries eccentricity so far as to welcome a
friend whom he has not seen for a long time as if they
had been together the night before. This odd being
may forget the harm that has been done him, but the
kindness, never ! It should be graven on brass if his
heart contained that metal. As for what indifferent
people may think, or sa}' of him, he cares as little as
for the dust that sticks to his feet. He is trying to be
something ; and when a man erects a building he
does n't care for what idlers ma}^ scribble on the scaf-
folding! This young man, such as I describe him,
loves you, dear sister, and these words will be under-
stood by her to whom I address them."
My brother spent the first years of his literar}^ life
amid even greater anxieties than those he had borne in
the rue des Marais Saint-Martin, through which, in
after years, he never passed without a sigh, remem-
bering that his troubles began there. Without his
faith in himself, without that honor which commanded
him to live to pay his debts, he would certainly never
have written the Comedie Humaine. He told me that
during these years he had, on several occasions, been
assailed by temptations to suicide, such as he has given
to the hero of that work of youth and power which he
named La Peau de Chagrin. What bitter griefs,
what disappointments of every kind must have been
the lot of him who said in his latter years : " We spend
6
82 Hoyiore de Balzac.
the second half of life in mowing down in our hearts
all that we grew there in the first half; and this we
call acquiring experience ! "
Or this, which is sadder still : —
" Noble souls come slov^ly and with difficulty to be-
lieve in evil feelings, in betraj'al, in ingratitude ; but
when their education in this matter is accomplished then
they rise to a pit}' which is, perhaps, the highest reach
of contempt for humanit}^"
If he did not return after his disasters to a garret
like that of the rue Lesdiguieres, it was onlj- because
he knew that in Paris everything is ground for specula-
tion, even poverty : —
" They would give me nothing for my books if I
lived in a garret," he said to me.
The luxur}' he affected, and which was so much
blamed, and so immensel}' exaggerated, was a means of
obtaining better prices for his work.
My brother, admiring Walter Scott enthusiastically,
as much for the abilitj- with which he won and main-
tained his success as for his genius, thought, in the
first instance, of following his example and making a
history of the manners and morals of our nation,
selecting for that purpose its leading phases. Les
Chouans^ and Catherine de Medecis, which imme-
diatel}' followed it, testif}^ to this intention, which he
explains in the introduction to Catherine de Mhlecis, —
one of his finest books, known to few persons, although
it proves to what heights Balzac might have attained
as an historian.
He abandoned this project, however, and confined
himself to pictures of the manners and morals of his
Honore de Balzac. 83
own time, which he first entitled Etudes de Maeurs —
Studies of Manners and Morals — dividing them into
series, such as Scenes from Private Life — Country Life
— Provincial Life — Parisian Life, and so forth. It was
not until 1833, about the time of the publication of the
Medecin de Campagne, that he first thought of col-
lecting all his personages together and forming a com-
plete societ3^ The day when this idea burst upon his
mind was a glorious day for him. He started from the
rue Cassini, where he had taken up his abode after leav-
ing the rue de Tournon, and rushed to the faubourg
Poissonniere, where I was then living : —
" Make your bow to me," he said to us, joyouslj', *' I
am on the highroad to become a genius ! "
He then unfolded his plan, which frightened him a
little, for no matter how vast his brain might be, it
needed time to work out a scheme like that.
"How glorious it will be if I succeed," he said,
walking up and down the room. He could not keep
still ; joy radiated from every feature. " I '11 willingly
let them call me a maker of tales all the while that I
am cutting stones for my edifice. I gloat in advance
over the astonishment of those near-sighted creatures
as they see it rise ! " And thereupon this hewer of
stones sat down to talk over the building at his ease.
He judged the imaginary beings he created with
impartiality, in spite of the tenderness he felt for
each.
" Such an one is a scoundrel," he would say ; " he
will never come to an}' good. That man^ hard worker
and a good fellow, he will be rich; his nature will
always keep him happy." " Those others have com-
84 Honore de Balzac.
mitted peccadilloes, but they have such good intellects
and so much knowledge of men and things that they
will get to the top of the social ladder."
''Peccadilloes, brother? — 3'ou are ver}^ indulgent."
" You can't change them, my dear ; they sound the
abysses for themselves, but they know how to guide
others. The wise and virtuous are not always the
best pilots. It is not my fault ; I don't invent human
nature ; I observe it in the past and in the present,
and I try to paint it such as it is. Mere inventions
would n't convince anybody."
He would tell us the news of his imaginary world as
others tell that of the real world.
''Do 3^ou know who Felix de Vandenesse is going
to marry? A demoiselle de Grandville. It is an
excellent match, for the Grandvilles are rich, in spite
of what Mademoiselle de Bellefeuille has cost them."
If we sometimes asked for mercy to a 3'oung man
who was hurrying to his ruin, or to some poor unhappy
woman whose sad fate interested us, he would answer :
"Don't bewilder me with 3'our sensibilities; truth
before everv'thing. Those persons are feeble, inca-
pable ; what happens to them must happen ; so much
the worse for them."
But in spite of this imperious talk their disasters
did grieve him. One of Doctor Minoret's friends,
Captain Jord\', excited our curiosit3% M3^ brother
had told nothing of his life, and yet many things led
us to believe he had met with great trials. We asked
him about them. " I did not know Monsieur de Jordy
before he came to Nemours," he replied. On one
occasion I invented a little romance on the old man's
Honore de Balzac. 85
life, which I told to Honore (such jokes did not dis-
please him). " What you say may be so," he replied,
" and as you are interested in Monsieur de Jordy I
will get at the truth about him."
He was a long time hunting up a husband for
Mademoiselle Camille de Grand lieu, and rejected all
those we proposed for her.
*' His people are not iu the same society ; nothing %^
but chance could bring that marriage about, and chance |'
should be used verj- cautiousl}' in a book ; reality alone I
justifies improbability ; we novelists are allowed only ' '
possibilities." He finall}' chose the young Comte de
Restaud for Mademoiselle de Grandlieu, and rewrote
for that marriage the admirable history of Gobseck^
in which the highest morality is to be found in the
facts, not in the words.
Like mothers who particularly attach themselves to
unfortunate children, Honore had a weakness for those
of his works whicii had the least success. For them
he was jealous of the fame of the others. The univer-
sal praise bestowed on Eugenie Grandet ended by
chilling his regard for that work. When we scolded
him for this, " Do let me alone ! " he would sa}' ;
*' those who call me ' the father oi Eugenie GerandeV
want to belittle me. It is a masterpiece, I know, but ,
it is a little masterpiece ; they are very careful not to /
mention the great ones."
When the time came for the collection of his works
in a compact edition he entitled it La Comedie IIu-
maine [The Comedy of Human Life] ; a great de-
cision, which cost him many doubts and hesitations.
He, usually so resolute, feared he should be thought
86 Honore de Balzac.
too bold. This fear is plainly seen in the noble preface
which accompanied the edition. I have never been
able to read the close of it without emotion ; it was,
unhappily, prophetic ; he was destined not to finish the
work he loved so w^ell.^ It was at this time that he
associated his friends with his work by dedicating to
each of them a book, or a tale, of the Comedie Hu-
niaine. The list of these dedications proves that he
was loved by man}' of our illustrious contemporaries.
From 1827 to 1848 my brother published ninety-
seven works ; and I may add that he wrote this enor-
mous number with his own hand, without secretary or
corrector of proofs. A few facts as to the origin of
some of these works may be of interest.
The subject of the Auberge Rouge (a true history,
in spite of all that has been said about it) was given
to him by an old army surgeon, a friend of the man
who was condemned unjustly. My brother merely
added the conclusion. The novel of " Quentin Dur-
ward," which has been so much admired, more espe-
cially as an historical tale, angered Honore extremely.
Contrarj^ to the opinion of the world, he thought Wal-
ter Scott had strangely misrepresented Louis XI., '' a
king not as 3'et understood," he used to sa3\ This
anger led him to write Maitre Cornelius^ in which he
places Louis XI. on the scene. Les Proscrits^ writ-
ten after a profound study of Dante, as homage to
that powerful genius, was part of the original scheme I
have mentioned. Un episode sous la Terreur was
related to him by the gloomy hero of that tale. Ho-
1 In the American translated series tliis preface accompanies
the volume containing Pere Goriot.
Honore de Balzac. 87
nore had always desired to see Sanson the executioner.
To know what that man, whose soul was filled with
blood}' memories, thought, — to learn how he himself re-
garded his terrible business and his wretched life, — was
indeed an investigation to tempt him. Monsieur A ,
the director of prisons, with whom my brother was inti-
mate, arranged an interview. Honore went to Mon-
sieur A 's house, and there found a pale man of a sad
and noble countenance ; his dress, manners, language,
and education might have led others to think him some
writer brought there by a like curiosity. It was Sanson !
My brother, warned b}- Monsieur A , repressed all
surprise and repulsion, and led the conversation to the
subjects which interested him. He won Sanson's con-
fidence so thorouglily that the latter, carried away by
his feelings, spoke of the sufferings of his life. The
death of Louis XVI. had caused him all the terrors and
remorse of a criminal (Sanson was a royalist). The
day after the execution he ordered the only expiatory
mass that was celebrated in Paris in those 4ays to be
said for the king!
It was also a conversation my brother had with
Martin, the celebrated tamer of wild beasts, at the
close of one of his exhibitions, which made him write
the short story entitled Uhe Passion dans le desert.
S^raphita., that strange work which might be taken for
the translation of a German book, was inspired b}' a
friend. Our mother helped him to the means of exe-
cuting it. She was always much concerned about
religious ideas, read the books of the mystics, and
even collected them. Honore had seized upon the
works of Saint-Martin, Swedenborg, Mademoiselle
88 Honore de Balzac.
Bourignon, Madame Guj'on, Jacob Boehm, and others,
over one hundred vohmies in all, and devoured them.
He read almost as others glanced ; 3'et he assimilated
the ideas contained in a book. He plunged into the
study of somnambulism and magnetism ; my mother,
eager after the marvellous, supplied him with still other
means of stud}^ for she knew all the magnetizers and
celebrated somnambulists of the da3\ Honore was
present at their seances, became enthusiastic over their
inexplicable faculties and the phenomena they pro-
duced, discovered for those faculties a wider field than
they really have, perhaps, and composed Seraphita
under the impression of such ideas. But recalled by
the necessities of life, which did not allow of his writ-
ing other books than those that pleased the public, he
returned, happily, to the Real, and was detached from
metaphysical meditations which might, perhaps, have
misled his great intellect, as they have that of others.
Independently of his books, he had a large corres-
pondence on business, together with other letters which
took much time. During these years I find many re-
lating to journe3'S in Savoie, to Sardinia, and Corsica,
to Germany, Italy, and to Saint Petersburg and South-
ern Russia, where he made a long stay on two occa-
sions ; not to speak of trips in France to the various
localities where he placed or intended to place the per-
sonages of his tales, for the purpose of describing faith-
fulty the towns and country regions where they lived.
Often, when he came to take leave of us, he would sa}^
" I am oflT for Alengon to see Mademoiselle Cormon,"
or "to Grenoble, where Monsieur Benassis lived."
The impossible did not exist for him ; and he proved
Honors de Balzac. 89
it in the first instance by finding courage to live through
these early years of his literary life, when more than
once he deprived himself of the necessaries of life to
procure the superfluities, so needful to him in order to
occup3' a place in the social life he wished to paint. The
recollection of those years brings back such anguish to
my mind that I cannot think of them even now without
sadness. From 1827 to 1836 my brother could not
support himself and meet his obligations without draw-
ing notes, the maturing of which kept him in a state of
perpetual anxiety ; for he had nothing with which to
meet them but the profits of his works, and the time in
which he could finish each book was uncertain. After
getting those notes accepted and discounted by usurers
(the first difficulty) he was often obliged to renew
them, a second and still greater difficulty which he
alone could manage ; for others would have failed in
negotiations where he could fascinate — even usurers.
*' What a waste of intellect!" he would say to me,
sadly, when he returned, worn out, from these efforts
which sadly interfered with his work.
He was unable to prevent the accumulating interest
on his principal obligations from rolling up until it
made his "floating debt" (as he called it in his gay
moments) like a snowball, growing larger as it rolled ;
this debt so increased with the months and j-ears that
there were times when my brother despaired of ever
paying it. To pacif}^ the more threatening of his cred-
itors he performed actual prodigies of labor from time
to time, which overwhelmed both publishers and printers.
This almost superhuman toil was, undoubtedh', one of the
causes which shortened his life. A great mental shock
90 Honore de Balzac.
brought on the heart disease of which he ultimately
died, but it might not have killed him so early had it
not been developed by the over-heating of his blood.
This condition of anxiety lasted until the time came for
the reprinting of his works, which enabled him to at
least partially free himself from debt. With what jo}"
he lessened the figures of that terrible amount, which he
kept ever under his eyes so as to stimulate his courage.
" After such toil as this, when shall I have a penny
for myself?" he often said to me. ''I will certainly
frame it ; it will be, in itself, the history of my life."
A few letters of the years 1832, 1833, 1834, 1835,
during which he travelled much, will show the condition
of his soul far better than I can tell it. They are writ-
ten from Angouleme, Aix-les-Bains, Sache, Marseilles,
and Milan. The books of which he speaks enable me
to assign the dates, which are nearly alwa3's wanting
to his letters. Angouleme was a town where the Car-
rauds, friends of ours, whom m}' brother often visited,
were then living. (Commandant Carraud was in charge
of the government powder-works.) A warm friendship
had sprung up between my brother and this honorable
family in 1826, when I was living at Versailles. Mon-
sieur Carraud was then director of the militar}' school of
Saint-Cyr. I was overjoyed to meet his wife, with
whom I had been brought up. Her faithful and intelli-
gent friendship was one of the happinesses of m}-
brother's life. Those of his works which are signed at
Angouleme and Frapesle (a country-seat belonging to
Madame Carraud in Berry) bear testimony to their
deep sympathy.
Sache is a fine estate about eighteen miles from
Honors de Balzac. 91
Tours, belonging to Monsieur de Margonne, a friend of
our family. Honore found there, at all times, the
noblest hospitality joined to unvarying affection. With
these friends he could have the tranquillity he could not
have in Paris. At Angouleme and at Sache he wrote
several of his books, more especially Louis Lambert^
Le Lys dans la Vallee^ La Recherche de VAbsolu^ and
others I do not now recollect.
" Angouleme, 1832.
'* Thank 5'ou, sister; the devotion of the hearts we
love does us so much good ! You have revived the en-
erg}^ which has enabled me, so far, to surmount the diffi-
culties of my life. Yes, 3'ou are right ; I shall not stop
sjiort ; I shall advance, I shall attain my end ; 3'ou
will one day see me counted among the great minds of
France. But what efforts to attain it ! they wear out
the body, weariness comes, discouragement follows !
*' Louis Lambert has cost me such toil ! how many
books I have had to re-read in order to write this one
book ! Some day or other it may turn science into new
paths. If I had made it a purel}* learned work it would
have taken the attention of thinkers, who now will not
even cast their e3'es upon it. But, should chance ever
place Louis Lambert in their hands they will speak of
it, perhaps. I believe it to be a fine book. Our friends
here admire it, and you know that the}' never deceive
me. Why do you object to its ending? You know the'
reason why I chose it. You are always timid. This
end is probable : many sad examples justify it ; did
not the doctor himself say that madness is at the door
of great minds which overstrain themselves?
"Thanks again for your letter, and forgive a poor
/
92 Honors de Balzac,
artist for the discouragement which brought it forth.
The game begun, I must plaj^ boldly ; I must press on.
Mj' books are the only answer I will ever make to those
who attack me. Do not let their criticisms affect j'ou
too much ; they are a good augury ; mediocrity is never
attacked. Yes, you are right, my progress is a real
one, and my infernal courage will be rewarded. Per-
suade my mother to think this, my dear sister ; tell her
from me to give me the charity of her patience. Such
devotion will be counted to her. Some day, I hope, a
little fame will repay^ all. Poor mother ! that same
imagination which she bestowed upon me drives her
mind from north to south, and from south to north per-
petually ; such tossings to and fro are fatiguing ; I know
it well m3'self. Tell her I love her as I did when a child.
Tears are iu m}' eyes as I write these lines, — tears of
tenderness and of despair. I think of the future ; I
must have my devoted mother with me in the day of
m}' triumph; but when shall I win it? Take care of
our mother, Laure, for the present and for the future.
*' As for you and 3^our husband, never doubt m}^ heart.
If I cannot write to you be indulgent, do not blame my
silence ; say to j^ourselves : ' He thinks of us ; ' un-
derstand me, my kind friends, you, mj^ oldest and
surest affections. Each time that I issue from my long
meditations, m}" exhausting toil, I rest in 3'our hearts
as in some delightful spot where nothing wounds me.
Some day when m}^ work develops 3'ou will see how many
hours were needed to think and write so many things :
you will then absolve me for what may now displease
3'ou, and 3'OU will forgive the egoism, not of the man
(for the man has none) , but of the thinker and toiler.
Honors de Balzac. 93
'' I kiss3^ou, dear consoler who bring me hope, with a
kiss of tender gratitude. Your letter revived me ; after
I had read it I gave a joyful hurrah and shouted, ' For-
ward, soldier ! fling thyself boldlj' into the fray.' "
The reader will understand the emotions with which
I received such letters as these.
In Louis Lambert my brother had felt obliged, in
order to bring forward ideas which were not yet ac-
cepted, to put them under the safeguard of supposed
madness. " And even so," he said to me, " I have not
dared to give them all the extension that I see in them."
Louis Lambert asks himself whether the constituent
principle of electricit}' does not enter as a basis into the
particular fluid from which Ideas spring. He saw in
Thought a complete system, like one of Nature's king-
doms, a celestial flora, as it were, the development of
which by some man of genius would be taken for the
work of a lunatic. " Yes, all things within us and
without us," said Louis Lambert, " bear evidence to the
life of Ideas, — those ravishing creations which, obeying
some mysterious revelation of their nature, I compare
to flowers."
My brother returns in several of his works to this
subject of meditation. In the Peau de Chagrin., among
others, he analyzes the birth, life, or death of certain
thoughts, — one of the most fascinating pages of that
book.
Louis Lambert found in the moral nature phenomena
of motion and gravity, similar to those of the phj'sical
nature, and demonstrated his opinion by certain
examples.
'' The emotion of expectant attention" he said, " is
94 Honore de Balzac.
painful through the effect of a law in virtue of which
the weight of a bod}^ is multiplied by its swiftness.
Does not the weight of sentiment, the moral gravity,
which waiting produces, increase by the constant addi-
tion of past pains to present pain? To what if not to
some electric substance can we attribute that magic b}^
force of which the Will sits majesticalh^ enthroned in
the eye, to blast all obstacles at the command of
genius, or breaks forth in the voice, or filters visiblj', in
defiance of hypocrisy, through the human cuticle? The
current of this king of fluids which, under the high
pressure of Thought or Sentiment, flows forth in waves,
lessens to a thread, or gathers to a volume and gushes
out in lightning jets, is the occult minister to whom
we owe the efforts (be they fatal or beneficent) of the
arts and the passions, — the intonations of the voice,
rough, sweet, terrifying, lascivious, horrible, seductive,
which vibrate in the heart, in the bowels, in the brain
at the will of our wishes, — the spell of touch, from
which proceed the mental transfusions of the artist
whose creative hands, made perfect through passionate
studj', can evoke nature, — the endless gradations of the
eye, passing from sluggish aton}^ to the discharge of
lightning-flashes full of menace. God loses none of his
rights in this system. Thought, material thought tells
me of new and undiscovered grandeurs in the Divine."
I end my quotations ; having merely wished to prove
what I have advanced. The book alone can enable the
reader to appreciate the heights of a spirit so ardent in
seeking the solution of questions which occupy the
minds of all thinkers. Let us return now to the reali-
ties of life and see if the man who in 1840 put the fol-
Honors de Balzac. 95
lowing words into the mouth of Z. Marcas (in a number
of the "Revue Parisienne") was capable of judging
of men and things : —
'* * I do not believe that the present form of govern-
ment will last ten years/ said Z. Marcas. ' The young
blood which made August, 1830, and which is now for-
gotten, will burst forth like steam from the explosion
of a boiler. That youth has no safety-valve in France
to-day ; it is gathering up an avalanche of rejected
capacities and honorable but restless ambitions. What
sound will it be that shakes these masses and puts
them in motion ? I know not ; but they will rush like
an avalanche on the present state of things and will
overthrow it. The laws of ebb and flow rule the gen-
erations. The Roman empire had ignored them when
the barbaric hordes came down. The barbarians of
to-day are intellects. The laws of surplus are slowly
and dumbly acting all about us. The government is the
guilty one ; it is not recognizing the two powers to
which it owes all. It allows its hands to be tied by the
absurdities of the Contrat, and it is now in a fair way
to become a victim. Louis XIV., Napoleon, England,
were and are eager to welcome intelligent youth. In
France j'outh is now condemned to inactivit}' b}^ the
new legislation, by the fatal conditions of the elective
principle, by the vicious theories of ministerial consti-
tution. If you examine the composition of the elective
Chamber 3'ou will find no deputies of thirty ^ears of
age. The youth of RicheHeu and of Mazarin, of Tur-
enne and Colbert, of Pitt and Saint Just, of Napoleon
and Prince Metternich have no place there. Burke,
Sheridan, and Fox cannot sit on its benches. . . . We
96 Honor e de Balzac.
may conceive the causes of coming events, but we can-
not predict what those events may be. At the present
time everything is driving the youth of France to re-
pubhcanisra, because it sees in a republic its prob-
able emancipation ; it remembers the young generals
and the young statesmen of the past. The impru-
dence of the present government is equalled only by its
avarice. . . . France inferior before Russia and Encr-
land ! France in the third rank ! They have given us
peace by discounting the future,' he cried, ' but danger
is ahead. The youth of France will rise as it did in
1790, and 3'ou will perish because you did not ask for
its vigor and its energy, its devotion and its ardor ; be-
cause you disliked young men of abilit}', and would not
win the noble generation of the present da}* b}- love.' "
These words, written at a period when the reign of
Louis-Philippe was in its highest prosperitj^, prove that
Balzac saw far and judged from heights.
After Louis Lambert was finished my brother left
Angouleme for Savoie. I find two letters from Aix-les-
Bains which may be given ; one to my mother, one
to me : —
"Aix, Sept. 1st, 1832.
"I have felt the deepest emotion in reading your
letter, mother, and I adore you. How and when shall
I render, and can I ever render, back to 3'ou, in tender-
ness and comfort, all that you are doing for me? I
can, at this time, oflTer you only my gratitude. The
journej^ which 3'ou have enabled me to make is indeed
very necessary to me ; I was worn out with the labor
of writing Louis Laynhert ; I had sat up man}' nights,
and so abused the use of coffee that I suffered pains in
Honore de Balzac. 97
my stomach which amounted to cramp. Louis Lam-
bert is, perhaps, a masterpiece, but it has cost me dear,
— six weeks of unremitting labor at Sachu, and ten
days at Angouieme. Now then, perhaps, certain
friends will think me a man of some value. I thank
you from the bottom of m^' heart for relieving me of
the worries of material hfe ; my tenderness for you is
not of those that words express. Such unceasing toil
as mine must surely be crowned by fortune ; I hope
for it all the more because I see other talents rewarded.
As for fame, I begin not to despair of it.
''Take care of your health, mother; you must live
that I may pay 3'ou all. Oh, how I would kiss you if
you were only here ! What gratitude do I not feel for
the kind hearts that pull some thorns from my life and
smooth m}' path b}' their affection ; though, forced to
struggle incessantly' against my lot, I have not always
the time to express my feelings. But I will not now
let a da}^ go by without 3'our knowing what tenderness
this last devotion of yours excites in me. Mothers give
birth to their chiklren more than once, do they not,
mother? Poor darlings! are you ever loved enough?
Ah ! could I but reward 3'Ou some day with happiness,
b}' gratifying your pride, and b}^ my genius, for all the
anguish that \ have caused you.
'* I am in a great vein of inspiration, and I hope to do
much work here where I am tranquil. . . .
'' A person just starting for Paris will bring j'ou some
manuscripts to take to Mame [his publisher]. Tell him
he shall have Les Ghouans re-written in February if
he wishes to reprint it.
*' I am writing, by way of amusement, some contes
7
98 Honore de Balzac.
drolatiques. Three are finished, and I am satisfied
with them. I am also at work to supply the ' Revue de
Paris ' up to December, and I have- articles in my head
for January and Februarj^, which are really half done.
" Don't be uneas}" about my leg. I have taken baths,
and the scab is forming. I found a pretty room en-
gaged for me which costs two francs a day. I get my
meals from a neighboring restaurant. In the morning
an Qgg and a glass of milk, a breakfast which comes to
fifteen sous ; dinner at the same rates. So you see,
mother, that though you have a son who is rather a
dreamer, he is at least economical.
" I press you in my arms and kiss those dear e3'es
that watch over me."
" Aix, September 15th.
"A word to you, m\^ dearly beloved sister. In the
course of my travels I have seen delightful places, I
shall perhaps see lovelier still, and 1 want yovi to know
that none of them can make me forget you.
" From m\' room I see the whole valley of Aix. On
the horizon are hills, the high mountains of the Deut-
du-Chat, and the exquisite lake of Bourget. But I
must work in the midst of these enchantments. Mother
has probably told you that I have to furnish forty pages
a month to the ' Revue de Paris.'
'' I am now between thirty and forty, dear sister ; in
other words, in the full maturity of my powers ; I must
now write on my noblest subjects which ought to crown
my work. When I return I shall see if I have enough
tranquillity of mind to attempt those great works.
" Mother will have told you that I came near being
killed under the wheels of a diligence. I escaped with
Honors de Balzac, 99
an injur}' to the leg ; but the baths and rest are curing
it. Yesterday I was able to drive to the lake. Here
I am at the gates of Italy and I fear lest I yield to the
temptation of entering them. The journey would not
be costl}'. I should go with the Fitz-James party,
which would be most agreeable to me, for they are
charming. I should travel in their carriage. All ex-
penses calculated, it would cost a thousand francs to
go from Geneva to Rome, and my quarter of that would
be two hundred and fifty francs ; I should need five
hundred in Rome, and then I would spend the winter
in Naples. But as I cannot touch my receipts in Paris,
which must go to meet the notes, I should, if I decided
to go to Ital}', write the Medecin de Cawpagne for
Mame at once, and that book would pay for all. I
shall never have another such opportunitj'. The duke
knows Italy and would save me all loss of time ; per-
sons ignorant of the countr}' waste much in looking at
useless things. I should work wherever I went. In
Naples I should have the advantage of the embassy
and the couriers of Monsieur de Rothschild, whose ac-
quaintance I have made here, and who will give me
introductions to his brother ; my proofs can therefore
come regularly and m}- work will go on as usual. Talk
to my mother about this ; and write to me in detail
about all of you."
On further calculation the journey to Ital}' was con-
sidered too expensive ; my brother did not allow him-
self to take it, but returned to Angouleme, where he
finished La Femme Abandonee, wrote La Qrenadiere
and Le Message^ and began Le Medecin de Cam-pagne^
100 Honore de Balzac.
which he concluded in the rue Cassini, on his return
to Paris.
Will the details I am now about to give interest the
public? Affection makes me a poor judge of this ques-
tion. I mjself think them fitted to explain this man}'-
sided character, in which the qualities of j'outh remained
so long and resisted so much. This belief and the feel-
ing that they cannot belittle Balzac makes me write
down the following recollections fearlessl}^ on^ In- one,
as they come into my mind, remembering that he said
himself it was "illusions that helped him to live."
To oblige himself to take the exercise necessar}' for
his health in the midst of such a sedentary life, my
brother corrected his proofs either at the printing-offices
or at my house. According to the weather (which had
great influence upon him), his immediate embarrass-
ments, the difficulties of his work, or the extreme fa-
tigue of sitting up all night, he often arrived scarcely
able to drag himself along, gloomv and dejected, his
skin looking sallow and jaundiced. Seeing his de-
pressed state, I would trj- to find the means to draw
him out of it. He, who could read thoughts, would
answer mine before I spoke them.
" Don't console me," he would say in a faint voice,
dropping into a chair; "it is useless. I am a dead
man."
The dead man would then begin in a doleful voice to
tell of his new troubles ; but he soon revived, and the
words came forth in the most ringing tones of his voice.
Then, opening his proofs, he would drop back into his
dismal accents, and say, by way of conclusion : —
"Yes, I am a wrecked man, sister."
Honor 4 de Balzac. 101
*' Nonsense ! no man is wrecked with such proofs as
those to correct."
Then he would raise his head ; his face unpuckered,
little In* Uttle ; the sallow tones of his skin disappeared.
" By God, you are right ! " he would cry. " Those
books will make me live. Besides, blind Fortune is here,
is n't she ? why should n't she protect a Balzac as well
as a ninny? — and there are always ways of wooing
her. Suppose one of ray millionnaire friends (and I have
some) or a banker, not knowing what to do with his
money, should come to me and say, 'I know 3'our im-
mense talents and your anxieties; you want such and
such a sum to free 3'ourself ; accept it fearlessly; you
will pay me ; your pen is worth millions.' That is all
I want ^ my dear."
Accustomed to such illusions, which revived his cour-
age and his light-heartedness, I never showed an\' sur-
prise at these suggestions. Having invented his fable,
he would pile reasons upon reasons for believing it.
'' Such men spend so much on mere fancies. A fine
action is a fancy like an}^ other, and it would give them
actual joy all the time. What a thing to be able to sa}',
' I have saved a Balzac ! ' Humanity does, here and
there, have good impulses, and there are persons who,
without being Englishmen, are capable of such eccen-
tricity. I shall meet with one," he cried ; " millionnaire
or banker, I shall find one ! "
This belief established, he would walk up and dowr
the room joj'ously, flinging up his arms and waving
them.
'*Ha! Balzac is a free man! You shall see, my
dear friends and my dear enemies, how far he can go."
102 Honors de Balzac.
First, he went straight to the Institute. From there
to the Chamber of Peers was but a step, and in he went.
Wh}' shouldn't he be a peer? Such a one and such a
one were raised to the peerage. From peer he became
minister, — nothing extraordinary' in that, there were
plent}^ of precedents ; besides, are not the men who
have gone the round of all ideas the ones best suited
to govern men? Why should people be astonished
at his taking a portfolio?
The minister then sat down to govern France ; he
pointed out and reformed many abuses. Noble ideas
and language issued from his dream. Then, as all was
highl}^ prosperous in his ministry and in the kingdom,
he reverted to the banker or his millionnaire friend who
had led him to such honors, wishing to make sure that
he, too, was as fortunate as himself: —
"His part will be a noble one in the future; the
world will say, 'That man understood Balzac,- lent
him money on his talent, and led him to the honors he
deserved.' That will be his glor}', whoever else goes
without. It is a higher distinction than burning a tem-
ple to leave your name to posteritj'."
When he had travelled far on his golden clouds he
fell back into reality ; but by that time his mind was
diverted, and he was half consoled. He corrected his
proofs, read them over to us, and departed with a joke
at himself.
" Adieu ; I am going home to see if my banker is
waiting for me," he said, laughing his good, hearty
laugh. "If he is not there I shall find work at any
rate ; and that 's my true banker."
His ardent spirit was constantl}' seeking means to
Honore de Balzac. 103
attain freedom from debt ; and these efforts wearied
him more than his literary' labors.
One day, for instance, he thought he had discovered
a substance suitable for the composition of a new kind
of paper. This substance was everywhere, — cost less
titan rags. Here was joy, with mau}^ hopes and pro-
jects, quickly followed by disappointment, for the ex-
periments did not succeed. We supposed he would be
in despair, but we found him radiant.
*' How about your paper? "
''Paper! I am not thinking of that. You people
have never reflected that the Eomans, who knew very
little about mines, have left treasures in their scoriae.
Learned men in the Institute whom I have consulted
think as I do, and T am going to Sardinia."
" Going to Sardinia? pray how are you going to pay
your way ? "
*' Pay my wa}*? I shall traverse the whole island on
foot, with a bag on my back, dressed like a beggar. I
shall scare the brigands, and the crows, too. I have
made my calculations ; six hundred francs will do it all."
The six hundred francs acquired, he departed, and
wrote to us from Marseilles on the 20th of March,
1838: —
'' Don 't have any anxieties about me, mother ; and
tell Laure not to have any. I have enough money, and
with due deference to laurean wisdom I shall not need
any for my return. I have just spent four days and
five nights in the imperial of a diligence. My hands are
so swollen I can hardl3' write. To-morrow, Wednesday,
at Toulon. Thursday I start for Ajaccio, and eight
104 Honore de Balzac.
daj's after that will be enough for my expedition. I
could get to Sardinia from here for fifteen francs if I
went by a trading vessel, but such craft take fifteen
days for the trip, and it is near upon the equinox ;
whereas for — it is true — triple the amount I land
there in three days. Now that I am almost there, I
begin to have some doubts ; but in an}^ case, I could not
risk less to have more. I have spent only ten francs
on the way. I am in a hotel that makes me shudder,
but with baths I manage to get along. If I fail, a few
nights of hard work will restore the equilibrium ! In
one month I can scrape up plenty of mone}^ with my
pen.
"Adieu, my dear, loved mother; believe that there
is far more desire to end the sufferings of those who are
dear to me than personal desire for fortune in what I
am undertaking. When a man has no capital he can
make his fortune onl}^ b}' ideas like the one I am now
pursuing. Ever your respectful son."
It was good to hear him tell, on his return, of the
vicissitudes of this remarkable journey. He had had
the luck to encounter real brigands.
"And they are prett}^ good devils outside of their
industry," he assured us; "they told me nearly all I
wanted to know. Those fellows take the measure of
everything, land and people both ; they saw so plainly
I was no fish for their net that I believe, God forgive
me, they w^ould sooner have lent me mone}^ than have
asked for it."
He arrived at Bastia without a sou, but his name
when he told it was the signal for an uprising among
Honors de Balzac. 105
the young men of tlie place. The}' had all read his
books, and were filled with enthusiasm on seeing him.
Great joy on his part ! '* I have a reputation alreadj'
in Corsica," he said. " Ah ! the brave youths, the fine
countr}^ ! *' Received and feted by Monsieur B., inspec-
tor of finances, whom he knew, he had won enough
money at cards to pay for his return to France, at the
very moment when he was going to write to us to send
him some ; he loved such pieces of luck, which made
him think he had a star. But that was not all ! this
tramping through Sardinia and these buffetings at sea
had given him subjects, and such subjects ! The last
surpassed all the others — unless we unwisely agreed
with him ; for then he asserted the excellence of the
first. He related these new subjects with fire ; plan,
details, he had them all mapped out. " Pretty to do,
is n't it? " he added.
''Do 3'ou tell your ideas to everybody?" I asked,
rather frightened, for I knew that in the good republic
of letters, where everybody wants to be king, they are
not over-scrupulous as to rights of property.
"Why not?" he answered. "The subject is noth-
ing, it is the execution that does the thing. Let them
try to do Balzac ; I defy them ! Would thieves know
how to work ? And if they did, so much the better for
the public ; I should n't regret it, for I have plenty of
other things in m}' mind. The world is vast, and the
human brain is as vast as the world."
The specimens brought back from the mines were sub-
mitted to chemists. Time was needed to analj^ze them ;
moreover, Honore was not yet read}^ to go to Piedmont
and ask for a concession of the land ; he had, as a pre-
106 Honors de Balzac.
liminary, to satisfy his publishers and earn the money
for the journey.
He Uved a whole year on this Sardinian fortune, and
projects kept pace with it. He flew with outspread
wings through a terrestrial Eden, which he arranged to
his fancy ; he bought the little chateau of Montcontour
which he longed for in Touraine ; for, in spite of the
indifference his townspeople had shown to him, he loved
the land, and wished to end his days there. '' Gentle
and tranquil thoughts grow in the soul as the vines in
its soil," he said of it. There he proceeded to fancy
himself resting from toil, living like an oj^ster in its
shell, opening his being to the setting sun. He gilded
this country life with the splendors of his mind, and
transformed himself into his own Doctor Minoret in the
midst of his friends, — the abbe, the mayor, and the
justice of peace, — rejoicing in the same green old age
which he has given him in JJrsule Mirou'et. But for all
that, he said, he intended to guard his mind from grow-
ing rusty. He should come every winter to Paris, and
have a salon like that of Baron Gerard (which was long
the model of all salons, past, present, and to come, for
the meeting of artists), and there he should receive, like
Gerard, all the celebrities born to fame or to be born.
He knew how to honor them property, for did n't he
know just the measure of the respect they deserved?
Bah ! he would even invite the critics. Yes, it was to
be a place of general pacification, and this king in his
own right was a heart}' good fellow, who knew neither
hatred nor jealous3\ Then he could return to his soli-
• tude, beloved and blessed by all.
Such were his dreams !
Honors de Balzac. 107
But these dreams weighed on the hearts of his
friends as much as his hours of depression ; for they
revealed the burden of his sorrows equall}' with his
sadness. It was only in dreams that he could shake
it off; no sooner was he awakened than he shouldered
it again.
A 3'ear after his trip to Sardinia, my brother, having
finished the books pledged to his publishers, and to re-
views and newspapers, started for Piedmont to obtain
the concession of his mine. Unreserved as ever, he
had told the purpose of his journe}' to the Genoese cap-
tain who took him to Sardinia the previous 3'ear. The
following letter explains how the captain profited by
that confidence, to Honorc's detriment.
" Milan.
" Dear Sister, — It would be too long to write all
that I will tell 3'ou when I see you, which will be soon,
I hope. I am, after ver3^ fatiguing travels, kept here
for the interests of the Visconti famil3\ Politics have
so embroiled them that the remnants of their prop-
erty in this country^ would have been sequestrated
without certain eflbrts on m3^ part which have happily
succeeded.
'' As to the principal object of my journey, all hap-
pened as I expected, but the dela3' in m3' coming was
fatal. That Genoese captain has obtained a concession
in proper form from the court of Sardinia. There is
over a million of mone3' in the scoriae and the lead
mines. A house in Marseilles with whom he has an
agreement has had the ore assayed. I ought not to
have loosened m3' grip on the enterprise last 3'ear, and
so let them get before me. ... "
108 Honore de Balzac.
Being m3'self absent from Paris in October of the same
year, I received the following letter from my brother :
" Gone without a word ! the poor toiler went to find
3'ou and make you share a little joy, and he found no
sister ! I torment you so often with my troubles
that the least I can do is to write 3'ou m}^ little joy.
You won't laugh at me, you '11 believe me, dear —
you will.
" I went yesterda}^ to Gerard's ; he presented me to
three German families. I thought I was dreaming ;
three families ! no less. One was from Vienna, one
from Frankfort, and the third — Prussia, perhaps ; but
I don't rightly know where. They confided to me that
they had been to Gerard's faithfull}' for one whole
month in the hope of meeting me ; and they let me
know that beyond the frontier of France (dear, un-
grateful country!) my reputation has begun. 'Perse-
vere in your labors,' they added, ' and you will be at
the head of literature in Europe.' Europe ! thej- said
it, sister! Flattering families! Oh, how I could
make certain persons roar with laughter if I told them
that. But these were good, kind Germans, and I let
myself believe they thought what thej^ said, and, to tell
the truth, I 'd have listened to them all night. Praise
is such a blessing to us artists, and that of the good
Germans primed me with courage. I departed, gay as
a lark, from Gerard's, and I am going to fire three guns
on the public and on my detractors ; to wit, Eugenie
Grandet^ Les Aventures d'une Idee heiireuse^ which
you know about, and my Pretre cathoUque, one of the
finest of my subjects.
Honore de Balzac. 109
" The matter of the j^tudes de Mceurs is well under
wa}'. Thirty-three thousand francs for author's rights
in the reprints will stop up large holes. That slice of my
debts paid, I shall go and seek m}' reward at Geneva.
The horizon seems really brightening. I have begun
hard work again. I go to bed at six, directly after din-
ner. The animal digests and sleeps till midnight.
Then Auguste makes me a cup of coffee on which the
mind works with a steady flow till midday. After that
I rush to the printing-office to take my copy and get
my proofs, which gives exercise to the animal, who
dreams as he goes.
" I can put a good deal of black on white, little sister,
in twelve hours ; and after a month of such life there 's
not a little earned. Poor pen ! it must be made of
diamond not to be worn out long ago. To lift its mas-
ter to reputation (according to the Germans) to enable
him to pay his debts to all, and then to give him, some
da}', rest upon a mountain — that is its task.
" What the devil were you doing so late at M ?
Tell me all about it — and tell me too that these Ger-
mans of mine are worthy people. A fraternal hand-
shake for Monsieur Canal. Tell him that the Aven-
tures d'une Id^e heureuse [Adventures of a good Idea]
are on the ways. I send you proofs of the Mc'deci?i de
Campagne."
The Aventures d'une Idee heureuse and the Pretre
Catholique were never written. The subject of the first of
these books was inspired bj' the ill-luck of a great work
with which his brother-in-law, Monsieur Surville, was
concerned. Honore intended, in this book, to write the
110 Honors de Bahac.
history of a good idea useful to all, brought to nought
by the individual interests with which it clashed, — thus
causing the ruin of a man who had devoted himself to
bring it about. The subject under my brother's pen
would have been fruitful in observation and in social
truths ; it would certainly not have been the least inter-
esting of the books comprised in his work.
Prior to the journey to Switzerland and Geneva to
which my brother alludes in the foregoing letters, I. find
another letter which he addressed to me during one of
m}^ absences from Paris, which it may be interesting to
give here : —
" I have good news for 3'ou, little sister ; the reviews
are paying me better prices. Hey ! hey !
'^ Werdet announces that m}- Medecin de Campagne
was sold off in eight daj-s. Ha ! ha !
"I have enough money to meet the notes of No-
vember and December, which made you so uneasy.
Ho! ho!
" I have sold the reprinting of the books by that
rascal R , Saint A., and other pseudon3'ms. The
sale is made through a third part}^, w^ho denies the
authorship ; for I will never admit it. But as they
are reprinting them in that damned Belgium, which
does so much harm, both to authors and pubhshers, I
yield to the necessit}' of exchanging these books for
good coin, and in that way I lessen the mischief.
"And, finalh^, Gosselin publishes my Contes Dro-
latiqiies. Ecco^ sorella!
" All goes well. A few more efforts and I shall have
triumphed in a great struggle hy means of a feeble in-
Honore de Balzac, 111
strument — a pen ! If nothing happens to prevent it,
I shall soon owe nothing to any one except my mother ;
and when I remember m}^ disasters and the gloomy
5'ears I have passed through, I cannot help feeling some
pride in thinking that by dint of courage and of toil I
have won my liberty.
'^ This thought has made me so happy that the other
night I talked of a project to Surville in which 3'ou
w^ere concerned. I made him build a house close to
mine ; our gardens adjoined ; we ate the fruits of our
trees together — I went far ! The good brother smiled,
and raised his eyes to heaven ; there was a world of
affection for you and for me in that smile ; but I also
saw in it that neither he nor I owned our houses as
yet. Never mind, projects sustain the courage, and if
God grants me health, we will have our houses, my
good sister."
This "project" afterwards led him to purchase a
piece of ground at Ville-d'Avray, where he built Les
Jardies. But the steep slope made the walls unsafe ;
the propert}^ cost more than it ought to have done ; and
other unfortunate circumstances obliged m}' brother to
sell it. This purchase was also counted against him as
a fault.
In the foregoing letter Honore alludes to the Contes
Drolatiques, which he said in a former letter he was
writing *' for relaxation." In these stories he intended
to follow the transformations of the French language
from the times of Rabelais to the present day, and
thus impregnate hie tales with the ideas of the various
epochs.
112 Honors de Balzac.
''It will be with this work as with the Comedie
irumai?ie" he said to us ; " the public will not under-
stand its purpose until the work is finished. Until then
these stories will only be recreation for artists. In
them the}' '11 find the gayety they are often so much in
need of."
He also thought that if everything else failed these
stories might save him from oblivion. The studies he
then made of the old French writers led him to regret
the desuetude of certain words which had never been
replaced. He grieved over their fate as Vangelas might
have done.
" What charming words ! don't the}' express exactly
what they want to say ? What artless grace I You
find such words only in the infancy of a language.
Now a days we have to use phrases to replace them.
When I work at the dictionary of the Academy . . ."
And that idea flung him into projects in which the
French language became his millionnaire. He was apt
at such times to get angry with those who found fault
with him for creating certain words which he wanted in
his books.
"Who has the right to make gifts to a language if
not a writer?" he would say; "our language has ac-
cepted those of my predecessors, and she will accept
mine ; my parvenus will become noble in time — which
makes all nobilities. However, let the critics yelp over
my ' neologisms ' as they call them ; everybody must
live, you know."
Honor e de Balzac. 113
CHAPTER V.
EARLY MANHOOD.
In reading the foregoing portion of Madame Surville's
narrative, an impression is left upon the mind that more
has been omitted than is told. Those were the years
of his 3'outh and early manhood, yet his sister tells us
little of his actual life, his thoughts on external things,
his relation to them ; above all, nothing of the inner
man that was formed and being formed within him.
If we turn to his correspondence, we find but two let-
ters between the j'ears 1822 and 1828, and those of no
interest. It is evident that these omissions are inten-
tional. If it was Balzac's will (as it appears to have
been) to withhold his private life and motives and in-
centives from public knowledge, we can only be glad
that he foresaw the gossiping curiosity of a coming
literary future, and kept that wliich was sacred to him
from being trailed in the dust. But without attempting
to pry into the life which he concealed (in fact there
are no means of doing so), it is the right of posterity
to judge a man bj' his utterances ; and Balzac's works,
into which he put much of himself, together with a few
stray glimpses given here and there in his letters of
a later date, do throw some light upon his early
manhood.
114 Honore de Balzac.
But before passing to these more difficult matters it
is well to see if Balzac's life after he left his father's
house at Villeparisis and became connected with men
and things in Paris, can be reduced to a chronolog}',
however incomplete. All accounts of him are vague
in this respect, often skipping 3'ears in the narration
and returning to them later. But by comparing the dif-
ferent sources of information it is possible to get some
connected idea of his outward life.
Balzac himself said in after years : "When T was quite
a yowng man I had an illness from which persons do not
recover ; nineteen out of twenty die. Dr. Nacquart said,
' If he gets well now he may live a hundred years.' I
did get well, and I went to work ; I wrote novels for
mere study ; one to break myself in to dialogue ; an-
other to practise description ; a third to group m}' per-
sonages, and so on." Pie frequently alludes to the fact
that Dr. Nacquart saved liis life. This illness, doubt-
less the heart disease which he mentions to George Sand
in 1831, and to which his sister alludes as the result of
a great mental shock, must have occurred during the
first of these years of which there is no record.
In 1824-25, the period of his venture as a pub-
lisher, we find that he WTote three of the ten novels lie
never acknowledged, the last of which was issued by
Urbain Canel, a publisher of some repute ; also three
pamphlets, Z>e Droit d'Ainesse, Tine Histoire Impar-
tiale des Jesuifes, and La Code des Gens honnetes.
Champfleury, who was employed by the Levy Freres
to collect Balzac's signed writings under the title of
(Eavres diverses, mentions that throughout the vicissi-
tudes of his life and his man^' changes of abode, Bal-
Honore de Balzac. 115
zac had preserved a number of boxes {cartons) full of
3^outhful writings of little interest, wliich he had prob-
ably never re-read, — the sort of papers which most
men tear up at intervals or consign to the flames, but
which Balzac had kept from some feeling or associa-
tion. Among them there was neither correspondence,
nor journal, nor an}' paper serviceable to a biographer ;
and, curiousl}' enough, many were in verse, for which
he had apparentl}' not the slightest faculty. Champ-
fleur}' says, however, that from the specimens he found
it might be asserted that if Balzac had turned his mind
to poetry he could have been one of the poets of the
epoch, on a level with Victor Hugo and Lamartine.
Balzac's own judgment in the matter is probably nearer
the truth. It is told that Madame de Girardin, being
dilatory in writing a sonnet for JLes Illusions Perdues^
the printer's devil, who had been sent for it in vain,
seeing Balzac's extreme annoyance at the dela}-, said
to him, not unnaturall}^, '' Why don't you write it 3'our-
self, Monsieur de Balzac?" '* Write it myself! " cried
Balzac, turning on him; "don't you know, wretched
boy, that it is utterly impossible for me to write a
sonnet? "
During the two years from August, 1826, to Septem-
ber, 1828, when Balzac carried on the printing business,
first alone and then in partnership with his foreman, Bar-
bier, he took all work that came to him, and his name
as printer is attached to the following books (among
others) : the works of Lesage, the third edition of
Madame Roland's " Memoirs," the works of Volney, M.
deVigny's "Cinq-Mars," several novels by Zschokke,
and an amusing little pamphlet of his own, Le Petit
116 Honore de Balzac.
Dictionnaire des Enseignes de Paris. He also printed
and published the works of Moliere complete in one
volume, with an introduction by himself; and he pub-
lished in the same form, but did not print, the works of
La Fontaine, also with an introduction ; these Intro-
ductions are now among his collected writings. He
did not print the edition of La Fontaine, which is an
illustrated edition de luxe^ because the establishment
when he bought it was in bad condition, and he had, as
we have seen, no money left out of his thirty thousand
francs to better it, — scarcely enough, in fact, to carry
it on. This was the chief cause of his failure. After
he sold the business in September, 1828, it went
into hands that could command more capital, became
remunerative, and was still in a prosperous condition
some years after Balzac's death.
When he left the printing-office in the Marais he took
a single room in the rue de Tournon, No. 2, where he
must have struggled for a time with the wolf at his
door. But the worst had come, and things were about
to mend. Outward and material circumstances were
still against him, and continued to be so, under various
phases, all his life ; but at last he had conquered, in
some degree at least, his own difficulties of form and
construction ; he was becoming able, by dint of per-
severance and hard work, to present his thouglit in
a manner that satisfied him. He now finished Les
Chouayis., which was published under his own name,
by Canel and Levavasseur, in March, 1829. During
this time (for he had the habit all through life of mak-
ing his books long before he wrote them) another book
must have lain, inchoate, in his mind, taken from his
Honore de Balzac. 117
own heart and experience, — Cesar Birotteau. He
knew, noi>e better, the anguish of that upright soul in
the very circumstances he has given under the guise of
fiction.
Jjes Chouans was the turning-point of his literary
career. He became known. Editors went to him for
articles ; publishers offered to take his books. The
following is a list of the novels and tales written by
him during the years 1829 and 1830. They now hold
their appropriate place in the Oomedie Hamaine : Ei
Verdugo; La Paix du Menage ; Gloire et Malheur
(Maison du Chat-qui-pelote) ; Le Bal de Sceaux ;
part of CatMrine de Medicis ; Physiologie dit mar-
iage ; Gobseck ; La Vendetta ; ^tude de femme ;
Une double famille ; Adieu ^ L'J^lixir de tongue vie;
part of Les petites Miseres de la vie conjugate / U7ie
Bassio7i daiis le desert ; Un Mpisode sous la Terreur;
Jesus- Christ en Flandres}
The first fruit of Balzac's dawning reputation was
an introduction to Emile de Girardin (then editor of
"La Mode"), through M. Alphonse Levavasseur, part-
ner of Urbain Canel. M. de Girardin states that Balzac
gave him a story entitled El Verdugo^ which he printed
in '' La Mode,*' that publication being the first to ac-
1 In an appendix will be found lists of Balzac's works so ar-
ranged as to be useful to tlie American reader. They do not pre-
tend to be full bibliographical lists of all Balzac's works ; for that
students must go to the source wlience they are taken, — to the
fountain head, namely : Histoire des CEuvres de H. de Balzac,
par le Vte de Spoelberch de Lovenjoul, 3me ed. Paris, Cahnann
Levy, 1888; a work which covers the whole ground, and is, while
strictly bibliographical, a monument of love, comprehension, and
fi«lellty.
118 Honor e de Balzac.
cept his work. This introduction probably did more
than anything else to bring l^alzac into connection with
the literary and other talent of that day. The salon
of Madame Sophie Ga}^ Madame de Girardin's mother,
had long been a centre of various interests. It was
a refuge under the Empire for stubborn aristocrats,
and in later 3'ears for the eager young blood of the da}^
literary and artistic, which was troubled with a sense
of its lack of opportunity. In 1830 these interests had
the common ground of dislike to the bourgeois dynasty ;
poets, painters, and musicians, publicists, politicians,
and beautiful and brilliant women met in Madame
Gay's salon to contribute their part to that intercourse
of talents, and do their best to shine. There Balzac,
who alread}' knew something of society and of well-
bred women in his mother's house, was brought into
familiar intercourse with such persons as Victor Hugo,
de Vign}', Lamartine, and Frederic Soulie, Horace Ver-
net and Baron Gerard, Rossini, then in the fame of his
last opera, Guillaume Tell, Auber, Meyerbeer, Malibran
and Duprez, the Due de Broglie and Thiers, Madame
Tallien and Madame Recamier in their last years,
George Sand in her dawn ; also Henri de la Touche,
editor of the '' Figaro," whom Delphine de Girardin
called her intimate enem}-, together with man}^ younger
literary men and journalists of his own age. Every one
did his or her share towards the brilliancy of these
evenings, among them Balzac, who, on one occasion,
read the Peau de Chagrin aloud to the compan}'. From
this time till his death Madame de Girardin was among
his stanchest friends ; she did as much justice as could
be done in those days to, his great powers, and she
Honors de Balzac. 119
stood by him Wally, both in private and in the columns
of tlie " Presse " (her husband's paper), long after Bal-
zac had quarrelled with de Girardin on a business mat-
ter, and had ceased to go to her house.
In the same year, 1830, he combined with Emile de
Girardin, Victor Varaignes, Hippolite Auger, and Bois-
le Comte, to found a weekly paper called the ** Feuilleton
des Journaux politiques," which was intended to sup-
plement the purely political newspapers, and to be
*' speciall}" devoted to the presentation and criticism of
literary works and art productions." The publication
was short-lived, but Balzac contributed man}' articles
to it ; also to the " Silhouette," edited by Victor Ratier,
and to the ''Caricature," a spicy semi-political paper,
edited by M. Philippon, and devoted more especially to
satirical attacks on the Bourgeois regime. Balzac did
much work for it, thus serving an apprenticeship at
inner journalism, which he afterwards put to use in Les
Illusions Perdues^ and in his witty pamphlet Le Mono-
graphie de la Presse Parisienne. He did not like the
press, but it was on other than merely personal grounds.
"It is not a dynast}^ nor a Chamber, nor a S3'stem
that rules France at this date," he says ; '* it is a terrible
power — Public Opinion. And who are making Opin-
ion? The newspapers. And who make the news-
papers? Writers, for the most part third-rate: for
great as the mediocrit}' of Court, Chamber, and diplo-
mats may be, the mediocrit}' of the writers and proprie-
tors who engineer the French newspaper press (all
obscure men without initiative or purpose, used-up b}'
their own engine) is greater still." Later, he admits
its power. '' I don't like journalism ; I ma}' say I hate
120 Honore de Balzac.
it. It is a blind force, sh', malicious, insubordinate,
without morality or tradition, witliout, you may say, an
aim. But, at an}- rate, we have got to bow to it. It is
a power, — the power of this centur\\ It leads to all
points of the circumference. It is the only power in
these days that has the force to overthrow, and, conse-
quentl}', to set up. Just see what the ' Debats,' the
* Constitutionel,' the ' Presse,' and even the ' Siecle,'
can do in their several ways. I defy the government to
name a minister, or a collector, or an admiral, or a for-
ester without more or less considering the effect it will
have on the sensitive skin of the press." He soon be-
gan to tire of the tone of the " Caricature," and to gird
against weekly articles in derision of the king and " le
grand poulot " (the Due d'Orleans). At the end often
months he declared he had had enough of it, and that
true criticism did not exist in France. All his articles
of whatever kind have been collected since his death,
and published among the " Q^uvres Di verses." He
would probably not have sanctioned the publication of
all of them under his name ; for he practised criticism
as he practised novel- writing, to train his hand and
feel his wa}'.
At the close of the j^ear 1830 he began to write for
the " Revue de Paris," then edited b}' Charles Rabou,
but soon to pass into the hands of Buloz, also editor of
the " Revue des Deux Mondes." Thus, in the course
of this one 3^ear, Balzac was fairly launched upon the
surface current of his chosen career.
In May, 1831, he left his poor room in the rue de
Tournon, and took a sunny httle apartment in the rue
Cassini, near the Observatoire, where he remained
Honore de Balzac, 121
eight 3'ears. It was the fitting up of this cheerful
abode with blue cambric (saved from the printing-otlice)
which drew upon him his mother's reproaches ; and even
Monsieur Taine cannot refrain from remarking on the
love of luxury which lusted for two blue screens made
by his sister, presumably to match the hangings. It
does not seem a heinous offence wortii indicating to
posterity', and his sister coukl little have expected that
her innocent story would be so applied ; but the charge
was a true one. Hard as he worked to pa}' his debts
(always his first object), and poorly as he lived, often
going without the necessaries of life, he could not
restrain his longing for rare old things of art, and beau-
tiful decorations. George Sand said of him that he
was " envious of a bibelot and incapable of envying
another man's fame;" and this passion, which he was
unable to resist, and probably never attempted to, in-
creased his debts and added to the millstone already
about his neck. He was aware of his weakness, how-
ever, and was wont, at times, to hide his treasures
from his friends as well as from his creditors. A cata-
logue of his rare works of art of all kinds, and a
description of his gallery in the Rue Fortunee (his last
home) is given in Cousin Pons, a book which reveals,
no doubt, in the person of the old collector, some of
his own methods in obtaining those treasures.
In the rue Cassini he became intimate with two men
living in the same house, — Jules Sandeau and Henri
de la Touche ; the latter was then editing the " Figaro,'*
which he chiefl}' wrote himself. Many years earlier la
Touche had brought forward Andre Chenier, and he
was now among the first to advise and assist George
122 Honor e de Balzac.
Sand, then his secretaiy. He was a man of much liter-
ary importance, which came to naught owing to the
strange capriciousness of his nature. George Sand
said of him that he had shown the promised land to
others, but was unable to enter Canaan himself. She
was just then trying her wings before writing " Indiana,"
and it was at this time that Jules Sandeau presented
Balzac to her. Her account of their acquaintance and
her judgment upon him will be given farther on, — the
actual words of such contemporaries as George Sand
and Theophile Gautier being far more useful to the
reader than any synopsis made b3' others.
From this time on we may see the man of strict honor
and integrity applying himself to the pa3'ment of his
debts and the earning of a competenc}', tlie need of
which he now began to feel keenly, as he entered more
and more into the social life it was his destiny to paint.
These were his first objects as seen by the general eye ;
but there was a higher law within him, namel}^, the
development of his own powers, and nothing was suf-
fered to interfere with it, — neither pressure of outward
cares, nor remonstrances of angrj^ publishers, nor temp-
tations of friendship and pleasure (strong in his loving
and joj^ous nature), nor the sense of his incompetency
in certain wa} s of putting into form his thought. He
never trifled with his genius, the sacred gift which he
recognized as a lad in his cage at Vendome. He obej'ed
the inspiration that came to him to train it to its highest
service ; he cloistered his spirit for weeks and months,
wrestling in the silence and solitude of night to bring
his great powers within control. There lay his real life ;
a life of which he gives but few glimpses and no par-
Honors de Balzac. 123
ticiilars ; a solitary life, possibl}- typified to his mind
by the dress he wore. Scarcely any record is left of it
except in the books which issued from its solitude ; but
they reveal much. A man less sound in body and mind
would have had no outward life ; his nervous system,
as we now say of an overtaxed mind and bod3% would
have broken down ; or he would at least have been
inert and irritable. But Balzac's health}- and hearty
nature came to the fore so soon as the strain was
over ; no sooner had he touched earth than the giant
sprang up refreshed, and took his place among the men
and events of the day as if no other life were in his
thoughts.
Lamartine gives a portrait of him at this time which
is doubtless a true one. He says that he returned to
Paris after an absence of years, knowing only that a
3'oung writer named Balzac was said to show a healthy
originality. He chanced to read a few pages of his
writings, which moved him to exclaim, '■'A man is
born to us ! " Soon after this he met him at dinner at
Madame de Girardin's."
*' Balzac was standing before the fireplace of that
dear room where I have seen so man}' remarkable men
and women come and go. He was not tall, though the
light on his face and the mobility of his figure pre-
vented me from noticing his stature. His body swayed
with his thought ; there seemed at times to be a space
between him and the floor ; occasionally he stooped as
though to gather an idea at his feet, and then he rose
on the points of them to follow the flight of his thought
above him. At the moment of my entrance he was
carried away by the subject of a conversation then go-
124 Honore de Balzac,
ing on with Monsieur and Madame de Girardin, and
onl}' interrupted himself for a moment to give me a
keen, rapid, gracious look of extreme kindliness.
" He was stout, solid, square at the base and across
the shoulders. The neck, chest, body, and thighs were
powerful, with something of Mirabeau's amplitude, but
without heaviness. The soul was apparent, and seemed
to carry everything lighth', gayly, like a supple cover-
ing, not in the least like a burden. His size seemed to
give him power, not to deprive him of it. His short
arms gesticulated easilj^ ; he talked as an orator speaks.
His voice resounded with the somewhat vehement en-
ergy of his lungs, but it had neither roughness, nor
sarcasm, nor anger in it; his legs, on which he rather
swayed himself, bore the torso easil}' ; his hands, which
were large and plump, expressed his thought as he
waved them. Such was the outward man in that robust
rame. But in presence of the face it was difficult to
think of the structure. That speaking face, from which
it was not easy to remove one's eyes, charmed and fas-
cinated you ; his hair was worn in thick masses ; his
black eyes pierced you like darts dipped in kindliness ;
they entered confidingly into yours hke friends. His
cheeks were full and ruddy; the nose well modelled,
though rather long ; the lips finely outhned, but full and
raised at the corners; the teeth irregular and notched.
His head was apt to lean to one side, and then, when
the talk excited him, it was lifted quickly with an heroic
sort of pride. But the dominant expression of his face,
greater even than that of intellect, was the manifesta-
tion of goodness and kindheartedness. He won your
mind when he spoke, but he won your heart when he
rl
Honor e de Balzac. 125
was silent. No feeling of envj' or hatred could have
been expressed by that face ; it was impossible that
it should seem otherwise than kind. But the kindness
was not that of indifference ; it was loving kindness,
conscious of its meaning and conscious of others ; it
inspired gratitude and frankness, and defied all those
who knew him not to love him. A childlike merriment
was in his aspect ; here was a soul at play ; he had
dropped his pen to be happy among friends, and it was
impossible not to be joyous where he was."
During the summers he went into the country, stay-
ing chiefly with friends of his family who were also
devoted friends of his own : Madame Carrand at An-
gouleme, Monsieur de Margonne of Sache, near Tours,
Madame de Berny at Saint-Firmin. Some of his noblest
books were written at Angouleme and Sache. These
were pleasures that cost him little, but his first journey
into other lands, in September, 1832, was another thing,
and it is touching to see the gratitude with which he
thanks his mother (in the letter his sister quotes) for
affording him that pleasure.
By this time his literary success and his personal
qualities had brought him into social life. With the
Duchesse d'Abrantes (better known as Madame Junot),
a friend of his sister, he was already intimate. Many
of his letters to her, beginning in 1828, are given in his
correspondence. They are frank and friendl}' ; at first
they relate chiefly to herself and her books, in the pub-
lication of which he seems to have assisted ; later he
tells of his own work and discusses subjects. The tone
is sincere and affectionate, and grateful for her regard
for him. " The friendship you deign to oflfer me," he
126 Honor e de Balzac,
writes, "is a chimera long sought b}- me ; from my
earliest da^'s in college I have desired to possess, not
man}' friends, but a friend {un ami). . . . You are
unhappy, you sa}^ and without the hope of another
dawn ; but remember that in the soul are man}" spring-
tides and fresh mornings. Your past life cannot be
characterized in language ; it is now a memory, and
you cannot judge of the future by such a past. How
many human beings have renewed their lives and made
them beautiful and sweet when farther on in life than
you are now. All we are is in the soul ; are you cer-
tain that 3'ours has had its full development? do you
breathe-in air through every pore of it? do 3'our eyes
see all they can see?" Of himself he says: " I am
old in suffering ; you would not guess my age from my
livel}' face. I cannot say that I have had, like you,
reverses, for I have alwa3-s been bowed down beneath
a cruel weight. Perhaps this will seem to 3'ou exag-
geration, a method of obtaining your interest ; no, for
nothing can give 3'ou an idea of my life up to my
twenty-third 3'ear. I am sometimes surprised that I
have nothing now to struggle against but outward mis-
fortune. You ma}^ question all about me and 3'ou will
never gain an3' light on the cause of m3" unhappiness.
Some there are who die and the physician himself
is unable to discover what malady has carried them
off."
During these 3'ears, beginning with 1831, man}^
women of rank and distinction, as well as others in
humble life, wrote to him anonymousl3', impelled to do
so b3" their interest in his books. " A cloud of letters'*
are still in existence, but they tell nothing ; they are
Honor e de Balzac. 127
not the letters of women who had a part, either great
or small, in his time or in his thoughts. From these
must be distinguished the anon^-mous letters of three
women, two of whom had an ultimate influence on his
life. His answers to the third (who signed herself
Louise) are given in his correspondence. It is charac-
teristic of liis nature that although these letters to
Louise covered a period of two years, and the lady's
name was not revealed to him, yet, having on one occa-
sion the opportunitN' to discover who she was, his deli-
cate sense of honor led him to forego it.^ Madame
Hanska, n^e Comtesse Rzewuska, who seventeen years
later became his wife, wrote to him in 1832, after read-
ing the M^decin de Campagne^ and signed herself
'' r^trangere." She was a Pole by birth, married to
a Russian gentleman owning vast possessions in the
province of Kiew, where the family usually resided on
an estate named Wierzschovnia, which was more like
a small principality than the home of private persons.
Monsieur Ilanski, being very much older than his wife,
and greatly occupied with the care of his property,
allowed her, from time to time, to travel without him
for the purpose of educating their only child, a daugh-
ter. Her intercourse with Balzac, begun by letter in
1832, and strengthened by occasional meetings in Vienna
and elsewhere, continued in a friendly manner but with
1 It must be said, however, that the letters to Louise have an
artificial ring to them. The reader cannot help asking how they
came to be published. As the lady never made herself known to
Balzac, is it likely that she sent his letters to the publishers of
his Correspondance ? Can they have been intended for incorpora-
tion with some tale left unfinished among his papers ?
128 Honor i de Balzac,
some relaxation on his part between 1838 and 1843,
the period of Monsieur Hanski's death, after which
time it grew closer, and ended in being the abiding
and final influence on his life. To his later years the
histor}^ of what she was to him properly- belongs.
The other anon3'mous correspondent, of 1831, proved
to be the Duchesse de Castries, daughter of the Due
de Maill}', a relation of the Fitz-Jameses and the Mont-
morencj's, and all the bluest blood of the faubourg
Saint-Germain. She was parted from her husband and
lived an artificial life, which was made picturesque by
a semi-invalidism caused by a fall from her horse and
a consequent injury to the spine. She received her
friends lying on a reclining chair in a small salon full
of antique furniture, old velvet cushions, and screens of
the seventeenth century. Slie was about thirty years
of age ; her beauty, more Roman than Greek, was
noble and distinguished; her high, wdiite forehead,
crowned with auburn hair, and the rubj'-colored gown
she was fond of wearing made her the living presenta-
tion of a portrait by Titian.
There is no doubt that Madame de Castries had a
marked influence, though it cannot be called an impor-
tant one, on Balzac's life. She was of great service to
his work, for she brought him into the sphere of the
faubourg Saint-Germain, and made known to him its
manners and customs, just as Madame Gay and Ma-
dame d'Abrantes had been the means of revealing to
him the Director}^ and the Empire. Moreover she
affected his imagination and gratified his naturaUy
artistic taste. The journe}^ to Switzerland was made
at her suggestion. She was then on her way to Italy
Honor 4 de Balzac. 129
with her brother-in-law, the Due de Fitz-James, and his
wife. Madame Surville has told us that her brother
was unable to accept their proposal to go with them to
Italy on account of the expense ; others have said
that the real cause was a rupture between the duchess
and Balzac at Geneva, where they parted. This may*
be, but it would seem from the correspondence that his
feelings cooled graduallj' ; they did cool undoubtedly
(though not without suffering on his part), so that
later, when Madame de Castries evidentl3^ wished to
replace the intimac}- on its old footing, he replied to her
curtl}', though with courtesy. The Duchesse de Lan-
geais^ with its admirable sketch of the faubourg Saint-
Germain, is, by his own admission, derived from his
intercourse with Madame de Castries. In a letter to
Madame Carraud, dated from Sache, Jul}^ 1832, not
long before he starts for Aix, he speaks freelj^ of his
relations to the duchess : —
"Ah, if the}" would only have gone to the Pyrenees,
I could have stopped to see 3'ou on the way ; but no,
it is decreed that I must climb to Aix in Savoie after
one of those aristocratic women whom you, no doubt,
hold in horror ; the sort of angelic beautj' to whom we
attribute a noble soul ; a true duchess, very disdainful,
very loving, elegant, coquettish, and witt}', — like noth-
ing I have before seen ; a phenomenon of the sort that
are fast disappearing ; who says she loves me, who
wishes me to stay with her in a Venetian palace (you
see I tell j'ou all), and who insists that I am to write
nothing that is not for her ; one of those women whom
we are compelled to adore upon our knees if they choose
that we shall do so ; and whom it is such a pleasure to
9
130 Honor e de Balzac.
conquer, — the woman of dreams, jealous of everything.
Ah ! how much better I should be at Angouleme, very
sage, very tranquil, listening to the whirr of the mill-
wheels, muddying my hands in gathering truffles, learn-
ing of 30U to pocket billiard-balls, and laughing and
talking."
Later he writes from Aix, still to Madame Carraud :
"I came here to find little and much. Much, be-
cause I am with an amiable and graceful woman ; little,
because she will never love me. Why did you send me
to Aix ? From my little room I see the whole valley ;
I get up pitilessly at five, and work before m\' window
till half-past five at night. M}^ breakfast, an eg^, comes
from the club. Madame de Castries sends me coffee.
She is the type of refined women, more so than Madame
de Beauseant. But is not the charm of these women
cultivated at the expense of the heart ? ... As I came
through Lyon I found the proofs of Louis Lambert^
and, like a bear, I licked my cub."
It was during the period of their intimacy that Balzac
became, or attempted to become, a man of fashion. He
bought horses and a tilburj', and was seen in the Bois
wearing handsome clothes and accompanied by a little
groom called "Grain-de-mil." But this extravagance
lasted only a year or two. The horses were first sold
to save oats, then the tilbury ; but the coat, which
was blue with brass buttons, must have lasted longer,
for it appears in several of the satirical tales of the
day.
The following letters are to Madame de Castries,
whom he did not meet personally till March, 1832 :
Honors de Balzac. 131
" Paris, Oct. 5, 1831.
** Madame, — Your letter was sent to Touraine after
my return, and as I crossed my correspondence on the
way I have only just received it. Do not think me
guilty of negligence. You attribute so many crimes to
me that I must defend myself from the suspicion of dis-
courtesy to a lad}', even though she be unknown to me.
" Permit me to use some frankness in replying to your
frank attacks, and, above all, accept m}- sincere thanks
for the indirect flatter}- of your criticisms, for the}' reveal
to me the strong impression my works have made upon
you. You place me in the unfortunate position of speak-
ing about myself, and that is the more embarrassing
because I address a lady whose age and condition are
unknown to me.
" The Physiologie du Maria ge^ Madame, is a work
undertaken in behalf of women. I saw plainly that if,
in order to spread ideas looking to the emancipation of
women and their higher education, I began in" a com
mon place manner by announcing my purpose, I should
merely be regarded as the ingenious author of a theory
that was more or less fanciful. It was evident that I
ought to envelop my ideas, and mould them, as it were,
in some new form, either bitter or piquant, which should
awaken minds and give them reflections to think upon.
For a woman who has passed through the storms of life
the meaning of my book will be seen to be the attribu-
tion to husbands of all the faults committed by wives, —
it is, in short, a great absolution. Next, I put for-
ward the natural and inalienable rights of women. No
happy marriage is possible if a perfect knowledge of
each other's moral nature, habits, and cliaracter does
132 Honors de Balzac.
not exist between a man and woman before their union ;
and I have not shrunk from any of the consequences of
that principle. Those who know me know that I have
been faithful to that belief from m}^ earliest j'ears. . . .
" Thus 3'ou see, Madame, that I have changed the
first crime you charge upon me into a brave effort which
ought to have won me some encouragement ; but, sol-
dier as I am at the outposts of a future S3'stem, I meet
the fate of all such sentinels. I am misjudged, mis-
understood. Some see only the form ; others see noth-
ing at all. I shall die in m}^ idea like the soldier in
his cloak.
" Immediately after writing the Physiologie I wrote,
in order to develop my thoughts and cast them into
young minds by means of striking pictures, the Scenes
de la vie privee. In that book, full of moralitj' and
wise counsel, nothing is destroj'cd, nothing is attacked ;
I respect beliefs, even those I do not share. I am sim-
ply the historian, the narrator, and never was virtue
more held up for reverence than in those pages. And
now, Madame, since j'ou oblige me to defend the J^eau
de Chagrin^ I shall do it in one word : the work is not
3'et finished. . . .
'•''Jesus-Christ en Flandres^ L' Enfant Maudit^ Les
Proscrits^ and other of my writings, will prove to you
that I do not lack faith, nor conviction, nor charity. I
plough my furrow conscientious!}^ ; I tr}" to be the man
of my subject, and to do m}- work with courage and
preseverance, that is all. The Peau de Chagrin is in-
tended to portra}' the present age, our life, our egotism ;
this representation of our types has been misunderstood.
But my consolation, Madame, will ever be in the sincere
Ho nor e de Balzac, 133
interest that has brought me criticisms made, like 3'oiirs,
in good faith and in a triendh' manner. Therefore be-
lieve me when I say that 3'our letter, so full of touching
sentiments worthy of a woman's heart, is not indifferent
to me ; such far-off sympathy thus excited is a treasure,
— my onh' fortune, my purest pleasure. But the pleas-
ure you have given would be greater still if, instead of
dwelling chietl}' on the necessitated picture of a woman
famous for never having loved, you had turned to her
who is sanctified through the noblest devotion of woman-
hood, through her artless love and the rich poetrv of her
heart. For me Pauline lives — even more beautiful. If,
I have made her a vision, an illusion, it is that none may
possess my secret. ..."
"March, 1834.
*' Seraphita is advancing ; she will appear at the end
of the month. The work has been crushing, terrible.
I have worked, and shall work night and day over it. I
have made, unmade, remade it ; and as in Paris ridicule
usually takes the place of comprehension, I hope for
nothing but a far-off, tardy success. The book will be
appreciated in the future, and here and there even now.
It will be the book of souls who love to lose themselves
in the spaces of the Infinite. There is a chapter, the
sixth, the Path to Heaven, which will give me, forever,
all truly pious souls.
'' Why do you think I am still in the rue Cassini ? I
am nearer or farther from you than that, according to
the fanc}' of the moment. I do not like your sadness ;
I should scold 3'ou if you were here ; I should pose 3'ou
on a large sofa where you would sit like a fair3' in the
midst of her palace, and I should tell you that to live
134 Honore de Balzac,
in this life we must love, and that you do not love. A
deep affection is the bread of the soul ; when the soul
is not fed it weakens like the l)od\'. ...
" I went out yesterday and saw the two caricatures of
me by Dantan. Send to Susse for them, and you will
see how droll they are. Next week I sit for my picture
to please a painter, who asked to do it, and I weakly
consented. All this is very petty, is it not? it seems
the more so to one who has risen with the m3'stics to
the skies.
" The noble figure of womanhood which I promised
in the preface, and which piques your curiosity, is half
done. The book is called Le Lys dans la Vallee. I
may be wrong, but I think it will cause the shedding of
many tears. I know that in writing it I have shed
many myself."
"Octobers, 1835.
" Madame, — My doctor imperatively ordered change
of air ; I left all letters behind me, and started for
Touraine. On m}^ return 1 found the two you have
written to me, also one from M. le Due de Fitz James.
" Have the kindness to present to the duke nw thanks
for his friendlj" invitation, and m}^ regrets that I cannot
accept it. 1 have plunged back into work necessitated
by pitiless obligations. The bell has sounded in m}'
cloister, and I must finish, for the 'Revue,' the paint-
ing of a feeling so great that it survives all shocks ;
it comes from a spring whence man, the ungrateful, is
ever drawing, 3'et never draining its source."
His life-long and, possibly, truest friend was Madame
Carraud, nee Tourangin, the wife of Commandant Car-
Honors de Balzac. 135
rand, the head of the military school at Saint Cjt, and
afterwards in charge of the government powder-works
at Angouleme. She was the intimate friend of his sis-
ter, and about six 3'ears older than himself. He speaks
of her, judging from a social point of view, as a bril-
liant mind and noble heart, running to waste in the
narrow sphere of Angouleme. To her he went for rest
and sympatln' ; she sustained his mind in its darkest
moments, a service he never forgot, and fearlessly ad-
vised or rebuked him as her true affection and sound
judgment dictated. After the events of Jul}', 1830, she
and her husband, with other influential friends, were
anxious that he should be chosen deput}' at the com-
ing elections. He allowed his name to be put up both
at Angouleme and at Cambrai, but was not elected
at either place. Some of his letters to Madame Car-
raud are therefore on politics. The following was writ-
ten, it must be remembered, when France was just
beginning to try one of her many experiments on the
bod}' politic.
" November, 1830.
'' The country is now in very serious circumstances.
I am alarmed at the struggle before it. I see passions
everywhere, and reason nowhere. If France is con-
vulsed I shall not be among those who refuse to give
her their arms or their talents, however much some
friends may oppose it.^ It is at such times that science
and knowledge, the resources of which we have pushed
so far, together with courage, ought to make France
triumph. But even then what is to be the upshot of it
1 He is speaking as a legitimist, and refers to friends who hold
the same opinions.
136 Honor^ de Balzac,
all? Can we quell the uprising of injured interests
which are now within the bod}' politic? Ah, the num-
ber of patriots in whom there is no patriotism is great
indeed. None are willing to unite patriotism with mod-
erate principles, the constitutive plan of which I have
alreadj' explained to 3'ou. We stand between the ultras
of liberalism and of legitimacj', who will unite only in
overthrowing all.
" Do not accuse me of want of patriotism, because my
intelligence forces me to take the exact measure of men
and things. The genius of government lies in bringing
about a fusion of extremes. That is what Napoleon
did, also Louis XVIII., — both men of talent ; one never
understood, the other understood by himself onl3\
Each held all parties in hand, one by force the other by
craft. To-day we have, for our sins, a government
without a policy. This is a state of things to ruin us.
Ever}' day it deprives me of some hope. Therefore, 3'ou
see, I am for the consolidation of interests. If you
were in Paris, in the midst of men and circumstances,
your solitude politics would soon change. You would
not be here a minute without a shock. . . .
" I own to you frankly that I cannot conceive how any
one can expect a representative government to exist
without the differences of opinion which are the basis
on which it rests. The tempest that is blowing to-day
will always blow. You are supposing the natural
action of the present government to be its misfortune.
Now, without wishing to defend «iy ideas, let me tell
you in a few words the sj'stem of government to which
my whole life is ready to subscribe. It is the profession
of a faith that is unalterable and quite possible of ac-
Hunore de Balzac. 137
complishraent ; it is m}- political conscience, my scheme
and my thought, to which I have as much right as
others to whom I give the same liberty of opinion. My
political life will be entirely devoted to the furtherance
of such thoughts, and to their development. When I
speak seriously on the future of my country there is no
word or writing of mine that is not imbued with these
principles.
" France ought to be a constitutional monarch}', with
an hereditary royal famih- , and a chamber of peers en-
dowed with extraordinarN' powers, representing landed
property, etc. ; with all possible guarantees for heredi-
tary rights and for privileges, the nature of which should
be discussed. Then there should be a second chamber,
elective, and representing the interests of the interme-
diate masses which stand between the highest social
positions and what we call the People. The body of
the laws and the spirit of them should tend to enlighten
to the utmost the People, that is, persons wlio own
nothing, workmen, proletaries, etc., so as to advance
them as soon as possible into the easy circumstances of
the intermediate class. But, while so doing, the Peo-
ple should be kept under a powerful control, so that its
individuals may be able to find light, help, and protec-
tion ; and that no ideas, no combinations or intrigues
should make it turbulent. The greatest liberty should
be given to the upper class, for it has much to preserve
and all to lose, and cannot therefore become licentious.
The government should have all possible power. Thus,
the government, the upper class, and the middle class
have each an interest in making the lowest class happy
and able to rise into the middle class, in which lies the
138 Honore de Balzac.
real power of all States. If rich men, the hereditary
occupants of the upper chamber, growing corrupt in
morals, give rise to abuses, we must remember that
abuses are inseparable from the existence of society
itself; the}' must be accepted wnth their concomitant
benefits.
*' That is m}' plan, my thought ; it unites the good and
philanthropic conditions of several systems. Persons
may laugh at me and call me a liberal or an aristocrat ;
I shall not give up that system. I have meditated
long and deeply on the institutions of society- ; this sys-
tem appears to me — not the best, but — the least
defective."
The period when Balzac in early manhood came upon
the scene of political events was just before and after
the Revolution, if it can be called such, of Jul}', 1830.
He considered himself connected with the old regime
through his family, his father having been secretary of
the Council under Louis XVI. ; but besides this gen-
eral bias, he had that of a strong personal belief in
authority, and in the duty of maintaining it. He be-
lieved in two great vital powers for the control of man-
kind, and he thus expresses his belief in the Preface to
the Coinedie Humaine : —
"Christianity, and especially Catholicism, being (as I
have said in the Medecin de Campagne) a complete
system for the repression of the selfish interests of man-
kind, is the strongest element of the social order. If
we study carefully a representation of Society moulded,
as it were, upon the living form, with all its good and
all its evil, we shall find that while thought — -or rather
Honore de Balzac. 139
passion, winch is thonght and feeling combined — is the
social element and bond, it is also an element of de-
struction. In this respect the social life is like the
physical life : races and men attain longevit}' onl}- by
the non-exhaustion of the vital force. Consequently,
instruction, or, to speak more correctly, religious educa-
tion, is the great principle of the life of Society, the
only means of diminishing the total of evil and aug-
menting the total of good in human life. Thought, the
fountain of all good and of all evil, cannot be trained,
mastered, and directed except by religion ; and the
only possible religion is Christianity, which created the
modern world and will preserve it. From it sprang
the need of the monarchical principle ; in fact,
Christianity and monarch}^ are twin principles. As to
the limits in which both should be held and regulated
lest they develop to their inherent conclusions, this brief
preface is not the place for such discussion. Neither
can I enter upon the religious and political dissensions
of the present da}-. I write by the light of two eternal
truths — religion and monarchy : two necessities pro-
claimed by contemporaneous events, and towards which
ever}' man of sound judgment will endeavor to bring
back this nation."
Such were his principles ; and he believed they would
best promote the welfare of those for whom his S3-mpa-
thies were strongest, — the poor and the defenceless. No
man has ever shown more feeling for those oppressed
by fate or circumstances than Balzac ; he wrote of their
helpless sorrows with the red blood of his heart. No
matter how sternly he exposed their vice and their short-
comings, we see that his s3-mpathies are with them, — not
140 Honore de Balzac.
in a weak and commiserating wa}', but with compre-
hension of the causes which make them what the}' are,
and the most earnest beUef that his political creed
would best lift up and rescue them. He may be right,
but in his as in all creeds there is one element not duly
allowed for, -:- human nature. Balzac had no leaning
at all to the visionary beliefs and projects of the rest-
less young minds of the da}', heirs to ideas repressed
by the strong hand of Napoleon and kept under by the
Restoration. In 1830 they saw, or believed they saw,
their opportunity. While despising the Orleans regime
and laughing at the king and his personal submissions,
they made themselves feared in the press in a short-
lived way. With them and their ideas Balzac had no
sympath3\ He hated their theories and their socialisms,
and, above all, what he called their " experiments on
millions of ignorant and excitable natures." It is well,
perhaps, that he was not able to carr}" out his desire to
add the title of a great citizen to that of a great writer.
In this best of all possible worlds politics require poli-
ticians, and he could never have reduced either his
clear-sightedness or his tongue to its hypocrisies.
" France," he said, " is being saved and lost perpet-
uall}'. If she wants to be saved indeed let her go back
to the laws of God. I tell you I know those laws ;
under one regime or under another you will have to
come back to the law of laws, — unity of will."
The following letters are still to Madame Carraud : —
"June, 1832.
"As for politics, have faith thnt I shall conduct
In3^self under the inspiration of a high and stern sense
Honor i de Balzac. 141
of right; and, in spite of Monsieur Carraud's anathema
on journalists, believe that I will never write or
act except under conviction. M}^ political life and
ideas will not be understood in a moment. If I have
ever a part in tlie government of the country I shall
be judged later, and I am not afraid. I care more
for the esteem of a few persons — among whom you
hold the first rank as one of the finest minds and
most elevated souls I have ever known — than for the
estimation of the crowd, for which, to tell the truth, I
have profound contempt. There are promptings, how-
ever, which we must obey ; something irresistibly im-
pels me to seek fame and power. It is not a happy
life. Within me is the worship of woman, and a need
of love which has never yet been completel}' satisfied.
Despairing of ever being loved and understood by the
woman of whom I dreamed, never having met her but
under one form, in m}- heart, I desire to fling myself
into the whirlpool of political passions as I have done
into the lurid and parching atmosphere of literary ambi-
tion. I may fail in both, but, believe me, if I do seek
to live in the life of the century, instead of passing
through it obscure and happ}^ it is precisely because
pure and unpretending happiness has failed me. Yes,
you are right in all you say. If I met with a woman
and a fortune I could resign myself very easily to
domestic happiness ; but where am I to find her? what
parents will believe in a literary fortune ? It would fill
me with despair to owe m}' future to a woman I did not
love. Believe that in the desert of my life such friend-
ships as yours, and the certainty of finding an asylum
in a loving heart are the sweetest consolations that
142 Honore de Balzac.
could be given to me. M}' strongest desire is for a
country life, — but always with good neighbors and a
happy home. In whatever land I could obtain this I
would take it ; I would do no more literature, except
as an amateur, to please m3'self and not become inac-
tive — if indeed one ever could be idle with trees to
plant and to look at. To devote myself to the happi-
ness of a woman has been my ceaseless dream ; and I
suffer because I have not realized it; but I cannot
conceive of love and marriage in poverty."
" March, 1833.
" I live in an atmosphere of thoughts, ideas, concep-
tions, plans, and labors, which jostle and boil and
sparkle in my head till I am half craz3\ But nothing
reduces my flesh ; I am the best portrait of a monk
ever seen since the earliest days of monasteries.
"As for my soul, it is profoundly sad. M3' work
alone enables me to live. Is there no woman for me in
this world? Must I drop from such crushing toil to
nothing? Shall I never have beside me the tender and
caressing spirit of woman, for whom I have done so
much ? "
. " August, 1833.
" You are right, dear, noble soul, in loving Madame
de Bern3\ In each of you are striking resemblances of
thought, — the sa«ie love of the right ; the same en-
lightened liberality, same love of progress, same desires
for the good of the masses ; same elevation of soul and
of thought, the same delicac}^ in 3'our natures. And for
that I love you much.
" The Medicin de Campagne will reach 3'ou next
week ; it has cost me ten times the work that Louis
Honors de Balzac. 143
Lambert did. There is not a sentence, not an idea,
which has not been viewed and reviewed, read and re-
read and corrected ; the labor was frightful. I may
now die in peace. I have done a great work for my
countrv. To my mind it is better to have written this
book than to have made laws or won battles. It is
the Gospel in action."
" October, 1833.
^' Do you know how the Medecin has been re-
ceived ? By a torrent of insults. The three news-
papers of my own party which have spoken of it
have done so with the utmost contempt for the
work and its author ; the otliers I don't know about.
But I do not mind it much ; 30U are my public, — you
and a few choice souls whom I desire to please, but
you above all, whom I am so proud to know ; you
whom I have never seen or listened to without gaining
some good ; you who have the courage to help me in
l)ulling up the weeds in my garden ; you who encour-
age me to perfect myself ; you who resemble the angel
to whom I owe all; 3'ou, so good to my badnesses! I
alone know with what rapidity I turn to you and seek
for your encouragement when some sharp arrow has
wounded me ; I am like the ringdove, seeking its nest.
For you I feel an affection like none other ; one which
can have no rival and no counterpart. It is so good to
be near you ! From afar I can tell you all that I think
of your soul and of your life without fear of being
silenced. God knows there is no one who desires that
your path here below be happy more than I do ; would
that I could send you the jo3's 30U need, just as m3^ heart
sends up its ardent prayers for 3'our happiness. Yes,
144 Honore de Balzac.
think that in this volcanic Paris there is a being who
thinks often of you and of all that is dear to j-oa ; who
would gladl}^ put away from j'our life whatever may
trouble it ; who appreciates 3'ou at 3'our true value, — a
being with a heart ever young and full of sincere
friendship for you, a heart that shows its real self to
none but you, and a few of those women who can under-
stand sorrows/'
" December, 1833.
" I have nothing to sa}^ against your criticisms on
Eugenie Grandet except that facts are against 3'ou.
There is a grocer at Tours who keeps a shop and
has eight millions. M. Eynard, a pedler, has twenty ;
he was known to keep thirteen miUions in gold in his
house. He invested them in the public funds in
1814, and now has twenty millions. However, in the
next edition, I will lower Grandet's fortune by six
millions, and I will answer the rest of 3'our criticisms
at Frapesle. Meantime I thank 3'ou for them ; but
nothing can tell 3'Ou how grateful I am for the maternal
care which 3'our remarks prove to me.
" Yes, count upon it, I am going to Frapesle, and I
hope that I can persuade Madame de Bern3^ to accom-
pan3" me. On my return here 3'esterda3^ I found her so
ill that I was seized with a panic ; my mind is full of
anguish. Her life is so much to mine. Oh ! no one
can form a true idea of that deep affection which has
sustained all my efforts, and comforts all m3^ pains at
every moment. You know something of it, 3'ou who
understand friendship so well, 3'Ou who are so kind and
affectionate. As soon as I am relieved of anxiety I
will write 3'OU again. Mv Seraphita is alread3' far ad-
Honore de Balzac. 145
vanced. The fiasco of Louis Lambert and the Mede-
cin de Campagne grieved me ; but I have chosen my
path ; nothing shall discourage me."
" , 1834.
" Germany has bought two thousand copies of the
pirated Louis Lambert; France bought only two
hundred of the real one ! And 3'et, I am writing
Seraphita, a work as much above Louis Lambert as
Louis Lambert is above Gaudissart, — which I am
told did not please you. We will talk about that. It
is written that I shall never have complete happiness,
freedom, libert}^ except in perspective. But, dear, I
can at least say this, with all the tender effusions of my
heart, — that in the course of my long and painful way,
four noble beings have held out their hands to me, have
encouraged, loved, and pitied me ; that yours is one of
those hearts which have the unalterable privilege of
priority over all m}^ affections ; in the silent hours when
I look within me, the thought of you brings me rich
.memories. Yes, the egoism of poets and artists is a
passion for art which holds their feelings in abeyance.
But you have ever the right to claim me ; all I have is
yours."
" November, 1834.
*' None of my friends realize how my work grows ; I
now need eighteen hours a day for it. Also, I am try-
ing to evade the national guard duty, which would kill
me ; and so I have done as the painters do, invented
pass- words, which are known only to such persons as
seriously want to see me."
" December, 1835.
*' Never has the torrent which bears me onward
been so rapid ; no more terribly majestic work has
10
146. Honors de Balzac.
ever compelled the human brain. I go to my toil as
a gambler to cards. I sleep onl}" five hours, and work
eighteen; I shall end by kiUing myself — but the
thought of you refreshes me sometimes. In another
year I may reasonably hope to be out of debt ; the hap-
piness of owing nothing, which I thought impossible, is
no longer a chimera. I shall pay my debts and buy La
Grenadiere. Another article in the 'Revue,' like the
Memoires de Deux Jeunes Mariees (which appears in
February, 1836), will bring me eight thousand francs.
God grant that my fame be not mere reputation, and
that reputation a fashion, and that fashion fleeting ! "
'* Les Jardies, near Sevres (Seine-et-Oise), , 1838.
" This is my address for a ver}^ long time, thrice dear
one, for mj' house is almost finished, and I am already
living in it. Three rooms, one above the other : salon
on the ground-floor, my bedroom above that, my study
on the upper floor, — all three communicating by means
of a ladder to which is given the name of staircase.
Such is the abode of 3'our friend. Around it is a walk
which winds over an acre of ground inclosed by walls,
where trees and flowers and shrubs cannot be planted
till next November. Then, about sixty feet away, is
a detached building containing stable, coach-house,
kitchen, etc., one large room, and others for the ser-
vants. Such is Les Jardies. This parrot's perch on
which I roost, with its tiny garden, and the servants'
quarters, is situated near the middle of the valley of
Ville-d'Avray, but in the township of Sevres behind
the park of Saint- Cloud. It stands on the hillside, and
faces south, with the loveliest view in the world ; it has
Honore de Balzac. 147
a pump which is some da}' to be hidden by clematis and
other climbing-plants, a prett}' brook, a future world of
our flowers, silence, and — forty-five thousand francs
to pay for it ! You understand. Yes, the folly is done,
completed ! Don't talk to me about it. I have got to
paj' for it, and so I am beginning to sit up all night.
I have been to Sardinia, and I am not dead. I found
the twelve hundred thousand francs I divined were there,
but a Genoese had got hold of them by a biglietto reale
ovAy three days before m}^ arrival. I had a sort of
vertigo, and that ended it. You shall hear all about
nn- journey when we meet. It is curious enough, I can
tell you."
"Les Jardies, March, 1839.
"Dear, what 3'ou ask is absolutel}^ impossible; two
or three months from now nothing would be more easy.
To you, sister of m\' soul, I can confide ni}' last secret ;
I am in the depths of misery. All the walls of Les
Jardies are crumbling down, through the builder's fault ;
he has not put any foundations ; and this disaster, though
he alone is to blame, falls on me to repair, for he does
not own a sou, and I had only paid him eight thousand
francs on account. Do not call mo imprudent, cava, I
ought to have been rich by this time ; I have done mira-
cles of work, but all my intellectual walls have toppled
over now, together with the stone ones. I have come
down like a foundered horse, — I need to go to Frapesle
to rest myself."
In these letters we find Balzac's first mention of
Madame de Bern}-, whom he regarded as the guardian
angel of his life. He must have destroyed all letters
148 Honors de Balzac.
and papers addressed to her, so that the sacredness of
their intercourse might not be exposed to curious e3'es.
Like Madame Carraud, she was the friend of his family,
and some 3'ears older than himself. Her husband was
Monsieur Alexandre de Bern^' (to whom Madame Fir-
niiani is dedicated). They lived on a small estate at
Saint-Firmin in the Seine-et-Oise, spending part of the
3'ear in Paris or its neighborhood. During the time
the de Balzac family" were at Villeparisis, the de Bern^'s
had a house there, and this was the beginning of their
intercourse. As no written record of Balzac's friend-
ship with Madame de Berny exists which connects it in
anj^ definite way with the outward events of his life,
it is best to leave all further mention of that affection
until the end, when we maj^ be more able to judge of
its influence on his life.
Honors de Balzac, 149
CHAPTER VI.
LITERARY LIFE.
During the thirteen years from 1830 to 1842, Balzac
being then thirt3'-one to forty-three years of age, liis
great work was done. There are signs in 1843 that his
health was beginning to fail; he could not force him-
self to work as he once did ; periods of stagnation be-
gan to set in, although at times he recovered his full
vigor, and three of his greatest works were written
during the last eight years of his life, — namelj', Les
Paysans^ and Les Parents Pauvres : Le Cousin Pons,
and La Cousine Pette.
His external literarj^ life was not a happy one. He
had many publishers, and did not continue on good
terms with any of them. It is obvious to those who
look back upon the history of these troubles that they
were, in the first instance, the natural and unavoidable
outcome of Balzac's method of work, and the clash of
interests that resulted from it. There cannot be a
doubt that Balzac was a thorn in the flesh of his pub-
lishers. We have only to read Theophile Gautier's ac-
count of his manner of correcting proof — or rather of
hammering out his ideas on the anvil of ten proofs, the
sparks of his corrections fl^'ing wildly about them — to
feel that the flesh and blood of printers and publishers
could hardly bear the trial. Werdet (who bought up
150 Honors de Balzac.
the interests of other publishers in 1834, and was his
sole publisher till 1837) sa3's that the difficulty with
proofs "was at the bottom of his troubles with pubhsh-
ers and editors, who were forced to pay the enormous
costs of correction." This statement is not strictl}' true,
for Balzac mentions more than once in his letters that
he has had to pay over a thousand francs for proof-
corrections ; and he specially mentions the liberalit}' of
Madame Bechet (Werdet being at the time her business
manager), who assumed four thousand francs for cor-
rections which were justly chargeable to him. But, in
any case, the trial of printing for him must have been
great, and he tells himself how, entering a printing-
office unexpectedly, he overheard a compositor exclaim-
ing : " I 've done my hour of Monsieur de Balzac ; who
takes him next ? "
Another cause of annoj^ance to his publishers was
Balzac's delay in supplying manuscript. He would
not let anj'thing go from him until he felt it was the
best he could do ; the conscience of his work was be-
fore all else, and his mind refused to be forced to finish
a book to order. " I am readN^" he says, replying to
Alphonse Levavasseur, who had been more than usually
urgent, "to send you the copy on the loth; but it will
be the most infamous murder of a book that was ever
committed. There is in me a feeling, I don't know
what it is, which prevents me from consciously doing
wrong. The question here is the future of a book, —
am I to make it unworthy trash, or a work for the
shelves of a librarj- ? The copy is \y\ng there on my
desk, but I am stopped short by a sketch to complete,
an idea to develop, by — but it would take me till
Honors de Balzac. 151
morning to explain how that work hangs between suc-
cess and a gibbet at every page. You must not think
this letter an excuse. I do work as hard, and in as
concentrated a way, as any human creature could do ;
but I am the ver}' humble servant of inspiration, and
the vixen has her moments of ill-humor."
He was in the habit of carrying on several works at
a time, apparently resting his mind by turning from
one to another, and taking each up as he felt himself
inspired with its subject. Some of these books being
in course of current publication in reviews and weekly
papers, such dela3's were, of course, a fruitful source of
quarrel and complaint.
If we are to believe Werdet,^ Balzac sold the right
to publish his books under certain invariable conditions,
namely : those issued periodicall}' in reviews were con-
trolled b}^ the editors during publication and for three
months after the date of the concluding number; those
issued in book form belonged to the pubHshers for one
year only. There is evidence that his rights over his
books were strong and lasting. He held a different
position towards publishers from that of writers in the
1 Nine years after Balzac's death Werdet published a book
about him : Portrait intime de Balzac ; sa vie, son humeur, et
son caraetere ; par Edmond Werdet, 1 vol., Silvestre, Paris, 1859.
It is worth reading by those who understand Balzac, for its com-
ical malignity. If the particular charge which Werdet brings
against him be carefully read, the dates collated, the whole brought
within compass, and stripped of Werdet's malicious diffuseness,
it will be found that Balzac behaved justly and with forbearance,
and that Werdet's real grievance was that in a moment of temper
he killed the goose that gave him golden eggs, and was taken at
his word.
152 Honors de Balzac.
present daj', who seem to be the hiveHngs of capitahsts.
According to French law, after a book was in tj'pe it
could not be printed without a written order {hon ct
tirer) from the author; neither could it be published
without the same. The publisher was in fact the au-
thor's business agent ; making his profits, but not con-
trolling the propert}'. The accounts were open to both
parties, and when the time for settlement came author
and publisher went over the books together and settled
the business (see Werdet). This appears to have been
the usual method of publication, thus placing the author
in an honorable position towards his work and towards
the public; and French law, which has thrown man}-
safeguards around an author, protected him in it.
Balzac was a strong stickler for his rights, and when
he thought them infringed he appealed to the law,
which he had at his fingers' ends.
Nowhere among the multiplicit}^ of statements on the
money affairs of his books do we find a clear account
of the money he derived from them ; in fact, his
methods of publication were so involved that it would
be impossible to discover the profits of each book.
Werdet carefully keeps back, in his word}" narrative, the
sums he paid to Balzac, and his own profits, but he
mentions that the second edition of the Medecin de
Campagne was sold in eight days, Ze Pere Goriot
in six, and Seraphita before the book was pubUsbed,
with two hundred and fiftj^ copies promised ; and he
says, in a rather casual way at the close of his book,
" I estimate at 450,000 francs, at least, the sum which
Balzac derived from the profits of his books up to the
time of our rupture (1838). I could give the details.
Honore de Balzac. 153
but that might seem useless. To this ah-eady large
sum must be added the product of his other works,
published from 1838 to the time of his death." Leon
Gozlan differs wholly from this estimate, and says that
during the first half of Balzac's literary life his work
was not lucrative, and that if we exclude the returns of
two or three fortunate books, the average of his literary
profits during his whole life did not exceed ten or twelve
thousand francs a year. This is undoubtedly a blunder
which can be disproved bj' Balzac's correspondence.
The real truth probably lies between the statements of
the two men, who both wrote from a parti pris.^
The events of July, 1830, were injurious to publishing
interests, owing parti}' to the stringency of money and
the stoppage of all credit for three years. Authors
and publishers suflfered much from it, and also from the
pirated editions which now began to appear in Belgium.
Balzac mentions in a letter that two thousand copies of
one of his books had been sold in Brussels against two
hundred in Paris. The same wrong was also com-
mitted in the provinces of France, where, on one oc-
casion, ten thousand copies of M. de Lamennais's
1 Balzac intime ; en pantoufles et chez lui, par* Leon Gozlan,
1 vol., Librairie Illustre'e, Paris, no date, — the work of a man who
saw only one limited side of Balzac, and exaggerated that for the
purpose of writing a smart book. Monsieur Marcel Barriere tells
us, in his able commentary on Balzac, that foreigners at first ap-
preciated Balzac better than the French, who need, before all
things, esprit, in wliich, he says, Balzac was lacking. For this
reason, perhaps. Frenchmen may read Monsieur Le'on Gozlan's
book with more interest than a foreigner, to whom it seems a tor-
reqt of rather vulgar and very self-conscious writing, in which
Balzac himself is lost.
154 Honore de Balzac.
"Paroles d'uii Croj^ant" were printed and sold without
the writer's knowledge. This wrong led Balzac to seek
admission to the Societe des Gens-de-lettres, then a
comparatively weak body, which somewhat resented, it
appears, his hitherto slight appreciation of it and now
feared to be involved in his struggles with publishers.
This feeling lasted but a short time, and later in the
same j^ear he became its president. His inspiring pres-
ence instantly gave impetus to the Societ}', owing to
his accurate knowledge of the business of publication,
his rare ability in maintaining an author's rights, and,
more especially, his profound conviction of the dignitj^
of a man of letters.^ In the autumn of 1841 Balzac
resigned from the Societ}', owing to disagreements on a
committee he had himself inspired. This committee
was charged to prepare a manifesto which should cover
the whole ground of the condition of French literature,
its right to be considered a power in the State, the
service it had rendered to the nation and to history
throughout all time, the slight protection, or even decent
good-will, which the present government afforded it,
and the danger and the shame to France of allowing
such a state of things. The Societe des Gens-de-lettres
proposed to present this manifesto to the two Cham-
bers, and to scatter it broadcast through the coun-
tr}^, in order to obtain support. But the committee
1 Those who are interested in the protection of Uterature should
read Balzac's articles which were written in the service of the
Society, viz. : Code. Litteralre; Notes sur la propriete htteraire ; and
Lettre aux iScricains Frangais du XIX siecle. They will be found
in the CEuvres completes de H. de Balzac, ifcdition definitive.
Calmann Levy, Paris.
Honore de Balzac. 155
were unable to agree on the terms of the document,
and Balzac, with one other member, resigned from
the Society-, doubts having been thrown on their
impartial it}'.
Literature under Louis-Philippe received but slight
encouragement. The king, common b}^ nature, sought
onl}' to ingratiate himself with the bourgeoisie, and
knew and cared little about writers, except as they
supported him or made him fear them in the press.
Material interests, solid wealth, limited to the interests
of its acquisition, ruled the da}' ; the minds that ruled
the world, and gave it posterity were, as now, in the
position of underlings. ''These stupid kings," cried
Balzac to Victor Hugo, " ignore the fact that without us
the world would know nothing about them. The very
monuments they put up to their own memory crumble
away ; the pictures they hang in their museums to show
the world what they do that is useful and grand don't
last ; not one is over five centuries old. Without Virgil
and Horace and Titus Livius and Ovid, who could dis-
tinguish Augustus from all the other Augustuses, though
he was the nephew of Caesar ? If it were not for that
little lawyer without a brief, Suetonius, we shouldn't
know three Caesars out of the dozen he wrote about ; with-
out Tacitus we should confound the Romans of his time
with the northern barbarians ; without Shakspeare all
the life of the reign of Elizabeth would disappear;
without Racine, Corneille, Pascal, La Bruyere, Saint-
Simon, Moliere, Louis XIV., reduced to his wigs and
his mistresses, would be no better than a crowned head
on a sign-post; and without us Louis-Philippe*s
name would n't be better known to posterit}^ than
156 Honore de Balzac,
that of Philippe who keeps the restaurant in the rue
Montorgueil."
An amusing account is given by Champfleur}' of
Balzac's last meeting with men of letters. It took place
after the Revolution of 1848, when Balzac chanced to be
in Paris for a few weeks on his return from Russia. It
does not come within the chronology of this chapter, but
as it is allied to the subject of governmental recognition
of literature an abridgment of Champfleury's narrative
may be given here.^
In May, 1848, M. Ledru-RoUin, being then minis-
ter of the Interior of the new republic, put an official
notice in the newspapers inviting literary men, geyis-de-
lettres^ to assemble on a certain day in a hall of the
Institute. About two o'clock of that daj^ a mixed and
very singular company, none of whom seemed to know
each other, assembled. " Monsieur de Balzac suddenh^
entered, and all present turned to look at the stout
man, who on that occasion wore gloves and a green
coat. He glanced rapidly round the hall, and seeing
me came and took a seat at mj' side. A man mounted
the platform and announced that he came from M.
Ledru-RoUin, minister of the Interior, to inquire what
the government could do in behalf of books of art
{livres d'art). The term "books of art" roused the
whole assembly, who began to shout in a manner to
which the halls of the Institute were little accustomed.
M. Francis Wey made a clever and truthful speech, in
which he showed that books of art were an open sore
^ Grandes Figures, d'hier et d'aujourd'hui, par Champfleury,
1 vol., Poulet-Malasses, Paris, 1861. This essay should be read
by all students of Balzac.
Honore de Balzac. 157
in literature ; that books of art ate up the profits which
ought to go to the writers ; that books of art, in short,
were useless things, and altogether injurious to the in-
terests of men of letters. Whereupon the assembly gave
three groans for books of art, and the private secretary
of M. Ledru-Rollin hastily disappeared, leaving the
authors to discuss the matter alone. Now it is uotice-
al)le that the most turbulent of all meetings, where the
persons present least understand each other, and give
the worst explanations of their meaning, are those of
literary men. The wise chairman is he who manages
to prevent a discussion. Monsieur de Balzac laughed
immensely at the uproar ; he was pleased as a child
with the noise, and his stomach shook in his pleated
trousers. ' What singular literary men ! ' he said to
me. * I don't know one of them ; where do they come
from? do tell me who they are.* I told him the names
of all I knew. When the tumult had subsided a little,
the assembly voted to send two delegates to make M.
Ledru-Rollin understand that books of art were useless
things, and that he would do much better to encourage
literature in other ways. M. de Balzac was chosen as
one of the delegates ; on this he mounted the platform
and said, after thanking the assembly, that he could not
accept the honor conferred upon him. He pointed out
that the minister had asked a question of literarj^ men,
and that it would not do to repl}' to a question with a
piece of advice. ' Either make no answer,' he said, ' or
answer about books of art.' The assembl}^, however,
sent their advice to the ministry b}* other delegates ;
and so ended the sole effort of the republic of liberty,
equality, and fraternity to benefit literature."
158 Honore de Balzac.
Champfleur}' adds, by the wa3% that Balzac was one
of the first to enter the Tuileries on the 24th of February,
1848, after the flight of Louis- Philippe. He told a
friend who met him that he had come to get a piece of
the velvet of the throne.^
Another cause of trouble between Balzac and his
editors and publishers arose from the pernicious system
of payment that prevailed, — caused, it may be, by the
stringenc}' of money after the revolution of July, but
none the less dangerous to the interests of both parties.
Payments were almost invariably made in bills payable
at distant dates. If a writer needed mone}^, which was
usualh^ the case, he was subjected to both trouble and
loss in getting these notes discounted. In Balzac's case
(probably in that of other writers) such transactions
were frequent, and the notes sometimes matured and
came back upon the publishers, before the manuscript
was delivered to them. This was naturally a cause of
complaint, and the ^tate of things was complicated by
his other money difficulties. Much has been written of
those difficulties. Other parts of his life being in ob-
scurity, the story of his debts and his struggle to pay
them has unfortunately acquired undue proportions.
His own imagination, goaded b}' a sense of honor which
all accounts (of enemies as well as friends) attribute to
1 It may not be impertinent to add here, in a note, that the
Enghsh nurse of the present writer was carried into the Tuileries
directly after the king's flight by a surging mob of rioters. She
was brave as a lion; and one of the combatants, seeing her inter-
est, slashed off" a piece of the throne with his sabre and gave it to
her. This piece, which is of crimson velvet heavily worked in
gold, is in the possession of the writer. The throne was burned
that night in the Place du Chateau d'Eau.
Honor e de Balzac. 159
him, magnified them. The undiscriminating publica-
tion of his letters to his mother, directing her in the
management of his affairs, and sometimes defending
himself, not without irritation, against what appear to
have been her nagging complaints, has done his memory
an injury b}^ presenting him in a grasping and money-
getting light. The facts, now seen from a distance, are
easily understood. He began life under the inspiration
of an unbounded ambition, quickly handicapped b}'
debt, with nothing to pay that debt or to live hy except
his pen, and gifted jjvith a high sense of honor. Could
he have continued to live a garret-life of solitude, he
might have paid his debts within a certain time and
gained his freedom. But was it possible for him to
have lived in that wa}'? No. Given the man, his
genius, his ambition, the bent of his mind, which was
to the study of life, his tastes for the beautiful, the
intoxication of his first successes, which brought him
into personal relations with wealth and luxury, and,
above all, his imagination, it was not possible for the
historian of human societ}' to live remote from its life ;
he was of necessit}- a sharer in it. J)ebt, as we know,
thrives upon itself. To meet his obligations and get
the means of living in the world, he promised books to
publishers and received advanced payments, on the
system alread}^ mentioned ; and the books were often
not forthcoming at the promised time. These habits
and practices made all publishers inimical to him ;
though it does not anywhere appear, after careful
study, that his engagements were not fulfilled in the
end, nor that any publisher or editor suffered by him.
On the contrary, there is more than one instance of his
160 Honors de Balzac.
buying back his copy from the editors of reviews who
were not satisfied, pacing for the costs of the parts al-
ready pubhshed. He took back Seraphita in this waj',
after three numbers had been published in the '* Revue
de Paris."
The general dissatisfaction between himself and his
publishers broke out, finally, in his memorable dispute
with Buloz, then editor of the " Revue de Paris," and
also of the " Revue des Deux Mondes." His sister
gives an account of it in her narrative, but it is well to
add Werdet's statement of the actual facts ; coming
from Werdet, who was in position to know them, and
who would not have spared Balzac had they told
against him, they are probabh^ correct.
M. Buloz having, in 1835, bought Le Lys dans la
Vallee for the "Revue de Paris," on Balzac's usual
terms, sold the right of publication to a French review
at Saint Petersburg, and the book was issued there be-
fore it was half issued in Paris. Moreover, it was
printed, not from Balzac's final proofs, on which he had
given the order to print, but from the first corrected
proof ; letters were printed as part of the text, the be-
ginning and end of sentences were omitted, the correc-
tions and additions were added, not substituted, so that
twenty pages of the Paris edition were swelled to forty
pages of the Russian. The injustice was great to Bal-
zac, who, finding himself unable to get redress, declared
openly that"M. Buloz had done injury to his, Balzac's,
reputation, and to the cause of French literature."
Buloz replied that he had acted within his legal rights,
which allowed him to publish the book as he saw fit up
to a period of three months from the last publication in
Honore de Balzac. 161
the " Revue de Paris." Balzac then proposed to com-
promise the matter by recovering iiis rights in the book
when the publication in the '* Revue de Paris" ceased.
Buloz refused. Some of the associates in the '' Revue "
sustained Buloz, others Balzac. The acrimon}^ was
great ; it led to a series of cabals and hatreds against
Balzac, who was comparatively defenceless under them.
Out of the whole newspaper press only one sheet,
the " Quotidienne," supported him, but that did so
heartily'. Balzac then brought an action against the
*' Revue de Paris," and was sustained in the courts.
Buloz was condemned to give up the book at once,
and pay the costs of the suit. Balzac immediately
rewrote the first chapter, which had already been pub-
lished in the ' ' Revue ; " Werdet put the whole book in
type, and three days after the decision was rendered
eighteen hundred copies out of an edition of two thou-
sand was sold in two hours.
At this period Werdet, as Balzac's publisher, was
admitted to the solitude in which his working daj's and
nights were spent, and he gives a little picture of it which
is worth preserving. "He usually," writes Werdet,
'' went to bed at eight o'clock after a very light dinner,
and almost invariably was seated before his little
writing-table b}" two in the morning. Until six his
lively, active pen (he always used crow-quills) ran at
full speed over the paper, emitting electric sparks. The
grating of that pen alone interrupted the monastic si-
lence of his solitude. At six he took his bath, remain-
ing in it a whole hour. At eight o'clock Auguste
brought him a cup of coffee, which he drank without
sugar. From eight to nine I was admitted to bring
11
162 Jffonore de Balzac.
him proofs, or take away the corrected ones, and to
wrest from him, if possible, a few bundles of manu-
script. The labor of composition then began again,
and lasted, with the same ardor, till noon, when he
breakfasted on two boiled eggs and bread, drinking
nothing but water, and ending this frugal meal with a
cup of excellent coffee, still without sugar. From one to
six at work again, always work. Then he dined ver}'
lightly, drinking one small glass of Vouvray, which he
liked much, declaring it had the power to raise his
spirits. From seven to eight he received me again,
and sometimes his neighbors, Jules Sandeau and Emile
Regnault. This life lasted six weeks, or two months,
or more. His seclusion over, he seemed possessed of
a feverish activity, and to make himself another man,
as it were. He plunged into societ}", where he gathered
fresh colors on his palette, and pillaged his hone}' like
a bee. . . .
" His servants loved him. Rose, the cook, a true
cordon bleu (we called her La Grande Nanon), used
to go into despair when her master, in his working
months, neglected her dainty dishes. I have seen her
come into his room on tiptoe, bringing a delicious con-
somme and trembling with eagerness to see him drink
it. Balzac would catch sight of her, perhaps the
fumes of the soup w^ould reach his olfactories; then he
would toss back his mane of hair with an impatient
jerk of his head, and exclaim in his roughest and most
surly voice : ' Rose, go away ; I don't want any-
thing ; let me alone ! ' ' But Mossieu will ruin his
health if he goes on this w^ay ; Mossieu will fall —
ill!* 'No, no! let me alone, I say,' in a thundering
Honore de Balzac. 163
voice, ' I don't want anything ; you worry me ; go
away ! * Then the good soul would turn to go slowly,
very slowly, muttering : ' To take such pains to please
Mossieu ! and such a soup — how good it smells ! Why
should Mossieu keep me in his service if he doesn't
want what I do for him?' This was too much for
Balzac. He called her back, drank the soup at a gulp,
and said in his kindest voice, as she went off radiant
to her kitchen, ' Now, Rose, don't let this happen
again.' When his microscopic groom, a poor little
orphan whom he called Grain-de-mil, died, Balzac
took extreme care of him, and never failed to go and
see him dail}' during his illness. Yes, God had given
my great writer a heart of gold ; and those who really
knew him adored him. He possessed the art of mak-
ing others love him to such a degree that in his
presence they forgot any real or fancied complaint
against him, and only remembered the affection they
bore him."
Although Balzac parted company with journalism in
1831, and was from that time aloof on his own road in
literature, he never ceased to desire the growth of sound
criticism, which he declared did not exist in France.
" I believe," he said, " that if ever patient, thorough,
enlightened criticism was needed it is now, when the
multiplicity of works of all kinds, and the uprising of
ambitions are producing general confusion and the same
want of order in literature which is observable in the
art of painting. In that art matters have reached such
a pass that there are neither masters nor schools ; the
absence of discipline is injuring the sacred cause of art,
and is becoming a hindrance to its faculties — to a sense
164 Honore de Balzac.
of the beautiful even, on which production rests. Where
is the critic in the present day who understands the re-
sources of criticism, and employs them with the laud-
able purpose of explaining and bringing into use true
methods of literary art, having read and studied the
works he criticises? To read a work and understand it
for one's self before rendering an account of it to the pub-
lic ; to search for its defects in the interests of literature,
and not for the sad amusement of grieving an author, is
a task which takes time, — weeks, not days."
With ideas like these in his mind he bought up, in
1835, a weekl}' journal, then moribund, called the
*' Chronique de Paris.'* He summoned to his staff the
best young talent of the daj-, and issued the paper
semi-weekly, on Sundays and Thursdays. As editor-
in-chief he took charge of the department of foreign
politics, and distributed the other offices as follows :
Jules Sandeau, drama ; Emile Regnault, light litera-
ture ; Gustave Planche and Jacques de Chaudes-Aigues,
social criticism; Alphonse Karr, satire; Theophile
Gautier, Charles de Bernard, and Raymond Brucker,
novels and poems. Balzac's own contribution to the
work was a series of papers on the current state of
Europe, entitled La France et VJ^tranger. These
fortj'-one articles are extremely interesting as showing
the study that he gave to subjects which were, one
might think, outside of his line of thought. Those who
can remember the discussion of foreign politics in those
days, especially that on the " Eastern question," will
be interested in them. They relate chiefly' to the
general condition of Europe ; but Americans will ob-
serve that several intelligent references to the United
Honore de Balzac, 165
States occur in the course of them. However, whether
it was that Balzac aimed too high to amuse the pub-
he, or that, as Werdet suggests, he could not make
his young staff work, the ''Chronique de Paris"
proved a failure, and lived but a few months. Five
years later he again renewed the attempt; but this
time he did the work alone. In 1840 he began the
** Revue Parisieune," a monthly periodical written
w4iolly by himself; which lived three months, and died
for want of subscribers. Some of the articles in these
numbers have been greatly praised by French critics,
especially those on Fenimore Cooper and on Stendhal ;
but for the most part they belonged to their daj', and
have passed away with it. Among them is the well-
known criticism on Sainte-Beuve's '' Histoire de Port
Royal," which, however just it may be from a literary
and historical point of view, does not fulfil Balzac's
own desire to avoid the "sad amusement of grieving
an author." It is true that Sainte-Beuve had assailed
Balzac six years earlier, when reviewing Za Becherche
de rAbsolu, b}^ touching on personal matters which
had nothing to do with literature, and were peculiarly
wounding to him, — namelj- , his relation through his
books to women, combined with an imaginary sketch
of his early life. The two men were antagonistic by
nature ; and it is to the honor of Sainte-Beuve's cold
and rather sour spirit that he did, after Balzac's death,
impelled by his true literary sense, write a review of
him which was fully as just and perceptive as his na-
ture could allow him to make it ; and it must not be
forgotten that with all his limitations he saw and said
what is, in fact, the deepest truth about Balzac, —
166 Honor e de Balzac.
narnel}^ that posterity alone could judge liim.^ Champ-
fleury says somewhat the same thing in his modest but
valuable essa}'. "There are two w^ays of criticising
M. de Balzac," he says. " The simplest is to read
his works, to understand them, and then sit down and
write an article on the Coinedie Humaine. The sec-
ond method,' wellnigh impossible for our present lit-
erature, is to shut one's self up for six months, and
carefuil}' study in their every detail, as we study a
difficult language, not onlv the Comedie Humaine^ but
all M. de Balzac's works. This cannot be done quickly-.
Perhaps in twenty years, fift}' 3'ears, after ten patient
students have gathered together the chief materials,
some man of great intellect will profit by their labor,
and will combine them all in one great commentarj'."
It was Balzac's ambition, as it has ever been that of
great minds representing human nature, to do dramatic
work. He regarded the stage as a great, if not the
greatest teacher of men ; the most powerful and wide-
reaching of moral influences. He placed it far above
the work of the novelist. It was natural therefore that
his ambition should constantl3' keep before his mind
the hope of becoming a dramatic author. We have
already seen how practice and the throwing-off of im-
mature and comparativel}^ worthless books were needed
before he gathered together his powers as a novelist. It
is possible that if his life had been prolonged he might,
in the perfect peace of a prosperous married life, have
given himself wholl}" to dramatic art, and with his un-
flinching conscientiousness have trained his powers into
1 Portraits conteraporains, par C. A. Sainte-Beuve, vol. ii.
Calmann Levy, Paris, 1889.
Honor e de Balzac. 167
doing work that would have lived forever. As it is, the
five dramas produced upon the stage (there are more
than a score of others, finished and unfinished, still
in manuscript) are far from equal to his other work.
The}' are worth studying, however, for it will be seen
that their chief defects come from his habits as a nov-
elist, which time and practice might have corrected.
For instance, the stage requires a clear and easil}^ dis-
tinguished plot ; in Balzac's novels the plot is often, it
might be said, absent. He depicts life, and life has
no such artificial arrangement ; but for the stage it is
necessary to bring the portion of life depicted sharply
into focus, and this Balzac had not trained himself to
do. Also, the management of his scenes is clumsj^
the dialogue heavy, with the philosophical and didac-
tical tendency' which those who trul}' care for his books
agree to welcome there. Yet, in spite of these defects
of form for stage composition, he had, in an eminent
degree, the dramatic instinct.
The last pla}' that he wrote, Le Faiseur (The Specu-
lator), ought to be rewritten for the stage of the present
day, for it is marvellous as a prophecy of the pass to
which money would bring the world ; it is, in fact, a
truer picture of our times than of the times in which it
was written. George Henr}^ Lewes made an inadequate
version of it which was played for a time in London.
In addition to his higher dramatic ambitions he had
that of earning a better wage for his labor ; this he
shares in common with all novelists, who in these days,
as in his, find that purely literary work is not remun-
erated for the toil it costs, and that the stage alone
repays their labor. At the time when he produced his
168 Honore de Balzac.
first play, Vautrin, he was under an unusual pressure
of ill-luck. The walls of Les Jardies had crumbled
down, his brother Henry was in trouble, which threw
certain obligations upon him, and a first dramatic ven-
ture, which he does not name, but which had cost him
much labor, and was sold for a premium of six thousand
francs, exclusive of royalties, had been returned to him,
owing to lack of money on the part of the theatre to
bring it out. No critical judgment was ever rendered
upon Vaiitri?!, which was acted for the first and onl}*
time at the Porte-Saint-Martin in 1840, because
FrMerick Lemaitre, who played Vautrin in the dress
of a Mexican general, happened to wear a toupee,
which was thought to mimic and deride Louis Philippe,
who was noted for that pyramidal covering to his bald-
ness, which gave a sort of stalk to his pear-shaped
head. The play was forbidden by the government the
next da}^, with an offer of indemnity to Balzac, which
he refused, asking, however, for compensation to the
theatre and the actors. " I refused," he sa3's in a letter
to Madame Visconti. *' I said that I had either a right
to it or no right to it. If I had a right, my obligations
to others must be considered. I said I asked nothing ;
that I valued such virginity of spirit ; that my wishes
were, nothing for myself, or all for the others."
His second play, JOes Hessources de Quinola^ was
performed at the Odeon, March loth, 1842, and failed.
Balzac, who had set high hopes upon this piece and
continued to think it worthy of a better fate, mentions
in his preface to the printed version that only four per-
sons had defended it, namely : Victor Hugo, Lamartine,
Madame de Girardin, and Leon Gozlan. The blow
Huiiore de Balzac, 169
was a crushing one, and it wrung from liim a grieved
and disheartened cry in a letter to his mother, dated
April, 1842 : —
" The life I live," he writes, '^ is not fit to share with
others. I tire out both friends and relatives ; the}' one
and all avoid my sad home, and things will now be
more difficult, if not impossible, than ever ; the loss
of money from my play only complicates the 'situa-
tion. ... I don't know what to do ; but I must de-
cide on some course within the next few days. When
my furniture is sold, and Les Jardies too, there will not
be much left ; I shall be once more alone with my pea
and a garret. I shall live from hand to mouth on arti-
cles I can no longer write as I once did with the celerity
of youth. You think — my nearest all think — that the
egotism of my toil is personal selfishness. I do not
deceive myself: if up to tliis time, working as I have
worked, I have not succeeded in getting clear of debt and
making a living, future work will not save me. I must
do something else. I must seek some other position."
It was at this time that he wrote Albert ^avarus,
one of the most remarkable of his books, and little
read, — the story of a man's love through passionate
effort and a great defeat.^
1 It has been said that Albert Savarus was inspired by his rela-
tions with Madame Hanska. But tliis cannot be so. It is unmis-
takably the picture of man's first love for woman in his youtli.
At the time Albert Savarus was written (a year before Monsieur
Hanski's death) Balzac's relation to Madame Hanska was that
of friendship only. It had, no doubt, the germs of love, but they
were not developed until later. At this time it certainly was not
in his thoughts as the inspiration of Albert Savarus. His love for
Madame Hanska was that of his mature life, not of his youth;
170 Honore de Balzac.
Of his succeeding plays, Pamela Giraud was brought
out at the Gaiete in September, 1843, when Balzac
was paying his first visit to Madame Hanska at St.
Petersburg, after the death of her husband. He seems
to have taken little interest in it. Jja Mardtre was
produced at the Theatre Historique, June, 1848. Le
Faisear was not played at all during his lifetime, but
after his death it was reduced to three acts and brought
out successful!}', August, 1851, at the Gj'mnase, under
the title of Mercadet., and at the Theatre Frangais, Octo-
ber, 1868, with M. Got in the leading part.
Theophile Gautier dwells at length on wJaat he calls
the absolute modernit}^ of Balzac's genius. "Balzac
owes nothing," he says, " to antiquit3\ For him there
are neither Greeks nor Romans, nor any trace in the
composition of his talent of Homer, or Virgil, or Horace,
not even of the Viris illustribus ; no one was ever less
classic." It is quite true, obvioush' true, that Balzac's
genius was brought to bear solely on the present. Its
work lay there, — a work so teeming that there was (to
give the simplest of reasons) no room for extraneous
thoughts and images. If at times it rose above the
plane of its immediate work it was to other regions than
those of classic antiquit}-. But none the less is Balzac's
genius allied to antiquity so far as that is the repre-
sentative of the eternal verities. Look, for instance,
although it was a repetition of that early love. The book was
written under the bitter sense that his life was once more a failure,
his vocation insufficient for his needs, and that his literary ambi-
tion, which had hitherto been the mainstay of his life, had lost its
vitality. At such a moment of fresh disappointment and despair
his mind reverted to the sorrows of his youth.
Honors de Balzac. 171
at the awrulness of Fate as it stalks through his pages,
telentlessly pursuing men like Philippe Bridau and
Baron Hulot to their doom ; the spirit of Greek tragedy
is there. Or, turn to his picturing of Sorrow. He
himself points to the source from which he learned
it as he walked in Pere-Lachaise in search of sor-
rows. "Of all tlie affections of the soul," he 8a3's,
'^ sorrow is the hardest to depict; in that we moderns
are the ver}' humble servants of the ancients." If we
turn to the patient mother's sorrow in Agathe Bridau,
the repentant mother's sorrow in Lady Brandon, the
noble grief of Cesar Birotteau, the anguish of Colonel
Chabert, the blighted life of Albert Savarus, or Dante's
despairing vision on the Seine, we see an instinct in
Balzac's genius which was certainly not modern, for
such sorrows, though they belong to all time, are not
characteristic of our day as they were of antiquit3\
Gautier goes farther, and says that this modernit}^
affected Balzac's sense of art. " He read with careless
eyes the marble strophes in which Greek art has sung
the glor}' of the human form. He could look at the
Venus of Milo without ecstasy ; but if a Parisian
woman draped in her shawl, with all her man}' graces,
stopped before that immortal statue, his eyes lighted up
with pleasure. Ideal beauty, with its serene, pure lines,
was too simple, too cold, too uniform, for his compli-
cated, teeming, and diversified genius." This is surely
too narrow a conclusion. It is true that Balzac had
no S3'mpathy with romantic ideals, whether ancient
or modern ; and it ma}' also be said that his deepest
appreciation of art was as the work of men's hands, —
here its appeal to his mind was probably through the
172 Honore de Balzac.
fellow-feeling of his own struggle in manipulating his
art. " The artist," he sa3's, " is a creator ; the man who
disposes of thought is a sovereign. Kings have com-
manded nations for a limited time ; artists command the
ages ; shall we forget that art from the dawn of fresco
and of sculpture is a Power to the present day?" But
many proofs could be adduced from his writings of his
reverence for the ability of art to render " serene, pure"
trutli. "Who but Raffaelle," he exclaims, " can paint a
virgin ? for literature in this respect falls below art."
His sense of certain arts, as art, ma}' have been defec-
tive ; his judgment, perhaps his enjoyment, of poetrj'
certainly was ; the trammels of that art affected him.
But he was himself a poet, and a great poet. There
is no evidence, either waj', as to his knowledge of the
classics (except that as a lad of sixteen he studied them
ardently), but the man who described the heroic deeds
of his own time in heroic words, as in his pictures of
Napoleon, must have loved Homer ; and he who saw
the vision of the Shade, "standing upon the outer
verge of that dark circle of the abj'ss of woe, his feet
straining, with cruel tension, to spring upward " to the
Woman-Soul from which he was forever parted, knew
Dante as few in our day know him. And what shall
we say of the Assumption in Seraphitaf In a future
age, when the subject is better understood, that will be
counted as the work of one of the greatest poets- of the
nineteenth century ; at present it is neither ancient nor
modern art, but a vision of futurit}'.
There is, however, much to corroborate Gautier's
opinion (which is just, so far as it goes, but misses the
higher ground which Balzac reached) in the fact that
Honore de Balzac. 173
the art in which he found most personal enjoyment,
namel3\ music, is a modern art; also in the further
fact that his collection of rare things, so lovingly cata-
logued in Cousin Pons^ comprised chiefl}' the treasures
of man's choicest handiwork, especially such as l|ad
historic interest attaching to them ; but above all, in
the signal instance that one form of his own work,
his style, is essentially modern.
It is not possible for foreigners to judge of the style
of a French writer from the French point of view, nor
should they attempt to do so. The necessary under-
standing is bred in the bone, and no acquired com-
prehension can take its place. There are, of course,
some points which a foreigner can perceive, and sev-
eral on which the close intercourse that comes of trans-
lation justifies an opinion ; but it must always be borne
in mind that the opinion is English, not French, and
due allowance must be made for this. Balzac's style
is the voice of his genius ; what his genius was, that
his style is, — like master, like man. When he wres-
tled in solitude to form his thought, he took the words
that best formulated it. Language was not to him an
art in itself, it was the sluice of his ideas. As the
torrent of his thought, such as we see it in his books,
came rushing on, with its hundred currents and aspects,
philosophical, metaphorical, descriptive, it seized words,
or made them, or modelled phrases, as its expression
needed. This was certainly not classical, and many of
the French writers who in Balzac's da}' were still under
the traditions of the seventeenth century- were shocked ;
though he was not as much of a neologist as the}^ said
he was, for the studies he had made of the French
174 Honors de Balzac.
language from the time of Rabelais for the Coiites
Drolatiques enabled him to replace many words which
the purists of the seventeenth century had discarded.
But however impetuous the torrent of Balzac's writing,
the current is alwa3's clear ; it is not limpid, like the
soft flowing of George Sand's language, but in what-
ever channel, or stream, or brook it runs, the words
that best express the thing to be expressed are there.
There are times, in fact, when Balzac's stjle is match-
less in its presentation of the feeling of the scene he
is describing. Take, for instance, the rendering of the
"majesty of Cold," the flight of the eider duck, the
breaking of the ice-bonds, in Seraphita. It maj" almost
be said that words of description could no farther go
in conveying not only a scene, but the sensation of it.
Could poetry- as an art do more ?
It has been said that Balzac is a difficult writer to
translate. He does not seem so, for the reason that
he is so clear. There are times when it is easy to see
that he has worked too long over his thought, and has
corrected his original words too often. Patience is then
needed to construct a passage after him ; indeed, it some-
times seems as though the clauses of a paragraph were
like the bits of a Chinese puzzle, to be turned this way
and that before they can be fitted into place ; but this
is rare, and happens only when his mind flags a little,
or his relentless conscience will not let him give up the
expression of minute particulars. For the most part,
and particularl}^ when an ardent emotion or conviction
carries him through equally long sentences with many
clauses, the current of his thought runs clear, like
rapids with the sunlight in them. It is noticeable to
JTonore de Balzac. 175
a translator that no freedom is allowed b}- Balzac ; the
actual translated word or its closest equivalent must
be used, or something of the meaning is lost. This is
not so with other French writers, — George Sand,, for
instance ; it often happens that one fairly S3'non3'mous
word seems to do as ymW as another in rendering her
meaning. Balzac, on the contrar\^ keeps a translator
under his thumb. Sometimes, in the course of his long
and fiery sentences some trifling word has been over-
looked, and when the end is reached the meaning comes
out crookedl}' ; it is like dropping a stitch in a woman's
knitting ; it cannot be patched in ; the work must be un-
ravelled, the stitch picked up, and the whole reknittcd.
In much of the French literature of the present day a
translator, and probably all foreigners who read French,
are hampered b}' the self-consciousness of the writers,
which seriously affects their style. The reader, or trans-
lator, has to consider not onlj' the subject of a book and
its presentation, but the personalitj' of the writer, — an
under-current of confidential communication must bo
kept up with a third element. This appears to a for-
eigner to vitiate a st3'le. Balzac is free from this defect.
His writings are absolutely impersonal. His thought
speaks to you, never himself. He is not so unwise as
to complicate that which he wishes to put into you by
letting you see the hand that does it; though this in
him is not so much a conscious self-restraint as the ne-
cessity' of his genius, which saw his thought as a thing
apart from himself.
Theophile Gautier, who had a delightfull}- rich and
vivid style of his own, says : " The French language,
refined away by the academicians of the seventeenth cen-
176 Honore de Balzac.
tuiy, is, when conformed to, only suitable for the expres-
sion of general ideas and the rendering of conventional
forms in a vague way. In order to represent the mul-
tiplicit}^ of his details, types, characters, architectures,
household surroundings, etc., Balzac was forced to
make for himself a special language composed of the
technological terms of the arts and sciences, the studios,
the street, the theatre itself. Any and every word which
had a distinct thing to say was welcomed b}' him, and
he would slash an incision into his sentences or com-
placenth' add parentheses to admit them. It was this
that made superficial critics say that Balzac did not
know how to write. He had, though he himself did not
think so, a style, and a very fine stj'le, — the logical
and mathematical stj'le of his idea." "As for style,"
said Sainte-Beuve, himself a purist, '' he has it; deli-
cate, subtle, liquid, picturesque, having no analogy
whatever with tradition."
M. Marcel Barriere (his most important French
critic of the present da}^) says, however: " We aflSrm
that Balzac cared as little for elegance of style as he
did for the plastic beaut}' of art ; he did not possess
the musical instinct in language so dear to the delicate
literar}^ mind. He was not sufficiently endowed with
the sentiment of harmony inculcated hy our ancestors,
which made the triumph of Rousseau, Bernardin de
Saint-Pierre, and Chateaubriand." To an English mind
the answer would seem to be that those writers were
of colder natures, who could not see as Balzac saw ;
their style could never have represented his thought.^
1 L'CEuvre de H. de Balzac, etude litte'raire et philosophique ;
par Marcel Barriere, 1 vol., Calmann Levy, Paris, 189D. M. Bar-
Honor e de Balzac. 177
Balzac has been called the father of realism. Would
that he were ! He certainly is not the father of the
present school of realists. That — whether in its most
commonplace and puritanical exponents, or in Zola, or
in the half-crazed brain of Tolstoi (whose original
aspirations are so high above those of his admirers that
he ought not to be classed with them ; his being a great
perception gone mad) — is the child of materialism. The
question of realism, what it is and what it should be,
will alvva3's be discussed from the point of view of each
man's own temperament and perceptions. What a man
sees, that he thinks real. Some can admit that others
may see another real from theirs ; others wish to im-
pose their real on all minds, and seem unable to per-
ceive that those who have higher perceptions of human
nature can never be brought to accept views which, in
their judgment, degrade it. Tell such writers that the
true Real is the Ideal and they will smile at your non-
sense ; and yet the whole of morality, — morality of art,
morality of life — is there. A great service would be
done to morality if the realists of our fin-de-siecle had
ri^re has written an excellent critique of Balzac's books on cer-
tain lines, limited in some respects. His summings-up are less
useful, being more conventional ; but the book is a valuable con-
tribution to Balzac literature. As we have said before, Balzac
will live for the judgment of posterity. The present school of
writers can judge him even less than the men of his own day;
but all current criticism is valuable as m€moires pour servir of the
periods through which Balzac's work passes before it comes to
full comprehension. The short memoir by Mr. Frederick Wed-
more in the " Great Writers " series stands alone in English liter-
ature (so far as the present writer is aware) for a just conception,
although too limited, of Balzac as a man. It should be welcomed
by all who study him.
12
178 Honor e de Balzac.
the courage of their opinions and would say frankl}- :
" Let us eat, and drink, and make money ; the world is
a muck-heap, but let us get what we can from it, and
crow while we may, for to-morrow we die, and that 's
the end of it." Most of them will not say this, for, in
truth, they do not think it; they are merely playing
with their theory, — which is only a passing phase after
all. But it is, none the less, immoral and degrading.
Balzac's realism is very different. In the dawn of his
genius true realism was revealed to him. '' To think
is to see," he said. *' Possibl}^" he added, " materiahsm
and spiritualism* express two sides of the same thing."
Here we have the key-note to which he tuned himself;
and he had an inward consciousness which sustained
his thought. A discussion of Balzac's realism would be
out of place here ; the Comedie Ilvmaine is the em-
bodiment of it. There he ran the gamut of his con-
ception of realism, — shrinking, as he sa3's, from none
of the consequences of his principles. And herein lies
his morality. For Balzac is a moralist, — the greatest
moralist of the nineteenth century ; one who does not
preach, but shows the truth. To discuss this matter
fully would prolong it beyond the limits of this memoir ;
but we may dwell for a moment on one point of it. In
his earliest youth, almost in his childhood, he had longed
to meet a woman-angel, and the desire kept his spirit
pure. When he entered life and saw the condition of
womanhood, the pass to which woman had been brought
and had brought herself, he set about — under a true
inspiration, and with his natural instinct to take the
part of the sorrowful and helpless, no matter what their
vices were — to better her condition. How has he done
Honore de Balzac. 179
it? By presenting facts ki their most awful realit}' ;
not sparing woman witli any false tenderness or fear of
outcry (no shrinking from the consequences here ! ). but
warning her b}' his realism, teaching her b^- the eye to
see the horror and the distortion of her position. He
himself gives this as his deliberate purpose ; it is, he
says, b}' showing facts that he must bring men's minds
to the emancipation of women and their higher educa-
tion ; and when he said this he had in view something
far more fundamental than our present surface questions
of woman's emancipation. If realism has the virtue
that its followers attribute to it (and it has), this is what
its virtue should accomplish ; this is what Balzac sought
to do for woman, leading her step by step from her
lowest degradation in Cousine Bette up through Eugenie
Grandet, Eve Sechard, Marguerite Claes, and others
like them, to Seraphita^ where the destiny of woman
is presented as a series of lives ascending from love of
self, love of others, love of heaven, till the end be
won, — a book which M. Taine calls upon us to ob-
serve is the " consummation of Balzac's work, as the
flower is that of its plant ; a book in which the genius
of the writer attains its complete expression, foreseen,
explained, justified, and led up' to by all his other
work."
Yes, Seraphita was, indeed, the crown of his work ;
but he was destined to leave the world with much of
that work unaccomplished. All was mapped out ; and
it stirs the feelings painfully to look along the vista of
his plans and see what the world has lost. Among
these projected works (a list of which will be found in
the appendix) his thoughts particularly clung to the
180 Honor e de Balzac.
hope of writing Le Fretre ^catholique^ the Pathologie
de la vie sociale, the Anatomie des Corps JEiiseigtiants^
and the Monographie de la vertu. *' Looking at the
work still to be done," he says, in his preface to the
Comedie Humaine^ "perhaps my readers will say,
' Ma}^ your life be prolonged ! ' My own pra^'er is that
I may not be so much tortured by men and events as I
have been in the past, since the beginning of m}' great
and terrible labor. Yet I have had one support, for
which I return thanks to God. The highest talent of
our day, the noblest characters, the truest friends, have
clasped my hand, and said to me, ' Take courage ! '
Why should I not own that such proofs of affection, such
testimonials given now and then by strangers, have
upheld me in my career in spite of myself, in spite of
unjust attacks, in spite of calumnies that have pursued
me, — upheld me against disheartenment, and also
against that too vivid hope, the expression of which has
sometimes been mistaken for excessive self-love?"
Anecdotes that reveal the fancies and habits of a
great mind and show it in action are precious, if the}'
bear the stamp of ' truth ; in Balzac's case they are
invaluable, because so unguardedly natural. Here is
one in the language of M. Leon Gozlan, somewhat
abridged : —
" One evening I received a note from Balzac, dated
Les Jardies, asking me to meet him the next day at
three o'clock, in the Champs Ely sees, between the
Horses of Marly and the Cafe des Ambassadeurs. I
must be punctual, he said, as the matter was impor-
tant. The day was dull and chilly, the ground damp,
a cold wind blowing. ' Let ns walk fast,' said Balzac,
Honore de Balzac. 181
when we met, ' to keep up the circulation. I have just
written a little tale for the first number of the '' Revue
Parisienne." I am rather pleased with it, that is, I
shall be when I have found — that which you must
help me to find to-da}'. But I must describe to you
the principal personage, — in fact, the only personage
in this little poem of morals, the grievous morals of our
social epoch, such as the national politics of the last ten
years have made them.' He thereupon described the
personage he had created. ' Now,' he said, ' you '11 see
what I want of you. For such a man, so extraordinary
a man, I must have a name in keeping with his des-
tiny ; a name which explains and pictures and proclaims
him ; a name that shall be his, that could not possibly
be the cognomen of any other. Well, it won't come to
me ; I have tried every possible vocal combination with-
out success. I will not baptize my type with a stupid
name. We must find one that shall fit the man as the
gum the tooth, the root the hair, the nail the flesh.
Don't you understand ? '
" ' No.'
'' 'No? don't 3'ou admit that there are names that
remind you of a diadem, a sword, a helmet, a flower?'
"'No.'
*' ' Names that veil and reveal a poet, a satiric wit, a
profound philosopher, a famous painter?'
'"No, no.'
" ' I know better,' said Balzac, much provoked.
' Names are given on high before they are given in this
low world. It is a m3'ster3% to which it is not allowable
to apply the petty rules of our trivial reasoning. I am
not the onlv one who believes in this miraculous con-
182 Honor e de Balzac,
junction of man with his name, which he bears as a
divine or devilish talisman, to light his way on eartli,
or burn him up. Great minds have always shared this
belief; and strange to say, the masses do, too.'
" ' Why don't 3'ou make a name ? '
" ' I tell you I can't. I am worn out with work. I
have tried, but it won i come. We must discover it?'
'' ' If it exists.'
'^ 'It does exist,' said Balzac, solemnly, ' and you
must suggest a way to find it. That is what I want
you for.'
" After reflecting a few moments I said, ^ Let us read
the signs in the streets ; there you '11 find all kinds of
names, pompous, ridiculous, queer, paradoxical ; enough
to rejoice the heart of a vaudevillist ; virtuous names,
wicked names, brigands' names ; these last are usually
those of chandlers and confectioners.'
*'The idea delighted Balzac. Alas, I had not fore-
seen to what it would lead.
'' 'Where shall we begin?' he said.
" ' Why, here,' I answered.
'' We were just then leaving the court of the Louvre,
and entering the rue Coq-Saint-Honore. It was not to
be expected that our first steps would produce anj'-
thing. Names were plentiful, but they had no physiog-
nomies. He looked one side of the street, I the other,
our noses in the air, and our feet heaven knows where,
which produced much jostling with pedestrians, who
probably took us for blind men. Down the rue du
Coq, through the rue Saint-Honore to the Palais-Royal,
and all the collateral streets to the rue Vivienne, the
place de la Bourse, the rue Neuve Vivienne^ the bou-
Honore de Balzac. 188
levard Montraartre. At the corner of the rue Mont-
martre I broke down ; alarmed that Balzac refused
to accept any of the names I pointed out to him, I
declined to go a step further.
** ' It is alwa3's the way with everything/ said Balzac.
' Christopher Columbus abandoned by his crews ! I
shall land on the soil of America alone. You may go.'
" * You are in the midst of many Americas,' I re-
torted, ' and you won't land ; you are very unrea-
sonable ; you have rejected splendid names. It is
Christopher Columbus himself who is to blame.'
'' ' Fatigue makes a man more unjust than anger; I
know that myself,' said Balzac. ' Here, take my arm,
and go as far as Saint-Eustache.*
*" But no farther?'
*' ' So be it.'
',' But he contrived before we reached Saint-Eustache
to drag me through the length and breadth of the rues
tiu Mail, de Clery, du Cadran, des Foss^s-Montraartre,
and the place de la Victoire, filled with magnificent
Alsacian names ; in the midst of which I declared to
him that if he did not make an immediate choice I
would leave him on the spot.
'' ' There is only the rue du Bouloi left,' said Balzac ;
* don't refuse me the rue du Bouloi, and then we '11 go
back to Les Jardies for dinner.'
" I granted him the rue du Bouloi, and it was at the
farther end of that street that Balzac, — never shall I
forget it ! — having glanced through a little gate, an
oblong, narrow, mean little gate opening into a damp
alley, suddenly changed color, quivered all over, uttered
a cry, and said to me : —
184 Honor e de Balzac.
" ' There ! there ! there ! read it.'
" And I read— Marcas.
" ' Marcas,' he muttered. ' Marcas ; what a name !
Marcas, — the name of names ; Marcas ! we will look
no farther.'
*' *■ So be it,' I said ; ' I ask no better.'
" ' Marcas ; m}' hero is Marcas,' he went on ; 'phil-
osopher, writer, statesman, poet ignored ; it is all there.
Marcas ! I shall call him Z. Marcas, to add a flame, a
plume, a star to the name. Z. Marcas must be some
great and unknown artist, engraver, carver, or silver-
smith, like Benvenuto Cellini.'
" ' I can soon find out,' I said.
*' Leaving Balzac in adoration before the house, I in-
quired of the concierge. Returning towards the street,
I shouted from afar : —
'' 'Tailor!'
"'Tailor!' Balzac was silent for a moment; his
head drooped. Then he looked up proudly.
" ' He deserved a better fate,' he said ; ' but no mat-
ter ; I will immortalize him.' "
Those who have read Xe Lys dans la Vallee cannot
fail to remember the exquisite story of the wild-flowers,
and perhaps if they studied it deeply they may have
been puzzled to identifj- a certain herb, the description
and the name of which do not agree. Here is the ex-
planation. The anecdote is told b^- Leon Gozlan.
" Yes," said Balzac, laying down three or four vol-
umes that he carried under his arm, " that is Fenimore
Cooper's last work. It is fine, it is grand, it is in-
tensely interesting. I know no one but Walter Scott
Honor e de Balzac. 185
who has ever risen to that grandeur and serenit}' of
coloring. . . . When I conceived the idea of Le Lys
da7i8 la Vallee I had, like Cooper, the idea of giving
scener}' a splendid part in the work. Full of this idea,
I plunged into natural pantheism like a pagan. I made
m3'self tree, horizon, stream, star, brooklet, light. And
as science is a good helper in ever3'thing, I wanted to
know the names and properties of certain plants which
I meant to bring into my descriptions. My first desire
was to learn the names of all those little herbs we
tread upon in country places, along the roadsides, in
the meadows, everywhere. I began by asking my own
gardener. ' Oh, Monsieur,' he said, ' nothing easier to
know than that.' ' What is it, then, since it is so easy ? *
* Well, some is luzern ; this is clover ; that is sainfoin.'
' No, no, that is n't what I mean. I want to know
what you call all these little herbs under my feet ; here,
I '11 gather a tuft of them.' ' Oh, that, monsieur, that 's
grass.' 'Yes, but the name of each herb, long, short,
straight, curved, smooth, prickly, rough, velvety, dry,
damp, dark-green, pale-green.' ' Well, the}'' are all
called grass.' I could n't get anything out of him but
* Grass.' The next day a friend came to see me ; he
happened to be a great traveller, and I said to him :
' You, who are such a botanist and have been all over
the world, do you know the names of the little herbs we
have under our feet?' * Bless me!' he said, 'what
herbs?' 'These,' I said, and I plucked some and put
them into his hand. ' The fact is,' he said, after a few
moments' examination, 'I don't really know an}' flora
but that of Malabar. If we were in India now I could
tell you the names of countless little plants, but here — '
186 Honore de Balzac.
* Here you are just as ignorant as I am?' 'I admit it,'
he said. The next day I went to the Jardin des Plantes
and questioned one of the most learned professors in
the institution. ' Oh, Monsieur de Balzac,' he said,
* What a thing to ask me ! Here we are busy with the
larch and tamarisk, and other such families ; but life is
too short to come down to those little herbs that are
nothing at all. Thej" concern 3'our salad-woman. But
joking apart,' he added, J where are you going to put
your novel ? ' 'In Touraine.' * Very good ; then the
first peasant you meet in Touraine can tell you more
than the most learned of us here.' Down I went to
Touraine, and there I found the peasants just as igno-
rant as the rest ; so that when I wrote Xe Lys dans
la Vallee I found it impossible to describe with perfect
accuracy that carpet of verdure which it would have
given me such happiness to picture blade b3^ blade."
M. Taine says of the description in Xe Lys dans la
Vallee to which the above anecdote refers : ' ' Oriental
poetry has nothing more dazzling, more magnificent ;
it is intoxicating, luxurious ; we float in a sky of light
and perfume ; all the sensuous joys of a summer's day
enter both soul and body, quivering, murmuring, like a
tumultuous bevy of many-colored butterflies." ^
1 Nouveaux Essais de critique et d'histoire, par H. Taine. 1 vol.
3eme q± Hacliette et cie., Paris, 1880. The essay on Balzac should
be read. It contains a splendid flux of words in which, truth to
tell, there is less of Balzac than we might expect ; but wherever a
judgment is given, whether for or against him, it is worth reading,
though colored by M. Taine's fancy, — as where he calls him " a
business man in debt." Werdet, who ought to know, and who is
corroborated by all we find of Balzac's life, says: "He was an
honest man ; an honest man in debt, and not a ' business man in
debt,' as M. H. Taine avers."
Honore de Balzac. 187
During the twelve years which we are now consider-
ing Balzac wrote and published seventy-nine novels
and tales, — a stupendous work when we consider the
wealth of ideas embodied and developed in them. The
reader is referred to the appendix, where a list of each
year's work will be found. So busy a life would seem
to allow of no holiday, but his habit was to alternate
long periods of intense application with shorter periods
of relaxation, employed, naturally and perhaps uncon-
sciously, in gathering the experience with which to pur-
sue his work. He made, as we have seen, frequent visits
to the provinces, and yearly trips to foreign countries.
In September, 1833, he was at Neufchatel, where he
first met Madame Hanska ; in 1834 he was at Geneva ;
in 1835 at Vienna ; the famous journey to Sardinia was
in 1838, and the following year he was in Northern
Ital}*, and again at Vienna. After that he travelled
little for four years, but went much into society. His
sister tells us that he loved life and enjoyed its pleas-
ures ; he was ver}- hospitable, and the cheer}" dinners
given in his various homes still live in the narratives
of his friends.
He remained in the rue Cassini for eight years ; from
there he moved to the rue des Batailles at Chaillot,
where he had the enjoyment, Gautier tells us, of a
magnificent view over Paris. His desire seems ever to
have been for heights. In his studious youth he sought
that highest point in Pere-Lachaise (the spot where he
now lies) whence he could see all Paris ; and his dream of
future earthly rest, as he tells us himself, was always for
ft home on a mountain. True to this feeling, he bought,
in 1838, three acres of land at Ville-d'Avray, where he
188 Honor e de Balzac.
erected the famous pavilion alread}' described in a letter
to Madame Carraud. A past historic interest was con-
nected with the place, which was called Les Jardies,
where, according to Saint-Simon, the courtiers of Louis
XIV. were lodged when the king was at Versailles. In
after years it gained a third celebrit}- as the home where
Gambetta lived and met his death. " Nothing can ex-
ceed the beauty of my view," says Balzac, lovingly.
''My house stands on the other side of the mountain,
or perhaps I should say the hill of Saint-Cloud ; on the
north it joins the royal park; to the west I see the
whole valle}' of Ville-d'Avra}" ; to the east I soar above
Sevres, and my eyes take in an immense horizon, with
Paris in the far distance, its smok}^ atmosphere reach-
ing as far as the slopes of Meudon and Belleville, bej'ond
which I can see the plains of Montrouge and the high-
road to Orleans, which leads to Tours. The whole is
of strange magnificence and full of ravishing contrasts.
The valley depths have the dewy freshness, the shade,
the hillocks, the verdure of $he Swiss vallej^s. Forests
and woodland ever3'where ; to the north the fine trees of
the royal domain."
Here he camped rather than lived, for he never had
the means to furnish his little home. Nevertheless, it
was the scene of much generous hospitality. It was
entered from the road which passed behind it. The
front-door and hall (if we are to believe the friend who
thus describes it) were in the garret, " andj'ou entered
the house like wine being poured into a bottle." The
steep declivity in front, where his fancy pictured trees,
never grew anything taller in his time than shrubs,
which, he remarks exultantly, were nearl}' tall enough
Honore de Balzac. 189
to hide Turc, his Saint-Bernard dog. But his flowers
were beautiful ; it gave him as mucii happiness to watch
their growth as to hear of his successes in the world ;
and, above all, he had the free air for which his spirit
longed. There was, alas ! a reverse to the picture in
the crumbling walls ; but this was not really as bad as
his imagination made it. One would think from the
doleful moan he sent to Madame Carraud that he was
living in a sort of Herculaneum, with his household gods
in fragments about him ; but, in truth, it was only the
garden walls that toppled over, and, after rebuilding
them several times to pacif}' an angry neighbor, who
objected to heaps of stones upon his propert}', Balzac
bought the adjoining ground, " in order," he said, " that
the stones might at least rattle down on his own land."
During part of the time when he lived at Les Jardies
he kept a room in Paris, in the rue Richelieu, for con-
venience ; but in 1843 he took an apartment at Passy
(19 rue Basse) an outlying arrondissement of Paris,
where he remained until he bought the small hotel
Beaujon in the rue Fortunee (now the rue Balzac),
which he fitted up luxuriously in the long delayed hope
of his marriage with Madame Hanska, transporting
there his hidden collection of works of art of all kinds.
His expansive nature, expansive in spite of his
strange secretiveness in deeper ways, sought inter-
course with men in his periods of release from work.
Among these friends he counted the best men of his
da}'. Frederic Souli^, Charles de Bernard, Charles
Nodier, Victor Hugo, Heine, whom he often visited,
Gavarni, Boulanger, Beyle, whose works he greatly ad-
mired, Baron Barchou de Penhoen, a former comrade at
190 Honori de Balzac.
Vendome, Hector Berlioz, Liszt, Alfred de Musset, and
the man who seems to have been closest to him in affec-
tion, and also to have received the shadow of confidences
not made to others, — Theophile Gautier. Many of
these men were far more prosperous than he, the great-
est of them, in their mutual career ; but he seems to
have been truly incapable, as George Sand said he was,
of env}^ Otherwise one might suppose that his feel-
ings would have been hurt when he found the way
barred against his entrance to the Academy, that Im-
mortal body which was less mongrel in those days than
it is now. But he behaved with dignity, and withdrew
his name when failure seemed probable. " The matter
does not stir my feeUngs very much," he said ; " some
persons think not at all, but they are mistaken. If I
do get there, so much the better ; if I do not, no mat-
ter." It is characteristic of him to feel thus. He was
totally without personal vanity or self-seeking. Self-
assertive as to his work, absorbed in his ideas, con-
vinced himself and eager to persuade others of their
paramount value, he certainly was ; but his individual
self was another thing ; and it is often affecting to no-
tice how little thought or care he seemed to give to it.
Leon Gozlan says of him: "Indifferent to personal
fame, Balzac never gave a thought to what men might
want to know of him apart from his books, — of his
personal opinions, his private life and character, and
his share in the daily events of the world."
The following letter was addressed to those Acade-
micians who intended to support his nomination. It is
characteristic of Victor Hugo that he paid no attention
to the request, and his ballot was cast for Balzac as a
matter of principle.
Honore de Balzac. 191
" My dear Nodier, — I have learned to-da^', quite
positively, that my situation as to fortune is one of the
objections which will be brought up against me at the
Academy, and I write, with deep grief, to ask jou to
give your influence elsewhere than in my favor.
''If I cannot enter the Academy on account of my
honorable poverty, I will never present myself for ad-
mission in the day when prosperitj' smiles upon me. I
have written the same thing to Victor Hugo, who takes
an interest in my election.
" God grant you health, my kind Nodier."
It is observable in Balzac's correspondence that he
sa3'S little or nothing of his intercourse with societ}';
3'et there cannot be a doubt in the minds of those who
study his work that he saw much of the world, and was
in close relations with man}' phases of social life, par-
ticularly with women, who are the essence of it. It is
impossible that he could have written of women under
all aspects as he did unless he had a close personal
knowledge of them. Before he became completely
absorbed in Madame Hanska in 1843, there must have
been a time when he saw much of man}' women, and
may even have contemplated marriage with more than
one of them. But the evidence of this period in his
correspondence is slight, and his sister so distinctly
says that he concealed all traces of it that a discussion
of what it may have been is useless. It certainly did
not influence him seriously as a man, though it was
highly serviceable to his work. He remarks himself of
this phase of his life that skin-deep aflTections did not
suit him : Les amities cVepiderme ne me vont pas.
192 Honore de Balzac.
CHAPTER VII.
JUDGMENT OF CONTEMPORARY FRIENDS.
George Sand, with her good, broad mind, appreciated
Balzac's nature, though she could not agree with his
art (her own being so different), nor perceive the higher
reaches of his spirit. No kinder or truer words, so far
as the}' go, have been said of him than hers : ^ —
"To say of a man of genius that he was essentially
good and kind is the highest praise that I am able to
bestow. All superiority must contend with so many
obstacles and sufferings that the man who pursues his
mission of genius with patience and gentleness is a
great man, whatever meaning we may give to the term.
Patience and gentleness are strength ; none was ever
stronger than Balzac.
" Before recalling his other claims to the attention of
posterit}^ I hasten to render him this justice, which has
not been sufficiently rendered by his contemporaries. I
saw him often under the shock of great injustices, both
literary and personal, and I never heard him say an
evil word of any one. He went his painful way with a
smile in his soul. Full of himself, passionately eager
about his art, he was, nevertheless, modest, after his
1 Autour de la table, par George Sand, 1 vol., Michel Levy
Freres, Nouvelle edition, Paris, 1875.
Honore de Balzac, 193
fashion, under an exterior of assumption wliich was only
the naivete of an artist (great artists are great children),
and in spite of an appearance of adoration for his per-
sonal merits which was, in reality, nothing else than
enthusiasm for his work.
^' Balzac's private life was very mysterious, and it has
been, as I think, ver}" ill understood by those who were
initiated into it. What I know of it, from his own con-
fidences, is of great originality and covers no black spots
whatever. But these revelations, which have nothing
in them that reflects upon his memorj', require amplifi-
cations which would be out of place here and would not
assist the purpose, chiefly literar}-, which I have set
before me. It is sufficient to say that his sovereign end
and aim in concealing his life and actions, his search
for the absolute, in other words, his great work, was
Freedom, the possession of his hours, the solitude of
his laborious nights, — the creation, in short, of his
Comedie Humaine.
"Balzac was called during his Ufetime the 'most
prolific of novelists.* Since his death he has been called
the first of novelists. Without making any invidious
categories which might wound illustrious contempora-
ries, it will be strictly true, I think, to say that such a
term is not praise enough for a power like his. They
are not novels, these imperishable books of the great
critic, as novels were understood before his da}'. He is,
and pre-eminentlj', the critic of human life ; he has
written, not alone for the pleasures of the imagination,
but for the archives of moral histor}^ the memoirs of
the half-century which has now just passed. He has
done for that historic period what another great, but
13
194 Honore de Balzac.
less thorough worker, Alexis Monteil, endeavored to do
for the France of the past.
" The novel was to Balzac a frame and pretext for an
almost universal examination of the ideas, sentiments,
customs, habits, legislation, arts, trades, costumes,
localities, in short, of all that constituted the lives of his
contemporaries. Thanks to him, no earlier epoch of our
country will be known to the future like ours. Wliat
would we not give, we seekers of to-day, if each van-
ished half-century had been transmitted to us living by
a Balzac. We make our children read a fragment of
the past, reconstructed with immense labor of erudition,
' Rome in the time of Augustus,' and the da}" will
come when learned men, writing such histories, will
turn to the France of Balzac's period and draw their
information from authenticity itself. The criticism of
contemporaries on such and such a character presented
in Balzac's books, on the style, the method, the inten-
tions and the manner of the author, will then seem
what already they are beginning to seem, secondary
considerations. The future will not call this vast work
to account for imperfections which appear in all crea-
tions of the human brain ; on the contrary, it will value
even the prolixity, the excess of detail, which to us
seem defects, and 3'et may not wholly satisfy the in-
terest and the curiosity of the readers of the future.
" Let us say, then, to the readers of the year 2000, or
3000, who will still bear some resemblance to the men of
to-day, no matter what progress they have been able to
make, — to those perfected spirits who will have our
needs, our passions, and our dreams, as, in spite of our
own progress, we too have the passions, needs, and
Honor e de Balzac. 195
dreams of the human natures which preceded us, — to
them let us sa}' that those among us who have the honor
to be called to testify before the work of Balzac declare :
' This is truth,' — not absolute philosophical truth, which
Balzac did not seek and this era has not found ; but the
true reality of our intellectual, ph3'sical, and moral con-
dition. This collected whole of simple narratives, these
parables seldom complicated, this multitude of fictitious
personages, these interiors, chateaus, garrets, these
myriad aspects of country and. city life, all this work of
fanc}^ is, thanks to a gift of marvellous clear-sighted-
ness and to the exercise of extreme conscientiousness, a
mirror in which imagination has shown reality. Do not
seek in this history of facts the names of the models
who passed before this magic glass ; the types it has
preserved are anon3'mous. Nevertheless, know this
(for here is a great prodigy of art) : each of these types
sums up in itself a whole varietj^ of the human species ;
and Balzac, who sought the absolute in a certain order
of things, came near finding in his own work the solu-
tion of a problem unknown until his day, — complete
reality in complete fiction. Yes, readers of the future,
the men of 1 830 were as bad, as good, as craz3% and as
virtuous, as intelligent and as stupid, as romantic and
as matter-of-fact, as prodigal and as keen after gain as
Balzac shows them to you. His contemporaries have
not all been willing to admit it. That need not astonish
you. All, nevertheless, have read his works in which
they felt their own hearts beating ; they have read them
with anger or — with exultation.
''If we judge Balzac in detail, he cannot, any more
than other great masters of the present and the past,
196 Honore de Balzac.
escape all critical severit3\ But when we examine in
its totalitj^ his might}^ work, be we critic, public, or
fellow-artists, we must all agree, or wellnigh agree,
on one point, namel}^ — that in the class of work to
which it belongs nothing more complete ever issued
from the brain of a writer. I m3self, when I have
read, one by one, these extraordinary books as they
came from the press, I did not like them all. Some
shocked my tastes, ni}^ convictions, my sympathies.
At times I was tempted to say, • This is too long,' or
' That is wearisome.' Others seemed to me fantastic,
and made me sa}- to myself with regret, * What is the
good of it ; what does he mean?' But when Balzac,
having found the secret of his destin}^ and solved the
enigma of his genius, grasped that deep and admirable
idea of the ComMie Humaine^ when, by laborious and
ingenious classification, he welded all parts of his work
into a logical whole, each of those parts, even those I
least liked on their first appearance, took their rightful
place and assumed their real value. Each of these
books is, in fact, a page of the great work, which would
be incomplete without this important page.
" For this reason it is necessarj^ to read the whole of
Balzac. Nothing is unimportant to the general work ;
and we soon perceive that in this immeasurable stretch
of imagination, to imagination he has sacrificed nothing.
Every book has been for him an awesome study. And
when we think that he had not, like Dmnas, the power
of a marvellous memory, like Lamartine facility of style^
like Alphonse Karr poetr}^ ready-made in his eyes (not
to speak of a dozen special qualities gratuitously be-
stowed on others by nature), but that, on the contrarj^,
32%4.v-»*v-
Honore de Balzac. 197
the labor of execution was long extremel}' difficult to
him, that form was constant)}' intractable to his will,
that ten 3'ears of his life were sacrificed on experiments,
and finally that he was ever struggling with material
cares, battling with all his strength to reach a time when
he might live in peace, — thinking of all these things
one asks one's self what angel and what demon watched
at his side and revealed to him the good and the evil,
tlie real and the ideal, the history of which he has be-
queathed to us.
" One of m}' friends who knew Balzac presented me to
him, not in the character of muse du departement, but
as a worthy provincial woman amazed at his talent.
This was the truth. Though Balzac had not at that
time produced his greatest works, I was much im-
pressed by his novel and original manner, and thought
of him even then as a master to stud}'. He was liv-
ing in the rue Cassini, in a cheerful little entresol
near the Observator}'. It was there, I think, that
I made the acquaintance of Emmanuel Arago, a man
who afterwards became a friend of mine, and was
then a mere lad. One fine day Balzac, having made
a good sale of a book, affected to despise his entresol,
and wished to leave it; but after due reflection he
decided to remain, and contented himself b}^ trans-
forming his little rooms into a nest of boudoirs a la
marquise. That done, he invited me to eat ices within
the walls, now hung with silk and edged with lace. I
laughed heartil}-, not dreaming that he felt any serious
want of such vain luxury^ and supposing it was noth-
ing more than a passing fancy. I was mistaken ; these
needs of a dainty imagination became the tyrants of
198 Honor e, de Balzac.
his life ; to satisf}" them, he often sacrificed the com-
monest comfort. Henceforth he lived somewhat in this
wa}', — lacking necessaries in the midst of his superflui-
ties, and depriving himself of soup and coffee rather
than of silver-ware and Chinese porcelains. Soon re-
duced to amazing expedients not to part with the gew^-
gaws that pleased his eye, artist b}' fanc}', child of
golden dreams, he lived through his fancj' in a fairy
palace ; obstinate withal, he accepted deliberatelj' all
anxieties and all deprivations rather than let reality
dispossess him of his dream.
" I did not say much of my own literar}' projects to
Balzac. He did not believe in them, or rather he did
not care to examine whether I was capable of anything.
I did not ask his advice ; he would have told me that
he kept it for himself, and he would have said it as
much from ingenuous modest}' as from ingenuous ego-
tism ; for he had, as I have said, his waj^ of being
modest under an appearance of arrogance, a fact which
I found out later with agreeable surprise. And as for
his egotism, he had his reactions to self-devotion and
generosit}'. His companj^ was very agreeable ; a little
fatiguing in its rush of words to me, who am not ready
enough with an answer to v^ary the subjects of conver-
sation sufficientlj' ; but his soul was of great serenity',
and I never, at any moment, saw him ill-humored. He
would climb, with his big stomach, all the five stories
of the house on the qua}^ Michel where I lived, and
come in puffing and laughing and talking before he
could get his breath. Among his intimate friends he
had a nickname, which he always signed to his letters ;
with me it had passed into a habit to call liim " Dom
Honore de Balzac, 199
Mar." He used to pick up my manuscript from the
table and cast his eyes over it as if he meant to inform
himself of wliat it was about ; but almost immediatel}^
his thoughts would go back to the work he had in hand ;
and he would begin to relate it to me, and I must say I
found that more instructive than the hindrances which La
Touche, disheartening doubter, opposed to my ideas.
" I had no theories of any kind when I began to write,
and I think I had never had an}' when the wish to write
a novel placed a pen in m}' hand. That did not prevent
m}^ instincts from making for me, without my knowl-
edge, the theor}^ which I will now explain and which I
have generally followed without taking deliberate ac-
count of it, — a theory which is still, at the present
moment under discussion.
'' According to this theory, a novel should be a work
of poetr}' as much as of analysis. It must have true
situations and true characters, even real ones, grouped
around a type which is to present and sum up the prin-
cipal sentiment or idea of the book. This type usually
represents the passion of love, because nearl}' all novels
are histories of love. According to my theory (and here
is where it begins) this type, this love we must idealize,
not fearing to give it all the powers to which we con-
sciously aspire ourselves, and all the sufferings which we
have seen or of which we have felt the tortures. But, in
any case, that type, that love, must not be degraded by
the hazard of events ; it must either die or triumph ;
and we must not fear to give it an exceptional impor-
tance in life, powers above the ordinary, charms or suf-
ferings which go far beyond the usual limit of human
things, and even beyond the probable as judged by
200 Honors de Balzac.
the majority of minds. To sum up this theor}^ briefl}',
it is : the idealization of the sentiment whicli makes
the subject, leaving to the art of the novehst the duty
of placing that subject in conditions and in a frame of
reality suitable to bring it vividly into relief.
" Is this theory- a true one? I think it is ; but it is
not, and ought not to be absolute. Balzac, after a time,
made me comprehend, by the variety and force of his
compositions, that it was allowable to sacrifice the ideal-
ization of a subject to the truth of a picture, to the just
criticism of society, to humanity itself. Balzac summed
this up completely when he said to me later : ' You are
seeking man as he should be ; I take him such as he is.
Believe me, we are both right. The two roads lead to
the same place. I, too, like exceptional beings — I am
one m3'self. In fact, I need them as foils to my com-
monplace beings ; and I never sacrifice them unless under
necessit3\ But commonplace beings interest me more
than they interest you. I make them grow, I idealize
them, inversely, in their ugliness and stupidity. I give
their deformities grotesque proportions. You can't do
that ; and you are right not to be willing to look at
beings and things which would give you the nightmare.
Idealize in the lovely and the beautiful ; that 's a
woman's work.'
" Balzac said this without an}^ concealed disdain or
disguised sarcasm. He was sincere in the brotherly
feeling with which he spoke, and he has idealized
woman far too much to be suspected of any degrading
theor}^ about her.
"Balzac travelled a great deal, and his friends in
Paris often lost all trace of him. He had bought a
Honor6 de Balzac, 201
little house at Ville-d'Avray, called Les Jardies, and
from there he dated man}' of the letters which he wrote
in Russia, Italy, and elsewhere. Nevertheless, he lived
at Les Jardies a good deal, and did an enormous amount
of work there. Also he passed whole summers, months
or weeks, in the provinces, — at Angouleme, at Issoudun
inTouraine, and with me in Berrj'. He was also in Sar-
dinia, where he believed, or pretended to believe, he
should find strange things. He searched for treasures
and found none but those he bore within him, — his
intellect, his spirit of observation, his marvellous ca-
pacit}', his strength, his gayety, his goodness of heart,
in a word, his genius.
'' The last of his journeys resulted in his marriage ;
but our poor Doni Mar did not long enjoy domestic hap-
jjiness. A disease of the heart, about which he had
often spoken to me and of which he thought himself
cured, carried him off at the end of four months of mar-
ried life. He was shipwrecked in port, that bold and
resolute mariner. All his life he had desired to marry
a woman of qualit}', to have no debts, to find in his
own home affection and intellectual companionship. He
deserved to attain his wish, for he had done gigantic
service, fulfilled a splendid mission, and abused but
one thing — work. Sober in all respects, his morals
were pure ; he dreaded excesses as the death of talent ;
he cherished women by his heart or his head, and his life
from early youth was that of an anchorite ; for, although
he has written some coarse books and passed in his day
for an expert in gallantry (having written the Physiol-
ogie du Mariage and the Contes Drolatiques), he was
much less rabelaisian than benedictine. He loved
202 Honor e de Balzac.
chastit}' as a choice thing, and attacked the sex only
through curiosity ; when he found a curiosity equal to
his own he worl^ed the mine with the cynicism of a con-
fessor ; that is how he himself expressed it. But when
he met with health of mind and body (I repeat his own
words) he was happy as a child in being able to speak
of true love and rise into the higher regions of emotion.
"He was a trifle hypercritical, but naively so; and
this great anatomist of life let us see that he learned
all, both of good and evil, by observation of fticts or
contemplation of the idea, not by experience. At-
tached, I know not why, to the cause of monarchy to
which he thought himself bound, he was so impartial
b}' nature that the noblest personages in his books are
often republicans or socialists. There were times when
he seemed to have the tastes of a parvenu ; they were
really at heart the tastes of an artist. He loved curios-
ities far more than luxury. He dreamed of avarice, and
ruined himself constantly. He boasted of despoiling
others, and never robbed any one but himself. In cer-
tain of his books he has put his ideal in the boudoir of
a duchess ; elsewhere we find it in the customs of an
atelier. He has seen the amusing side and also the
grand side of all social destinies, of all parties, all
systems. He has laughed at the stupid Bonapartists,
and pitied the unfortunate Bonapartists ; he has re-
spected all disinterested convictions. He charmed the
ambitious youth of the century with golden dreams ;
he flung it in the dust or the mud by laying bare before
it the end of base ambitions, dissolute women, faithless
friends, shame, remorse. He has branded on the fore-
head those great ladies whom he forced his young men
Honors de Balzac. 203
to adore. He has swept awa}' the millions and des-
tined the temples of delight in which his fancy revelled,
to show, behind these chimeras, that toil and honor
alone remain erect amid the ruins. He has pictured,
con amore^ the seductions of vice, and vigorousl}' pro-
claimed the horrors of its contagion. He has seen all
and said all, comprehended all, and divined all — how
then can he be immoral? Impartiality is eminently
sound and healthy for good minds ; the minds it could
corrupt are corrupted already, and so corrupted that
impartial truth is unable to heal them.
''Balzac has been reproached for having no principles
because he has, as I think, no positive convictions on
questions of fact in religion, art, politics, or even love.
But nowhere in his books do I see vice made respect-
able or virtue degraded in the reader's e3es. If virtue
succumbs, if vice triumphs, the meaning of the book is
not left doubtful ; society is condemned.
" It would, indeed, be puerile to declare Balzac a writer
without defects. He would have been, in that case, the
first whom nature ever created, and in all probability
the last of his kind. He had, and he knew it himself
better than those who have said so, essential faults ; a
labored style, false taste in certain expressions, a notice-
able lack of proportion in the composition of his works.
Eloquence and poetr}^ came to him only when he ceased
to search for them. He toiled over his work too long,
and often spoilt it by corrections. These are all great
defects ; but when the}'' are redeemed b}' such merits a
man must be — as he said ingenuously' of himself, and
as he had the right to say — devilishly strong."
A critic of our day has said of Gautier's portrait of
204 Honore de Balzac,
Balzac that it was not critical. This may be true in
the sense in which it was said, but the portrait will last
long after the criticism of periods and of schools has
passed awa3\ It is a true picture of the man's nature,
and the more valuable because Gautier could not have
shared anj^ of Balzac's great beliefs, while perceiving, in
a measure, the spirit that gave birth to them. Was it
the power of an inner man making itself felt upon his
naturallj' sympathetic and receptive mind through his
affections? At any rate, he has left us the only con-
temporaneous portrait of Balzac, written by a male
friend, which is of value. It is given here somewhat
abridged.-^
* ' When I saw Balzac, who was a year older than the
centur}', for the first time, he was about thu'ty-six, and
his personalit\' was one of those that are never forgot-
ten. In his presence Shakspeare's words in Juhus
Caesar came to my memorj' ; before him, ' nature
might stand up and say to all the world, '^ This was a
man ? " ' He wore the monk's habit of white flannel or
cashmere, in which, some time later, he made Louis
Boulanger paint him. What fancy had led him to
choose, in preference to all other costumes, this partic-
ular one, which he always wore, I do not know. Per-
haps it s3'mbolized to his eyes the cloistral life to
which his work condemned him ; and, benedictine of
romance, he wore the robe. However that ma}^ be, it
became him wonderfull3\ He boasted, showing me his
spotless sleeves, that he never dropped the least spot of
1 Portraits contemporains par Theophile Gautier, 1 vol. G.
Charpentier et Cie. Se^ie ed. Paris, 1886,
Honors de Balzac. 205
ink upon it, * for,' lie added, ' a true literary man ought
to be clean at Ills work/
" The gown was flung back, disclosing the neck of an
athlete or a bull, round as the section of a column,
without visible muscles, and of a satiny whiteness
which contrasted with the stronger tones of the face.
At this period Balzac, who was then in the vigor of his
age, showed signs of a robust health little in keeping
with the romantic pallor then in vogue. His pure Tou-
rainean blood glowed in his full cheeks with a healthy
crimson, and warmly colored those good lips, thick and
curved, and ever laughing, which a slight moustache
and an imperial defined, without concealing. The nose
which w^as square at the end, divided into two lobes,
and furnished with nostrils that opened widely, had a
thoroughl}" original and individual character ; so that
Balzac, posing for his bust, commended it to the sculi>
tor, David of Angers ; ' Pay attention to mj^ nose,' he
said ; ' my nose is a world.' The forehead was hand-
some, vast, noble, and noticeably whiter than the rest
of the face, with no lines but a perpendicular one,
which started from the root of the nose, the bump of
locality making a very decided projection above the
eyebrows. His thick hair, which was long, wiry, and
black, was thrown back over his head like a lion's
mane. As to the e^es, there were never any like them ;
they had a life, a light, an inconceivable magnetism ;
the white of the eyeballs was pure, limpid, with a blue-
ish tinge, like that of an infant or a virgin, inclosing
two black diamonds, dashed at moments with gold
reflections, — eyes to make an eagle drop his lids, eyes
to read through walls and into bosoms, or to terrify a
206 JSonore de Balzac.
furious wild beast, the eyes of a sovereign, a seer, a
subjugator.
" The habitual expression of the face was that of
puissant hilarity^ of Rabelaisian and monachal joy (the
frock no doubt contributing to the idea) w^hich made
3^ou think of friar Jean des Entommeures ; but dignified
withal, and uplifted by a mind of the first order.
" As usual, Balzac had risen at midnight, and had
worl^ed until my arrival. His features showed no sign
of fatigue, except that of a slight brownness beneath the
eyelids, and he was gayety itself during the whole
breakfast. Little by little, the conversation turned on
literature, and he complained of the difficulties of the
French language. St3'le troubled him much, and he
sincerely thought he had none ; it is true that at this
time the critics, as a rule, denied him any. The school
of Hugo, lovers of the sixteenth century- and the mid-
dle-ages, learned in form, rhythm, structure, periods,
rich in words, trained in prose by the gymnastics of
verse, following always a master under certain fixed
conventions, thought little of any writing that was not
' well written ; ' that is to say, elegant in tone and
polished beyond measure ; and they thought, moreover,
that tlie presentatit)n of modern manners was useless,
vulgar, and wanting in ^ lyricism.' Balzac, in spite of
the vogue he was beginning to acquire with the pub-
lic, was not admitted among the gods of romanticism,
and he knew it. Though the}^ read his books eagerly
enough, they did not dwell on the serious aspect of
them ; in fact, even to his admirers, he was long ' the
most proUfic of our novel-writers,' and nothing more.
This seems amazing to us now, but I can answer for
Ilonore de Balzac. 207
the truth of it. Consequently, he took unwearying
pains to form his style, and in his great anxiety for
correctness he would consult those who were far inferior
to him. He told me that before putting his name to
any of his books he had written under various pseudo-
nyms a score of volumes * to unlimber his hand.'
*' But to return to the breakfast. While talking, Balzac
pla^-ed with his knife or his fork, and I noticed that his
hands were of rare beauty, the hands of a prelate, white,
with tapering, dimpled fingers, the nails polished and
rosy. He cherished his hands, and smiled with pleasure
when an}' one looked at thera, attaching a sense of race
and aristocracy to their beauty. Lord Byron said in
a note, with visible satisfaction, that Ali Pasha compli-
mented him on the small ness of his ear, from which
he had inferred he was a gentleman. Such a remark
about his hands would have pleased Balzac more than
any praise of his books. He had, in fact, a sliglit prej-
udice against those whose extremities were clumsy.
" I left him, after agreeing to write for the ' Chronique
de Paris' (he was then starting it), in which appeared
my *Tour en Belgique,' 'La Morte Amoureuse,' the
* Chaine d'or,' and other works. Charles de Bernard,
another of the 3'oung men whom Balzac called to his
assistance, wrote his ' Femme de quarante ans ' and
the ' Rose jaune ' for the ' Chronique.' Balzac had
lately invented the ' woman of thirty ; ' his imitator
added two lustres to that already venerable age, and
his heroine had an equal success.
*' Whoever knew Balzac familiarl}' is able to find in
the Comedie Humaine a crowd of curious details on his
character and on his work, — more especially in his first
208 Honore de Balzac.
books, in which he had not entirel}' freed himself from
his personahty, and lacking subjects to observe, he dis-
sected himself. For instance, the story of Facino Cane
contains precious indications of the life he led in his
garret as a young aspirant of fame. They are doubly
precious because they throw light on one side of Balzac's
life which is very little known, and reveal in him the con-
sciousness of that powerful faculty of intuition which he
possessed in so high a degree, and without which the
realization of his great work would have been impos-
sible. Balzac, Hke Vishnu, the Hindu god, possessed
the gift of avatar^ — namel}', that of incarnating him-
self in different bodies, and of living in them at his
pleasure ; with this difference, that the number of
Vishnu's avatars is limited to ten, while those of Balzac
are innumerable ; and what is more, he could evoke them
at will. Strange as it may seem to say so in this nine-
teenth century, Balzac was a Seer. His power as an
observer, his discernment as a physiologist, his genius
as a writer, do not sufiicientl}' account for the infinite
variety of the two or three thousand types which play
a role, more or less important, in his human comedy.
He did not copy them ; he lived them idealk. He wore
their clothes, contracted their habits, moved in their
surroundings^ was themselves during the necessary time.
Through this faculty came those sustained and logical
characters, which never contradict and never duplicate
one another ; personalities endowed with a deep and
inmost reality, who, to use one of his own expressions,
compete for their civil rights. Red blood flows in their
A^eins in place of the ink which ordinary writers infuse
into their creations.
Honore de Balzac. 209
*' And yet Balzac, immense in brain, penetrating
physiologist, profound observer, intuitive spirit, did
not possess the literar}- gift. In him yawned an abyss
between thought and form. Sometimes he despaired
of ever crossing it. Into it he flung volume after vol-
ume, nights of toil without number, essay upon essa}',
without ever filling the gulf; a whole librar}' of unac-
knowledged books went into it. A less robust will
would have been discouraged and overcome ; but Bal-
zac, hap[)ily, had unshaken confidence in his genius,
which all others ignored. He willed to be a great man,
and he became one, b}- the incessant projection of that
fluid, more powerful than electricit}', of which he has
made such subtle analysis in Louis Lambert.
" Contrary to the writers of the romantic school, who
were all remarkable for the fearlessness and facility of
their execution, producing their fruits almost at the
same time as their flowers (a double forth-putting
which seemed involuntarj'), Balzac, the equal of them
all in genius, could not find his method of expres-
sion, or found it onlj' after infinite labor. Hugo says,
in one of his prefaces, with his Castilian pride : ' I
do not understand the art of soldering a fine thing
over a defective one ; I correct the defect in another
volume.' But Balzac riddled with erasures his tenth
proof; and when he found me sending back to the
' Chronique ' the proof of an article (written in a flash at
the corner of a table) with no corrections except the
typographical ones, he could not believe, however sat-
isfied he might be otherwise, that I had done my best.
' It might have been better if you had gone over it two
or three more times,' he would say.
14
210 Honor e de Balzac.
'' He used to preach to me a curious literary hj^giene,
with himself for an example. I ought to shut myself
up for two or three 3'ears, drink water, eat vegetables
like Protogenes, go to bed at six o'clock, get up at
midnight and work till morning, employ the da}^ in re-
viewing, expanding, pruning, improving, polishing the
work of the night ; correcting proofs, taking notes, mak-
ing the necessary studies, and, above all, living in the
most absohite chastity. He insisted much on this last
recommendation, rather rigorous for a 3'oung man of
twenty-five. According to his ideas true chastit}' de-
veloped to the highest degree the powers of the mind,
and gave to those who practised it mysterious fac-
ulties. When I timidly remarked that the greatest
geniuses had not deprived themselves of love, of pas-
sion, nor even of pleasure, and cited a few illustrious
names, Balzac shook his head and answered : ' They
would have done greater things without them.'
" It must not be thought that he was jesting in pre-
scribing these rules, which even a Trappist would have
thought strict. He was perfectl}^ convinced of their
efficacy, and spoke with such eloquence that I did, on
several occasions, conscientiousl}' tr}^ this method of
obtaining genius; I got up at midnight, took the in-
spiring coffee (made after a special formula), and sat
down at m}- writing-table, — on which sleep made no
delay in dropping my head. ' La Morte Amoureuse '
was my only nocturnal production.
" With his profound instinct for reality, Balzac per-
ceived that the modern life he wished to paint was gov-
erned by one mighty fact, — Money. Assuredh' no
man was ever less avaricious than he, but. his genius
Honor e de Balzac, 211
made him foresee the immense part about to be pla3'ed
by that metallic hero, more interesting to modern society
than the Grandisons, the Des Grieux, the Werthers,
Laras, Renes, and Quentin Durvvards. At the period
when the first novels signed by his name appeared, the
world had not, in the same degree that it has to-day,
the absorbing interest, or I might better call it, the fever,
of gold. California was not discovered ; a few miles
of railway were all that existed, and no one suspected
their future ; the}^ were looked upon as a new species of
montagne russe, then fallen into disuse ; the general
public were ignorant of what we now call ' business ; '
bankers alone gambled at the Bourse. The movement
of capital, the glitter of gold, the calculations, the
figures, in short, the importance given to money in
novels, hitherto taken for mere romantic fictions and
not for serious pictures of life, astonished the sub-
scribers of the circulating libraries, and the critics set
to work to add up the sum total expended or brought
into action by the author. The millions of old Grandet
were discussed arithmetically ; and sober-minded men,
excited by the enormity of the totals, threw doubts on
Balzac's financial abilit3% — an abilit}^ which was, how-
ever, really great, and so admitted, later. Stendhal
says, with disdainful foppishness of manner, ' Before
sitting down to write I always read three or four pages
of the Code civil to tone me up.' Balzac, who knew
so much of mone}^ found poems and dramas in the
Code. The bankruptcy in C^sar Birotteau stirs us
like the history of the fall of an empire. The struggle
between the chateau and the cottage in Les Paysans
presents as many vicissitudes as the siege of Tro3%
212 Honore de Balzac,
But these new elements introduced into a novel did not
please at first. Philosophical analj'sis, elaborate pict-
ures of character, descriptions, of a minuteness which
seemed to have in view a distant future, were thought
of grievous length, and more often skipped to follow
the story. Later, it was seen that the author's purpose
was not to weave the intrigues of a complicated tale,
but to paint society as a whole, from summit to base,
with its living beings and its inanimate things. Then
it was that people began to admire the immense variety
of his types. I think it is Alexandre Dumas who
calls Shakspeare ' the greatest creator after God.' The
words might be applied, with even more justice, to
Balzac ; for never, in truth, did such a number of living
beings issue from any other human brain.
"About the year 1836 Balzac conceived the plan of
his Comedie Ilumaine, and attained to a full conscious-
ness of his genius. He then attached the works already
written to his general idea, and gave them their place
in the philosophical categories he had marked out.
Some novels of pure fancy did not fit in very well, in
spite of the hooks afterwards attached to them ; but
these were mere details, lost in the immensit}- of the
whole, like the ornaments of another style in a noble
edifice.
'•I have said that Balzac worked laboriousl}', and,
stubborn founder that he was, returned the metal to
the pot a dozen times if it did not completely fill the
mould. Like Paliss}-, he would have burned the furni-
ture, the floors, even the beams of his house to keep up
the fire of his furnace, and forego no experiment. The
severest necessities never induced him to deliver a work
Honore de Balzac. 213
on which he had not spent his last effort ; he gave
man}" admirable examples of this literar}- conscientious-
ness. When, sitting before his table in his monkish
robe in the silence of the night, with the white sheets
lying before him, on which fell the light of seven candles,
which he always used concentrated by a green shade,
he forgot all, and then began a struggle greater than
that of Jacob with the angel, that of form and idea.
In the morning, when he issued from that battle, wearied
but not vanquished, the fire being out and the atmos-
phere of the room chilly, liis head smoked and his body
exhaled a sort of mist like that we see from a horse in
winter. Sometimes a single sentence would occup}" a
whole night. It would be made and remade, twisted,
kneaded, hammered, lengthened, shortened, written in
a dozen different ways, and, singular to relate, the
proper form, the absolutely best, did not present itself
until after all approximative forms had been exhausted.
No doubt the metal did often flow with a fuller and
freer current, but there are very few pages in Balzac
which are identical with the first copy.
" His method of proceeding was as follows : When he
had long borne and lived a subject, he wrote, in a
rapid, uneven, blotted, almost hierogljphic writing,
a species of outline on several pages. These pages
went to the printing-office, from which they were re-
turned in placards ; that is to say, in detached columns
in the centre of large sheets. He read these proofs at-
tentively ; for they alread}' gave to his embryo work
that impersonal character which manuscript never pos-
sesses ; and he applied to this first sketch the great
critical facult}-' with which he was gifted, precisely as
214 Honore de Balzac.
though he were judging of another man's work. Then
he began operations ; approving or disapproving he
maintained or corrected, but, above all, he added.
Lines started from the beginning, middle, or end of
sentences, and made their wa}^ to the margins on the
right or left or top or bottom, leading to amplifications,
insertions, deletions, epithets, and adverbs. After some
hours' work the paper might have been taken for a draw-
ing of fireworks by a child. Rockets, darting from the
original text, exploded on all sides. Then there were
crosses, simple crosses, crosses re-crossed like those of
a blazon, stars, suns, Arabic figures, letters, Greek,
Roman, or French, all imaginable signs mingled with
erasures. Strips of paper, fastened on b}' wafers or
pins, were added to the insuflScient margins, and were
rayed with lines of writing, very fine to save room, and
full themselves of erasures ; for a correction was hardly
made before that again was corrected. By this time
the original proof had almost disappeared in the midst
of this apparently cabalistic scribble, which the compos-
itors passed from hand to hand, each unwilling to do
more than one hour of Balzac.
'' The following da}' the proofs came back, all correc-
tions made, and the bulk of course doubled. Balzac
set to work again, — always amplifying ; adding here a
trait, there a detail, a picture, an observation of man-
ners, a characteristic word, an effective sentence ;
pressing the idea more and more into the form, and
getting always nearer to his inward conception ; choos-
ing, like a painter, from three or four outlines the final
line. Often this tremendous labor ended with an in-
tensity of attention, a clearness of perception of which
Honor e de Balzac. 215
he alone was capable. He would see that the thought
was warped b}' the execution ; that an episode predom-
inated ; that a figure which he meant should be secon-
dar}^ for the general effect, was projecting out of his
plan. Then with one stroke of his pen he bravel}^
annihilated the result of four or five nights of labor.
He was heroic at such times.
" I have seen at Les Jardies, on the shelves of a book-
case which contained only his own works, each different
proof of the same book bound in a separate volume,
from the first placard to the finished volume ; and the
comparison of Balzac's thought in its various stages
was a curious studj^ and contained many useful literary
lessons. Near to these volumes, b}" the bye, was a
shabby old book of unpleasant appearance, bound jn
black morocco without punches or gilding, which at-
tracted my attention. *Take it down,' said Balzac,
* it is an unpublished work of mine, and has its value.'
It bore the title Comptes Melancholiqiies^ and con-
tained a list of all his debts, the dates at which his
notes fell due, the bills of his tradesmen, and the whole
array of threatening documents which the Stamp legal-
izes. This volume, as if in derisive contrast, stood
side by side with the Contes Drolatiques^ ' to which
they are not the sequel,' said Balzac, laughing.
" In spite of this laborious manner of working, Balzac
produced a great deal, — thnnks to his superhuman will
assisted by the temperament of an athlete and the se-
clusion of a monk. When he had some important work
on hand he would write sixteen or eighteen hours out
of the twenty-four for two or three consecutive months ;
he granted to his animalit}^ onh' six hours' sleep, which
216 Honore de Balzac.
was heavy, feverish, and convulsive from the torpor of
digestion caused by his hasty meals. At such times
he disappeared completely ; even his best friends lost
trace of him. Then he would reappear as if from un-
der ground, flourishing his work over his head, laugh-
ing his heart}^ laugh, applauding himself with, perfect
naivete, and bestowing on his work the praises he asked
of none. No author was ever so indifferent to articles
and criticisms on his books. He left his reputation to
make itself witliout raising a finger to help it, and never
did he court the journalists.
" Sometimes he would come to m}^ rooms of a morn-
ing, breathless, tired-out, giddy with the fresh air, like
Vulcan escaping from his forge, and fling himself on
the sofa. His long night's work had made him hungry,
and he would pound up sardines and butter, making a
sort of pomade of them which reminded him of the
rillettes of Tours, and spreading it on bread. It was
his favorite food ; and he had no sooner eaten it than
he fell asleep, telling me to wake him at the end of an
hour. I paid no attention to this request ; on the con-
trar}', I stopped the noises of the house to prolong that
well-earned sleep. When Balzac woke of himself and
saw the twilight gathering its gra}- tints upon the sky,
he bounded up, called me a traitor, thief, assassin ; I
had made him lose ten thousand francs ; if he had been
awakened he should have followed out the thread of a
story which would have brought him in at least that
sum, — without counting reprints ; I had made him
miss rendezvous with bankers, editors, duchesses ; he
should be too late to take up a note ; that fatal sleep
might cost him millions. But I was well accustomed
Honors de Balzac, 217
to his hyperboles, and consoled myself readily when I «
saw how the tine Tourainean color had come back to his
rested face.
•'The great Goethe held three things in horror, one
of which was tobacco-smoke. Balzac, like the Jupiter of
the German Olympus, could not endure tobacco under
any form ; he anathematized a pipe and proscribed
cigars ; he would not even allow of the smallest Span-
ish papelito ; the Oriental narghile alone found favor in
his sight, and then only as a curious bibelot possessing
local color. His philippics against Nicot's herb were
not like those of a certain doctor who, during a disser-
tation on the horrors of tobacco, took plentiful pinches
from a snuff-box beside him. Balzac never smoked.
His Traite des Excitants contains an indictment in
form against tobacco, and there is no doubt that if he
had been sultan, like Amurath, he would have cut off
the heads of relapsed or refractor}^ smokers. He re-
served all his excesses for coffee, which did him so much
harm and perhaps killed him, though he was organized
for a centenarian.^
" In 1839 Balzac was living at Chaillot in the rue des
Batailles, a house from which he had a fine view of the
course of the Seine, the Champs de Mars, the Ecole
Militaire, the dome of the Invalides, a large part of
Paris, and the slopes of Meudon. He had surrounded
himself with some luxury' knowing that in Paris no one
believes in poverty-stricken talent, and that a well-to-
1 We may add to these personal traits that he never carried
money or a watch. Sometimes this brouglit him into difficulties.
He would walk into Paris from Les Jardies and have no means of
paying his fare back, or getting a dinnefr
218 Honore de Balzac.
do appearance often leads to doing well. To this period
belong liis passing fancy for dandyism and elegance,
the famous blue coat and gilt buttons, the cane with
the turquoise knob, the appearance at the Bouffes
and the Opera, and his more frequent visits in societ}^,
where his sparkling wit and animation made him wel-
come, — useful visits, moreover, for they gave him more
than one model. It was not easy to make one's way
into his house, which was guarded like the garden of
the Hesperides. IVo or three passwords were neces-
sary, which were changed frequently, for fear they
should become known. I remember a few. To the
porter we said, 'The plum season has come,' on which
he allowed us to cross the threshold. To the servant
who rushed to the staircase when the bell rang it was
necessary to murmur, ' I bring some Brussels lace ; '
and if you assured him that ' Madame Bertrand was
quite well,' 3'ou were admitted forthwith. This non-
sense amused Balzac immensel}^ ; and it was perhaps
necessary, to keep out bores, and other visitors still
more disagreeable.
" One of Balzac's dreams was of friendship, — heroic,
devoted friendship ; two souls, two valors, two intel-
lects blended in one will. That of Pierre and Jaffier
in Otway's ' Venice Preserved ' had always struck him
and he often talked of it. His Histoire des Treize is
this idea enlarged and complicated, — a powerful unity,
composed of several persons, all acting bhndly for one
agreed end. Real life and intellectual life were never
as defined and separate in Balzac as in other authors,
and his creations often followed him from his study.
He wished to form an association in the style of that
Honor e de Balzac. . 219
which united Ferragus, Montriveau, Ronquerolles, and
their companions ; only tliere was no question of their
bold strokes, — the actual plan confining itself to some-
thing much simpler, as follows : A certain number of
friends were to stand by each other on all occasions ;
they were to work according to their capacity for the
success or the fortunes of whichever one of them might
be designated, — with return of service, of course.
Much delighted with his scheme, Balzac recruited aux-
iliaries, whom he brought into relations with each other
with as man}' precautions as though the matter con-
cerned a political societ}' or a branch of the Carbonfiri.
When the number was complete he assembled the
adepts and explained the object of the society. Need-
less to say that all declared their satisfaction without
discussion, and the statutes were voted with enthusiasm.
No one possessed the gift of stirring, super-exciting,
intoxicating even the coolest heads and the sedatest
minds like Balzac. He had an overflowing, tumultuous,
seductive eloquence that carried you off 3'our feet
whether you would or no ; no objections were possible
against him ; he would drown them in such a deluge of
words that you had to be silent. Besides, he had an
answer for everything, and he would fling you a glance,
so flashing, so illuminated, so charged with electric fluid
that he infused his desires into 3'our mind.
'' The association, which counted among its members
Granier de Cassagnac, Leon Gozlan, Louis Desno3'ers,
Jules Sandeau, Merle (known as the handsome Merle),
myself, and some others whom it is useless to name,
was called Le Cheval Rouge [the Red Horse]. Why
the Red Horse, you will ask me, any more than the
220 • Honore de Balzac.
Golden Lion or the Maltese Cross ? The first meeting
of the associates took place at a restaurant, on the quai
de I'Entrepot, at end of the pont de la Tournelle, the
sign of which was a quadruped ruhricd pictus ; and
this, had given Balzac the idea of the name, which
seemed sufflcienth^ queer, unintelligible, and cabalistic.
" When it was necessarj' to discuss some project
Balzac, elected b\' acclamation grand master of the
Order, sent a faithful messenger to each horse (the
slang appellation the members went by among them-
selves) with a letter, in which was drawn a small red
horee, and the words ' Stable, such a da}^, such a
place.' In society, though we all knew each other
(most of us for half our lifetimes), we were to avoid
speaking, or else meet coldly, to escape all suspicion
of connivance. Sometimes in a salon Balzac would
pretend to meet me for the first time, and then, with
winks and grimaces such as actors use for their asides,
he would seem to be saying : ' See how well I play mj-
part.'
" What was the object of the Cheval Rouge? Was
it organized to change the government, establish a new
rehgion, found a school of philosophy, rule men, seduce
women? Very much less than that. We were to get
possession of newspapers, invade the theatres, seat
ourselves in the armchairs of the Academj^, win a
string of decorations, and wind up modestl}^ as peers
of France, ministers, and millionnaires. All that was
easy — according to Balzac ; it was only necessar}^ to
have a perfect mutual understanding; such common-
place ambitions ought to prove to us the moderation of
our characters.
Honors de Balzac, 221
" I smile to myself as I here betra}', after so many
j'ears, the secret of this literary free-masonry, — which
had no result whatever. But, at the time, we took
the thing seriously ; we imagined we were the IVeize
themselves, and felt surprised that we could not pass
through barriers as they did ; but the world is so ill-
contrived ! After four or five meetings the C/ieval
Mouge ceased to exist, most of the horses being unable
to pay for their oats in the symbolic manger ; and the
association, organized to obtain all things, was dis-
solved because the members often lacked fifteen francs,
the cost of the reckoning. Each therefore plunged
back alone into the battle of life, fighting witli his own
weapons ; and this explains why it was that Balzac
never belonged to the Academy, and died a chevalier
onl}' of the Legion of honor.
'^ The idea, nevertheless, was a good one. Others,
who adopted it, put it in practice without the same
romantic phantasmagoria, and succeeded.
*' I am writing my recollections of Balzac just as they
come to me, without attempting to give connection to
that which cannot be connected. Moreover, as Boileau
has told us, ' transitions are the great difficulty of
poetr}',' and, I may add, of essays, — but modern jour-
nalists have not the conscience, nor the leisure, of the
Parnassian legislator.
'' Madame de Girardin was one of the women who
professed a great admiration for Balzac ; he was fully
alive to it, and showed his gratitude b}- frequent
visits, — he so char}-, and rightly too, of his time and
his hours of labor. No woman ever possessed in a
greater degree than Delphine, as we allowed ourselves
222 Honore de Balzac.
to call her familiady among ourselves, the art of bring-
ing out the qualities of her guests. With her they were
always at their best, and they left her salon astonished
at themselves. No pebble so unpolished but what she
could strike a spark from it, and on Balzac, as 3'ou may
well believe, there was no need to strike the flint long ;
he sparkled instantly, and flamed up. Balzac was not
precisely a conversationalist, quick in reply, flinging a
keen or decisive word into the discussion, changing the
subject imperceptibly as the talk flowed on, touching all
things with a light hand, and never exceeding a quiet
half-smile. On the contrary, he was full of animation,
eloquence, and an irresistible brio ; and, as ever}' one
stopped talking to listen to him, conversation in his
presence was apt to degenerate into soliloquy. The
point of departure was soon forgotten, — he passed
from anecdote to philosophical reflection, from social
observations to local descriptions ; and as he spoke his
cheeks would color, his e3'es became strangely luminous,
his voice took man}' inflections^ and sometimes he would
burst out laughing at the droll apparitions which he saw
before he spoke of them. At the least provocation his
natural gayety broke forth, swelling his strong chest ;
it sometimes disturbed the squeamish, but the}^ were all
forced to share it, no matter what efforts they made to
keep their gravity. Do not think, however, that Balzac
ever sought to amuse the gallery ; he simpl}^ 3'ielded to
a sort of inward intoxication, — sketching with rapid
strokes and with comic intensity and incomparable
drollery the fantastic images that were dancing in the
dark chambers of his brain. At the time when he was
writing Un Debut dans la vie he wanted proverbs for
Honors de Balzac. 223
his rapin Mistigris, and Madame de Girardin, on the
other hand, was also in search of sayings for the famous
lad}^ with the seven Uttle chairs in the ' Courrier de
Paris.' M3- help was occasionally called in ; and if a
stranger had entered the room and seen Delphine, with
her white fingers thrust through the meshes of her
golden hair, profoundly thinking, and Balzac sitting on
the arm of a big chair (in which Emile de Girardin was
usually asleep), his hands at the bottom of his trousers
pockets, his waistcoat rubbed up over his stomach, one
foot dangling with rhythmic motion, his face expressing
by its contracted muscles some extraordinary' struggle
of the mind, and me, curled up among the cushions of
the sofa like an hallucinated theriaki, — this stranger, I
say, would never have suspected what we were about ; he
would have thought that Balzac was dreaming of an-
other Xys, Madame de Girardin of a role for Rachel,
and I of some sonnet. Ah, the good evenings which
can never come again ! Who would then have believed
that grand and superb woman, carved in antique mar-
ble, that sturd}', robust, apparently long-lived man,
who had within him the vigor of a wild boar and a bull,
half Hercules, half faun, and was framed to see a hun-
dred years, would soon be laid to sleep, one at Mont-
martre, the other in Pere-Lachaise, and I should alone
remain to record these memories already so far awaj^,
and about to perish forever unless I write them down ?
" Balzac had the makings of a great actor in him. He
possessed a full, sonorous, resonant voice, which he knew
how to moderate and render soft at will, and he read
admirably, — a talent lacking to most actors. When
he related anything he played it, with intonations, facial
224 Honors de Balzac.
expressions, and gestures which no comedian ever ex-
celled, as I think. On one occasion, at Les Jardies, he
read us Mercadet^ — the original Mercadet^ fuller and
more complicated than the pla}^ afterwards arranged
for the Gymnase, with tact and ability, b}' d'Ennery.
Balzac, who read like Tieck, without indicating either
acts or scenes or names, assumed a special voice per-
fectly recognizable for each personage. The organs
with which he endowed the various creditors were of
spleen-dispelling comedj' ; the}' were of all kinds, hoarse,
honied, hurried, drawling, threatening, plaintive. This
one yelped, that one mewed, others growled and grum-
bled and howled, in tones possible and impossible. In
the first place. Debt chanted a solo, presently sustained
b}' a vast chorus of creditors ; they came from every-
where, — from behind the stove, from under the bed,
from the drawers of the bureau ; the flue of the chimney
vomited them ; they squeezed through the ke3'-hole ;
some scaled the window like lovers ; others sprang, like
a jack-in-the-box, from a trunk, — 'twas a mob, an up-
roar, an invasion, a tidal wave. In vain Mercadet
tried to shake them off, others came to the assault, and
far on the horizon dark swarms of creditors were sug-
gested, like legions of ants making for their prey. I
don't know whether the play were better so, but no
representation of it ever had the same effect upon me.
" During this reading of Mercadet Balzac, who had
sprained his ankle b}' slipping on his steep property-,
lay on a sofa in the salon of Les Jardies. Some sharp
thing passing through the covering pricked his leg, and
annoyed him. Picking it out, he said, ' The chintz is
too thin, the hay comes through.' Franpois, the Caleb
Honore de Balzac. 225
of this Ravenswood, not liking any jest on the splen-
dors of the manor, corrected his master and said * the
horse-hair.' * Then that upholsterer has cheated me ! *
cried Balzac ; ' I particularly told him to put ha3\
Damned thief! '
" The splendors of Les Jardies, however, existed only
in dreams. All Balzac's friends remember how they as-
sisted in decorating the walls (left in the bare plaster
or covered with gray paper) by writing thereon, ' Rose-
wood panels,* ' Gobelin tapestries,' ' Venetian mir-
rbr,' ' Picture by Raphael.' Gerard de Nerval had
already decorated an apartment in the same way. As
for Balzac, he really imagined it was all gold and mar-
ble and silk, — but, though he never furnished Les
Jardies, and though he did sometimes make his friends
laugh with his chimeras, he has built himself an eternal
dwelling, a monument more durable than bronze or
marble, a vast city, peopled with his creations and
gilded with his glory.
'' No one can pretend to write a complete biography
of Balzac. All relations with him were broken into from
time to time by gaps, absences, disappearances. Work
ruled his life ; and he had, with a very kind and tender
heart, the selfishness of a hard worker. Who would
have dreamed of being angrj- with him for negligence
or apparent forgetfulness after seeing the results of his
flights and seclusions? When, the work accomplished,
he reappeared, you would have thought he had parted
from you the night before ; he took up the interrupted
conversation as though six months had not elapsed.
He travelled much in France to study the localities
where he placed his provincial and his country scenes ;
15
226 Honore de Balzac.
and he stayed with friends in Touraine or La Charente,
where he found a peace his creditors did not alwa^'s
let him have in Paris. Occasionally, after some great
work was finished, he allowed himself a longer excur-
sion, to Germany, Northern Italy, or Switzerland ; but
such journeys rapidly made, with anxieties about notes
falling due, work to deliver, and a limited viaticum,
often harassed him more than the}^ rested himl "^
"Contrary to the habit of many illustrious literary
men who are fed by their own genius, Balzac read a
great deal and very rapidly. He loved books, an5
had collected a fine library which he meant to be-
queath to his native town, until the indifference of his
compatriots towards him made him relinquish the idea.
He absorbed in short time the voluminous works of
Swedenborg belonging to his mother, who was occu-
pied in studying mysticism at one period. To this we
owe jSeraphita^ one of the most wonderful productions
of modern literature. Never did Balzac approach —
never did he clasp ideal beauty so closely as in this
book. The ascent of the mountain has indeed some-
thing ethereal, supernatural, luminous, which lifts 3'ou
above this earth. The onl}^ colors he emploj'S are the
blue of the heavens and the white of the snow, with
pearly tones for shadows. I know nothing more en-
trancing than that opening. The panorama of Norway'
with " its serrated edges like a granite lace " seen
from those heights, dazzles me and gives me vertigo.
Louis Lambert shows the same influences ; but soon
Balzac, who had taken wings from the mj'stics to soar
into the infinite, returned to this earth on which we
dwell ; though his strong lungs were able to breathe the
Honor e de Balzac, 227
subtile air which is death to feebler beings. After these
flights he returned from that upper-world to our lower
life ; perhaps his noble genius would too quickly have
passed from sight had he continued to rise to the im-
measurable immensities of the science of mind, and
we ought to consider it a fortunate thing that Louis
Lambert and Seraphita were the only doors he opened
into the world invisible.
*' As 3'ears went on his hard life of nocturnal work
did, in spite of his strong constitution, leave certain
traces on Balzac's face ; and I find in Albert Savarus a
portrait of him, drawn by his own hand, which describes
him as he was in 1842, with slight modifications, —
fewer kilograms of weight, for instance, as became the
man beloved by the Duchesse d'Argaiolo and Made-
moiselle de Watteville. This story, one of the least
known and least quoted of all his books, contains many
details on his habits of life and work ; one might even
find, if it were allowable to lift the veil, confidences of
another nature.
"Balzac, who has painted women so marvellousl}-,
must have known them well. In one of his letters to
his sister, written when he was quite young and com-
pletely unknown, he reveals the ideal of his life in two
words, ' to be famous and to be loved.' The first,
which all other artists seek, was realized from point to
point. Did the second meet with its fulfilment? In
the opinion of those who were most intimate with him
he practised the chastity he recommended to others.
During our intimac}', which lasted from 1836 until his
death, onl}^ once did Balzac make allusion, in the ten-
derest and most respectful terms, to an attachment of
228 Honor e de Balzac.
his earl}' 3'outh ; and even then he onlj^ told me the
first name of the woman whose memory, after so many
years, brought the moisture to his eyes. But, had he
told me more than he did, I would certainly not abuse
his confidence ; the genius of a great writer belongs to
the world, but his heart is his own. I pass lightl}- over
this tender and delicate side of Balzac's life, — all the
more that I have nothing to say of it that does not do
him honor. His reserve and silence were those of an
honorable man. If he was loved as he desired in his
dreams, the world has known nothing of it.
" Do not imagine after this that Balzac was austere or
prudish in language ; the author of the Contes Drola-
tiques was too imbued with Rabelais, too pantagruelist
hinaself not to have his merriment ; he knew good
stories, and could invent them ; his indecorous jol-
lit}', interlarded with Gallic plain-speaking, would have
frightened the canting, and made them cry out, ' Shock-
ing ! ' But those laughing, loquacious lips were silent
as the grave where serious feelings were concerned.
Scarcely did he allow his nearest and dearest to guess
at his love for a foreigner of distinction, — a love which
I may speak of here because it was crowned hy mar-
riage. It was this passion, dating back a long while,
which explained his distant journej^s, the object of
which was a mj^ster}' to his friends until almost the
last of his life.
" About the year 1844 it was that Balzac first began
to show a taste for old furniture, chests, potter}', and
Chinese vases. The smallest bit of worm-eaten wood
which he bought in the rue de Lappe always had some
illustrious beginning ; and he made out circumstantial
Honore de Balzac. 229
genealogies for all his bibelots. He concealed them
here and there, on account, he said, of his creditors,
in whose reality I was beginning by this time to lose
faith. I even amused myself by spreading a report
that Balzac had become a millionnaire, and that he
bought old stockings of the ragman in which to keep
his ounces, doubloons, Genoese gold-pieces, and double-
louis, after the manner of Pere Grandet. I told every-
where of his three vats, like those of Aboulcasem, filled to
the brim with carbuncles and dinars and omans. ' Theo
will get my throat cut with his nonsense ! ' said Balzac,
provoked and delighted.
'' What gave some color to m}" joke was the new resi-
dence which Balzac had lately bought in the rue For-
tunee, quartier Beaujon, then less populated than it is
now. Here he occupied a mysterious little house which
sheltered the new fancies of my sumptuous financier.
When you made your way into this retreat, which was
not at all easy, for the master of the house denied him-
self to visitors, you beheld a vast number of luxurious
and comfortable details much in contradiction to the
poverty he affected. He admitted me one da}', and
showed me first a dining-room, panelled in old oak,
with table, mantelpiece, buffets, shelves, and chairs in
carved wood, fit to rouse the envy of Berruguete,
Cornejo Duque, or Verbruggen ; then a salon in gold
damask, with doors, cornices, plinths and window-cas-
ings in ebony ; a library, with ranges of shelves inlaid
with tortoise-shell and copper in the style of Boulle ; a
bath-room done in black and yellow marble, and finished
in stucco ; a dome-roofed boudoir full of old pictures
restored by Edmond Hedouin ; and a gallery lighted
230 Honor e de Balzac.
from above, which I recognized later in Cousin Pons.
All sorts of curiosities were on the etageres ; Dresden
and Sevres porcelains, and specimens of pale-green
crackle. On the staircase, which was covered by a car-
pet, were tall Chinese vases and a magnificent lantern
suspended by a red-silk cord.
*' ' You certainly have emptied one of Aboulcasem*s
vats ! ' I said, laughing. ' You see I was right in call-
ing you a million naire.'
" ' I am as poor as ever,' he replied, with a deprecat-
ing air ; ' nothing of all this is mine. I have furnished
the house for a friend whom I am expecting. I am
onl}' the porter of the hotel.'
'^I quote his actual words. He made the same an-
swer to other persons, who were as much puzzled as I
was by it. The mystery was soon after explained by
his marriage with a lad}' whom he had long loved.
" Poster! t}' has begun for Balzac ; every da}' his fame
grows greater. When he mingled with his contempo-
raries he was ill-appreciated ; he was seen onl}- b}' frag-
ments and under aspects that were often unfavorable.
Now, the edifice that he built rises higher and higher as
we recede from it — like the cathedral of some town,
hidden at its base by clustering houses, but seen on the
horizon in all its vastness above the diminished roofs.
The building is not completed ; but such as it is, it
awes us by its immensit}', and future generations will
ask who was the giant who raised those might}' blocks
and constructed that Babel in which a whole society is
humming."
Honore de Balzac. 231
CHAPTER VIII.
HIS sister's narrative concluded.
I AM obliged, though unwillingly, to speak of a law-
suit which my brother was compelled to institute in
1836 against the " Revue de Paris," in relation to Le
Lys dans la YalUe. Not that I wish to revive en-
mities, God forbid ! but this suit affected his life too
seriously to allow me to pass it over in silence ; it
reduced him, for a time, to the distress and anxiety of
his first literary jears just as he was about to triumph
over them, by depriving him of the support of reviews
and newspapers, and by exciting much malevolence
against him.
The facts were these : While Le Lys dans la Vallee
was in course of publication in the '' Revue de Paris,"
friends in St. Petersburg informed my brother that the
work was being published in full in that city, though
less than half had been issued in Paris. Supposing
that this was done without the knowledge of the editor,
Honore hastened to inform him of the injury to tlieir
mutual interests. He then discovered that the editor
himself, believing no doubt that he acted within his
rights, was directing the publication in Russia. My
brother objected ; the editor became angry, and would
not listen to an}' amicable arrangement. Honore then
232 Honore de Balzac.
told him _ that he should take the case to the courts
and ask for a legal decision on the rights of authors.
He would not allow such a wrong to pass, for it might
be made a precedent in future 3'ears as much to the
injury of his brother- writers as to his own.
To bring such a suit as this was daring a great deal ;
for whether won or lost it was certain to have fatal con-
sequences to Honore independently of the question of
money, which was so important to him ; for no one
could doubt that the " Revue" would close its columns
to him and become his enemy. Such considerations,
however, could not stop him, and he brought the suit.
What was his amazement when liis antagonist appeared
in court armed with certificates of good repute and
literary honor ^ signed by nearly all his brother writers,
whose interests as well as his own he was endeavoring
to defend at his personal risk and peril. Honore was
deeply hurt at what he thought disloyalty. For a long
time he divided his fellow-authors into two camps :
those who had signed and those who refrained from
signing. And when his anger was over the want of
logical common-sense in the former still provoked him.
His rights were evident, however ; he won the case,
and with it a great many enemies.
This lawsuit, together with the book entitled Illu-
sions perdues^ in which he has drawn a picture of the
feuilletonists, exasperated the press against him ; and,
so bitter are literar}^ hatreds, even his death has not
disarmed them all. He troubled himself verj^ little
about such attacks, and he often brought us the papers
or periodicals in which the worst appeared, and read us
the articles.
Honore de Balzac, 233
''Just see what a state of mind those fellows are
in," he would say. *' Fire awa}', my dear enemies, the
armor is proof: it saves advertising; your praises
would leave the public indifferent, but your insults will
wake them up. Don't the}' howl ! If I were rich,
people might say I paid them. However, we mustn't
say a word; if they get the idea they are doing me
good they are capable of holding their tongues."
We thought otherwise, and the attacks troubled us.
'' How silly you are to taJce them to heart," he would
say. "Can critics make my work good or bad? let
time, the great umpire, show ; if these fellows are
wrong the public will see it some day or other, and
injustice then becomes a benefit to those it has in-
jured. Besides, these guerillas of art hit true some-
times; and by correcting the faults the}^ point out my
work is improved, — in fact, I really owe them some
gratitude."
Therefore he would make neither remonstrance nor
explanations. Once only he broke the rule of silence
he had laid down for himself by writing the Mono-
graphic de la presse. This work, sparkling with wit
in ever}' line, was wrung from him by his friends ; they
accused him of weakness, almost of cowardice ; he
showed his claws to oblige them ; but he afterwards re-
gretted the work, which wronged, he thought, his char-
acter if not his talent.
The fatal consequences of this struggle with the
"Revue de Paris" are told in the following letter,
written from the rue des Batailles, at Chaillot, where
he lived after leaving the rue Cassini, and before he
inhabited Les Jardies : —
234 Honore de Balzac.
" Your husband and Sophie came yesterday, and ate
a horrible dinner in my bachelor's den at Chaillot ; it
was the more unseemly because the kind brother had
been running about all day on mj' account.
" I have just concluded a good arrangement with the
' Estafette.' The other journals will come back to me
some day ; the}" need me. Besides, have they taken
my brain-fields from me, or my literary Adneyards, or
the woods of intellect? are there not other publishers
to fall back on? Some publishers, not understanding
their real interests (that is incredible to you, isn't it?),
prefer books which have not appeared in a periodical.
This is not the time to enlighten them ; though it is
quite clear that a previous publication saves them the
cost of advertising, and that the more a book is known
the better it will sell.
" Don't fret therefore ; there is no danger as j^et in
the domicile ; I am tired, it is true, even ill, but I have
just accepted Monsieur de Margonne's invitation to
spend two months at Sache, where I shall rest and take
care of myself. I shall attempt something dramatic,
while I finish I^ere Goriot and correct La Recherche
de VAbsolu. I shall begin with Marie Touchet ; it will
make a strong piece in which I can bring strong char-
acters on the stage.
"I will not sit up so late; don't worry too much
about that. Let us be just ; if troubles have given me
a liver-complaint I have come honestly b}^ it. But halt
there, Mistress Death ; if j^ou do come, let it be to shift
my burden, for I have not yet accomplished m}" task !
Don't therefore worry yourself too much, Laure ; the
sky will come blue again.
Honore de Balzac. 235
*' The Medecin de Campagne is being reprinted; it
was out of print ; that 's nice, is n't it?
''The widow Bechet^ has been sublime; she has
taken upon herself four thousand francs for proof cor-
rections, which really belonged to me ; that 's nice, too,
isn't it?
*' Rel}^ upon it, if God grants me life, I shall have a
noble place in the future, and we shall all be happy.
Let us be merry, my good sister ; the house of Balzac
shall triumph ! Shout it aloud with me, very loud, that
Dame Fortune may hear us, and for God's sake don't
fret."
The letter which follows shows him in one of those
moments of discouragement which no artists, however
vigorous in mind they may be, can entirely escape.
" I am so sad to-day that there must be some sym-
pathetic cause for such sadness. Can it be that some
one I love is suffering? Is my mother ill? Where is
m}' good Surville ? is he well, bod^' and soul ? Have
you news of Henry, and is it good? You and 3'our
little ones, can it be that any of you are ill? Write me
at once and ease my mind.
" My dramatic attempts are doing badly. I shall
give them up for the present. Historical drama re-
quires great scenic effects, which I know nothing about,
and which, perhaps, I could only find out in a theatre
with intelligent actors. As for comedy, Moliere, whom
I wish to follow, is a disheartening master ; it takes
days upon days to attain to anything good of that
kind, and time is alwaj's lacking to me. There are,
1 His new publisher.
236 Honord de Balzac.
besides, such innumerable difficulties to conquer before
I can handle even one scene ; and I have not the time
to give to tentatives. A masterpiece alone, together
with my name, would open the doors of a theatre to me,
and I have not attained to masterpieces. Not being will-
ing to risk m}' reputation, I should have to find an inter-
mediary — more time lost, and the worst of it all is I
have not any time to lose. I regret giving up the stage ;
dramatic work is more productive than books, and
would sooner bring me out of ni}' trials. But hardships
and I took each other's measure long ago ; I have con-
quered them in the past and I will conquer them again.
If I succumb, it is because Heaven wills it, and not I.
"The painful impression my distresses make upon
you ought to prevent me from telling 3'ou of them ; but
how can I help relieving m}^ over-full heart by pouring
it out to yours ? Yet it is wrong to do so. It takes a
more robust organization than you women have to bear
the tortures of a writer's life.
*' I work harder than I ought to, but how can I help
it? When at work I forget my troubles, and it is that
which saves me ; but 3'ou, you forget nothing. There
are persons who are offended by this faculty-, and they
add to my sufferings by not comprehending me.
" I ought to insure my life, to leave, in case of death,
a little fortune to my mother. All -debts paid can I meet
the costs? I must see about this on my return.
"The time during which the inspiration of coffee
lasts is lessening. It now excites my brain for only
fifteen days consecutively, — fatal excitement, too, for
it gives me horrible pains in the stomach. That is the
same time that Rossini assiojns to its stimulus.
Honore de Balzac. 237
" Laiire, if I wear out eveiy one about nie I shall not
be surprised. An autlior's life is never otherwise ; but
to-da}' I have the consciousness of what 1 am and what
I shall be. What strength it needs to keep one's iiead
sound when the heart suffers thus. To work night and
da}^ and see myself constantly attacked when I need
the tranquillity of a cloister to do my work ! When
shall I have that peace? Shall I ever have it for a
single day? onl}' in the grave, perhaps. They will do
me justice there ; I like to think so. My best inspira-
tions have ever come to me in moments of extreme an-
guish ; they will shine upon me still —
'* 1 stop ; I am too sad ; heaven should have given a
happier brother to so affectionate a sister.
My brother was then overwhelmed by a great heart-
sorrow.^ I cannot pubHsh an}' parts of his correspond-
ence except that which relates to himself and his books,
or shows him under the aspect of son and brother.
These restrictions deprive the public of many interest-
ing pages, especially those which he wrote me after the
death of a person very dear to him. I have never read
anything so eloquent as the expression of that grief.
A friend allows me to print the following letters, by
which the reader can judge of my brother in his friend-
ships : —
'' My dear Dablin,^ — Here is the corrected manu-
script and the proof-sheets of the Chouans, As soon
1 Tlie death of Madame de Berny.
2 Monsieur Theodore Dablin was a rich ironmonger of the rue
Saint-Martin, who had the tastes of an artist and a generous
heart. He was one of Balzac's most faitliful friends, and often
lielped him in his early days with advice and also with means.
238 Honore de Balzac.
as I put my name to any of my compositions I des-
tined this one for you. But the chances which rule the
fate of books decreed that the Chouans should not be
reprinted since 1834 until now, though many persons
have thought the book better than its reputation. If I
were of those who make their mark upon their epoch
this dedication might be of value in future years ; but
neither you nor I know the solution of that enigma.
Therefore consider it only as a proof of the friendship
which remains in my heart, though you have not culti-
vated it for many years. Ever 3'ours."
The dedication of the Chouans reads thus : ''To the
first friend, the first work."
'' My dear Dablin, — My sister tells me that an ex-
pression which escaped me has hurt your feelings. It
would be knowing me \qv\ little to think me a half-
friend. It is nearly eighteen years since that Easter
da}^ when, passing through the place Vendorae between
you and Monsieur P. le H., close to the column, I (be-
ing then very young) felt and said what I could be
some day. You said that honors and prosperity
changed men's hearts. I answered that nothing could
change mine in its affections. That is true ; I have
been false to none ; to-day all those who have been m}"
true friends are on a footing of a perfect equalit3\ If
3^ou saw more of me yoxx would know this. I have re-
mained very much of a child in spite of the reputation
I have won; only I have the selfishness of a hard
worker. Sixteen hours a day given to the construction
of a great work, which will one da}' be gigantic, leaves
me little time to dispose of. This deprivation of the
pleasures of the heart is the heaviest tax I pay to the
Honore de Balzac, 239
future. As for the pleasures of the world and of life,
art has killed them all without one regret from me.
"I think that intellect and feeUng make all men
equal. Therefore, m}- friend, never again put into the
singular what I say of the masses. I have been four
times to your house to see you and you are off I don't
know where. If I am unable to soothe your wounded
heart in person, this letter will tell you how great my
astonishment was when my sister told me I had hurt
you.
** Adieu; a long letter like this is a luxury to me.
Heartfelt regards, and ever yours."
My brother, going four times to find Monsieur Dablin,
who lived at a great distance, to assure him that a
rough remark which escaped him in a discussion was
said without the slightest personal meaning, was cer-
tainly not a lukewarm friend.
The letter which follows was addressed to my friend
Mme. Carraud, in answer to one from her on the Physi-
ologie du Mariage, which incurred her displeasure.
*' The feeling of repulsion which you had on reading
the first pages of the book I sent you, is too honorable
and too delicate for any mind, even that of the author,
to be offended by it. It proves that you do not belong
to a world of duplicity and treacher}', that you know
nothing of a social existence which blasts all things,
and that you are worthy of a solitude where man is
ever great and noble and pure. It is perhaps unfortu-
nate for the author that you did not overcome that first
feeling which naturally seizes an innocent heart at the
240 Honorc de Balzac.
hearing of a crime, the picturing of evil in the language
of Juv(?nal, Rabelais, Persius, or any other satirist of
the same kind. Had yon done so I think you would
have been reconciled to tlie book after reading certain
strong lessons, certain vigorous pleas in behalf of wo-
man's virtue.
*' But I cannot blame 3-ou for a repugnance which
does 3'ou honor. How could I be hurt with 3-ou for be-
longing to 3'our sex? I therefore humbl3" ask your
pardon for the involuntary offence, against which, if
3'ou remember, I had warned 3'ou ; and I beg 3'ou to
believe that the severe judgment 3'ou pronounce upon
the book cannot alter the sincerit3' of the friendship
3'OU suffer me to feel for 3'OU. . . .
'' Forgive me, dear, m3' jokes about the mone3"
earned b3' writing. The3- have shocked 3'ou ; but the3'
were reall3' as boyish as a great deal that I do and sa3\
Do 3'OU think money really compensates for my work
and health? No, no! If my imagination runs awa3^
with me sometimes, I soon come back to the noble and
the true ; do believe that.
" 1 am now writing for the ' Journal de I'Europe Lit-
teraire/ where I have a note of five thousand francs to
meet. At the time that journal came near failing liter-
ary men pledged themselves to help it. It is the last
time I will involve myself in that wa3'. I ought not, in
order to do good to some, to do wrong to others."
My brother was serious in all his thoughts, and it
must not be supposed (as man3' have imagined) that
the learning and the science on which he touches from
time to time in his books were lightly studied and then
Honore de Balzac. 241
forgotten. What he knew he did not know superfi-
cially ; where he was ignorant he naivel}* admitted his
ignorance ; and when he had to treat of certain subjects
which he had not studied, he consulted those who spe-
ciall}' understood them, and was careful to acknowledge
openl}' the service the}' had rendered to him. There
was pride, perhaps, in such acknowledgments. He was
capable of thinking that nothing but lack of time kept
him from knowing everything.
His constant desire for mone}^, which has been so
often blamed, will be, I think, understood and justified
by the circumstances I have related. He wanted money
in the first place to pay his debts to all. He who craves
it from such a motive deserves, surely, the respect of
others. My brother, entering life through misfortunes,
struggled bravely against the storm like the Portuguese
poet, lifting high above the waves that threatened to
engulf him the Work he expected should give him fame.
Such circumstances still further magnify that work.
It is therefore with a feeling of pride that I have here
narrated his misfortunes.
I find a letter of this period which refers to his work.
It is dated from La Boulonniere, a little estate near
Nemours, where he afterwards placed the scene of his
Ursiile Mirouet.
*' La Fleiir des pois [subsequently called Le Contrat
de mariage] is finished. I have succeeded, I think, in
what I wished to do. The single scene of the signing
of the marriage contract shows the future of the couple.
You will find in it a touch which 1 think intensely comic ;
the struggle between the young and the old notariat. I
16
242 Honor e de Balzac.
have managed to attract attention to a discussion of that
act. This book is one of the chief scenes in the series
of private life ; later, I shall write the Inventaire apres
deces, in which the horrible mingles with the comic.
Appraisers ought to know a good deal about human
turpitude ; I shall make them talk. . . .
"All 3^ou write about my purchase of the bit of
ground at Ville-d'Avray does not affect it. You don't
seem to understand that that piece of real estate is an
investment which represents what I owe to ni}" mother ;
I have not the time to discuss it now ; but I will con-
vince you when we meet."
The attacks against my brother increased rather than
lessened ; the critics, unable to repeat the same things
forever, changed their batteries and accused him of im-
morahty. It was the best means in their power of doing
him harm, and of alienating the public, who began to be
alarmed and to manifest ill-will against the author of the
Comedie Ilumaine. His works were forbidden in Spain
and in Italy, more especiallv in Rome. Immorality,
which is easy to judge of in actions, is difficult to de-
fine in works of art. Are not pictures of vice as instruc-
tive on the stage or in books as pictures of virtue?
What writer, unless it be Florian or Berquin, has escaped
the charge of immoralit}' from contemporary critics? It
is the resource of such critics when the}' have nothing
to say on the literary value of works. Moliere was their
target for his Tartufe, Richardson for his Lovelace,
that brilliant and vicious man. What did they not say
about the house to which Lovelace takes Clarissa?
What outcries followed the Manon Lescaut of Provost !
Honore de Balzac, 243
These accusations were very injurious to my brother ;
the}' grieved him deeply, and sometimes the}' dislieart-
ened him.
''Those men persist in ignoring the ensemble of my
work in order that they may pick the details to pieces,"
he said. " My blushing critics veil their faces before
certain personages in the Gomedie Hiimaine^ who are,
unfortunatel}', as true as the others and set in strong
relief in my vast picture the morals of the present da}'.
There are vices in our time as there were in former times.
Do they wish, in behalf of innocence, that I should vow
to purity all the two or three thousand personages who
figure in the Comedie Humainef I should like to see
them in action ! I did n't invent the Marneffes, male
and female, tlie Hulots, the Philippe Brideaus whom
everybody elbows in our worn-out civilization. I write
for men^ and JiQt,_ for young ^irls. But I defy them to
cite a single page in which religion or the family is at-
tacked. Such injustice revolts the soul and saddens the
heart ! What tortures success is made of ! " he added,
dropping his head in his hands. " But after all, why
complain ? "
Is it not, in truth, a condition of superiority that such
minds shall be tortured? Is not their crown too often
of thorns, which the vulgar acclaim ironically, denying
their kingship until the day when death gives them im-
mortality ? My brother has said somewhere in his works
that " Death is the consecration of genius."
It is right, however, to say that if Balzac was often
wounded by those who wilfully misrepresented his ideas
and his character, and also by those who really did not
comprehend him, he sometimes met with triumphs which
244 Honore de Balzac.
avenged him for injustice. One only of these triumphs
can I relate here.
One evening, in Vienna, he was entering a concert-
room when the whole audience rose to salute the author
of the Comedie Humaine. As he passed through the
crowd on his wa}' out, a young man seized his hand
and put it to his lips, saying: "I kiss the hand that
wrote Serophita ! "
' ' There was such enthusiasm and conviction in that
3'oung face," Honore said to me, *' that the sincerity of
this homage went to my heart; they ma}' den}' m}^
talent if they choose, but tlie memory of that student
will always comfort me."
The man is doubtless still living ; should these words
meet his eye he will perhaps be glad to know that he
gave a joy to the great writer, a joy which he gar-
nered in his memory.
The letters which I have given will enable the public to
judge of the ardor of his mind and the warmth of a heart
that no disappointments ever chilled. To read his cor-
respondence makes one giddy ; how labors, hopes, and
projects succeed each other ! what activity of mind !
what courage, reborn incessantl}^ ! what riches of or-
ganization ! If sorrows of the heart (which were not
lacking to him) or weariness of mind and body caused
some discouragements now and then, how he conquered
them, recovering immediately his robust energy, and that
strength for work which never failed him !
The Balzac of society was no longer the man who
had poured out his troubles to his family in his talk
and letters. In the world he was amiable, brilliant,
and knew so well how to conceal his cares that he
Honors de Balzac, 245
passed for the equal of the prosperous ; conscious of
his own intellect he willingly took precedence of others.
His poverty he proudly concealed, because he did not
wish for pity ; had he felt himself freer in action, more
independent of other men, he would proudly have
avowed it. It was through misfortune that Balzac
came to have his knowledge of social life. Guided by^
the genius of observation he roamed the valleys and
the heights of the social state ; studied, like Lavater,
on the faces about him the stigmata which express to
the eye all passions and all vices ; collected his types
in the human bazaar like an antiquary ; chose his curi-
osities, evoked his types in places where they were use-
ful to him ; placing them on the first or the second
plane according to their value ; distributing light and
shade with the magic of a ^reat artist who knows the
power of contrasts, — in short, he imprinted on each of
his creations the names, features, ideas, language, and
character that belong to them, and which give them
such individuality that amid that teeming crowd not
one is confounded with another.
He had a singular theory about names ; declaring
that invented names did- not give life to imaginar}^
beings, whereas those that were actually borne endowed
them with vitality. He found those that he took for
the personages in the Comedie Humaine wherever he
walked, and he would come home radiant when he had
made some good capture of this kind.
" ' Matifat ! ' ' Cardot ! ' what delightful names ! " he
said to me. '' I found ' Matifat ' rue de la Perle, in the
Marais. I see my Matifat ! he '11 have the wan face of
a cat, and a little corpulence ; because a Matifat can't
246 Honord de Balzac.
have anything stupendous, 3'ou know. And Cardot?
that's another matter — he is a Uttle bit of a man, dry
as a pebble, lively and jovial."
I can quite comprehend his joy in finding the name of
Marcas ; but I suspect him of inventing the " Z."
Knowing the fidelity of certain of his portraits drawn
from nature, — for if he took their names from the liv-
ing he also took their characters, — we were sometimes
frightened by the likenesses, and dreaded the fresh
enmities we feared he would excite.
"How silly you are!" he would say, laughing and
shrugging those strong shoulders which did truly bear
a world. "Do people know themselves? Are there
any mirrors that reflect the moral being? If a Van
Dyke like myself painted me I should probably bow to
myself as if to a stranger."
Sometimes he audaciousl}' read his types to those
who had posed for them. His audience would highly
approve, and while we were looking on, full of anxiety,
and thinking that they could not fail to recognize their
portrait, they would say: " How true those characters
are ; 3'ou must have known Monsieur , or Monsieur
Such-a-one ; that's the very image of them, an actual
portrait ! "
Side by side with those who were unable to recognize
themselves were others absoluteh' convinced that cer-
tain characters in the ComMie Humaine were theirs.
How man}^ women have believed that they inspired his
Henriette ! My brother never drew an}' of these dear
deceived ones from the pleasant error which made them
so ardent in his defence. Let this silence be forgiven
him, for he had need of such devotion.
Honors de Balzac, 247
No author ever inade his plans and combinations so
far beforehand, or ever bore them longer in his brain
before writing them. He has carried to the grave
more than one book fully formed, which he reserved for
the days of the maturity of his talent, startled himself
at the vast horizons it opened before him.
" I have not yet reached the point of perfection
necessary to touch those great subjects," he said.
The Essai sur les forces humaines, the Pathologie
de la vie sociale, the Histoire des Corps Eiiseignants,
and the Monographie de la Vertu, were the titles of
some of these books, the pages of which, alas ! remain
forever blank.
Those who know literary art, and who study the
works of Balzac, no longer accuse him, as they once
did, of following mere chance or some aimless purpose.
He did occasionally, in obedience to certain necessities
of execution, change a few details, but never the plan
of a book, always laid down long in advance. No
writer ever chained down so rigidly to the rules of work
that prodigious fertility and facility with which nature
had endowed him.
"One should distrust those gifts," he said; "they
sometimes lead to sterile superabundance. Boileau
was right ; we must continually prune the style, which
alone gives permanence to a work."
The love he had for perfection, and his deep respect
for his own talent, and for the public, led him to work
too much over his st3'le. Excepting a few books writ-
ten under so happy an inspiration that he scarcely
retouched them (such as Za Messe de VAtMe^ La Gren-
adiere, Le Message^ La Femme Abandonn^e), it was
248 Honor e de Balzac.
only after correcting successively eleven or twelve
proofs of the sarae sheet that he gave the " order to
print," impatiently awaited by the poor compositors, so
wearied by his corrections that they could each do onl}-
one page at a time of his writings. While he was thus
requiring so many proofs of one sheet, and reducing by
a great deal his own profits (for publishers would no
longer bear the cost of his corrections) he was accused
by his traducers of a mercantile spirit in the printing of
his books. The compositors who printed them must
have laughed if they heard this. When injustice be-
comes grotesque there is nothing else to do ; and at-
tacks of this kind did not trouble my brother. What
anno3'ed him far more was to hear those who did not
understand his work pretend to praise it.
His least labored books — those which won for him
earl}" in his career the title of the " most prolific of
our novelists " — were those which gave him his reputa-
tion. Sheltered by that humble title, which did not
imply any great superiority and excited no jealousy, he
was able to print his more serious works, for which,
without this reputation, he might not have succeeded in
getting a publisher. He did not like men to judge him
only by those novels and tales the horizons of which
were limited. To many persons, specially those of
academic tastes, Balzac was only "• the father of Eugenie
Grandet." That was as far as such persons went with
him, and beyond that they allowed him neither capacity
nor fame. I do not feel to that book as my brother
did ; and I do not approve of diminishing the merits of
such a literary gem, which has been justly compared
to a painting of Mieris, or Gerard Dow ; but I do think
Honore de Balzac. 249
that many of his books surpass it in mental depth,
if they cannot surpass it in truth and in finish of
execution.
The title " most prolific of our novelists," which was
useful to him in the beginning, was injurious in some
respects, and especially in this, that Balzac remained
unknown to men of serious minds, who thought this
prolific writer unworthy to occupy even their leisure
hours ; while, on the other hand, more frivolous per-
sons, who fed upon novels exclusively, skipped as wear-
isome or digressive, the serious parts of his books, for
which the fictitious parts were often only the setting ;
consequentl}', man}^ of those who read the Comedie
JSumaine knew no more about it than those who never
read it at all.
Thus it was that Balzac did not at first obtain the
place to which he has a right on the book-shelves of
thinkers, beside Rabelais and Shakspeare and Moliere,
through his glorious relationship to those great spirits.
Friends and relatives who followed Balzac from the
cradle to the grave can say confidently that tliis man,
so clear-sighted, so lucid in thought, was confiding and
simple as a child in his amusements, sweet-tempered
and gentle even in his darkest da3's of discouragement,
and so amiable in his home that life was good beside
him. The man who wrote the Cure de Village^ Les
Parents pauvres^ and Les Paysans was like a school-
boy in the holidaj's when he took his recreation. He
sowed his morning glories along the garden wall at
Passy, watched for tiieir blooming in the morning, ad-
mired their colors ; went into raptures over the jew-
elled armor of some insect; rushed through the Bois
250 Honore de Balzac.
de Boulogne to Suresnes (where we were then living)
to play a game of boston with his family, among whom
he was more of a child than his nieces ; laughed at
puns, envied the lucky being who had the ' ' gift " of
making them, tried to do so himself, and failed, saying
regretfully, '' No, that does n't make a pun." He used
to cite with satisfaction the only two he had ever made,
" and not much of a success either," he avowed in all
humility, " for 1 did n't know I was making them" (we
even suspected him of embellishing them afterwards).
Procerbes retournes, which at one time were much the
fashion in the studios, occupied him much ; he was
luckier with them than with the puns ; he composed
several for his favorite Mistigris {Debut dans la Vie)
and for Madame Cremiere in Ursule Mirouet. *' A
wife should be the working caterpillar of the house-
hold " gave him as much delight as his finest thoughts.
''None of you people would have thought of that! "
he said to us.
He composed mottoes for our lotteries, under which
we hid the lots, and would rush in quite joyful when he
thought he had some good ones.
""An author is good for something," he said quite
seriously.
The music-master, Schmucke, and the banker,
Nucingen, whom he made to speak German-French,
amused him not less than his dear rapin Mistigris and
Madame Cremiere. He laughed the tears into his e3'es
when he read to us what he made them say in their
terrible jargon.
Much has been said, and not without reason, of his
excessive self-satisfaction ; but it was so frank, and
Honor e de Balzac, 251
withal so well justified, that those who knew him pre-
ferred it to that false humility which often covers far
more pride. How could we help forgiving self-satisfac-
tion in the man who had put his name to the Medecin
de Campagne^ the Recherche de VAbsolu^ the Cure du
village^ and so many other great works, when the con-
viction of his talent could alone give him the patience
and strength necessary for the creation of such works ?
It would have been better, no doubt, had he repressed
this naive enthusiasm for himself; but it would have
been asking the impossible of a man of his frankness
and vivacity of feeling. Moreover, we can see in his
letters how swiftly doubts followed his greatest satis-
factions ; and they were just as sincere as his self-con-
ceit. * At such times he would ask anxiously if we
thought his works (which were shortening his days)
would make him live longer than other men in the
minds of his fellows.
But it must not be supposed that his self-love was
deaf and could not hear the truth. We might say
to him plainl}', " Such a thing is bad, in our opinion."
He would begin by exclaiming, arguing, abusing us
perhaps, and declaring that the particular part thought
bad was precisely the best in the book. But if, in spite
of his anger, we held firm and maintained our own
opinion, this firmness made him reflect; he had not lost
a single one of our remarks and observations ; he
weighed them and he judged them in the solitude of
his toilsome nights, and he would come back in the
morning to press the hands of the friends who cared for
him enough to tell him the truth.
** You were right," or, " You were wrong," he would
252 Honore de Balzac.
say with the same good faith, having as much gratitude
in the one case as in the other. And it was such friends
whom he really preferred, in spite of his self-conceit.
He was the first to laugh at that conceit and to let
others laugh, and he was moreover ver}" clever in dis-
covering the value of praise and was never duped by
unmeaning flattery. He was simple and confiding, but
he could not be a fool.
He admired talent wherever he met it, — equally in his
friends as in his enemies, and would defend both against
all vulgar attacks which calumniated intellect. How
many times he protected, without letting it be known,
poor unknown authors whose first works chance had
thrown in his way ; he would go himself to the editors
of reviews and journals to say, "That man has a fu-
ture." And his opinion carried weight.
An incisive or picturesque phrase sufficed him to
present a situation, or the future of a man; and it
would be impossible to tell a story better than he, or to
talk or read better. In fact, it would not do to let him
read his books to you if 3'ou wished to judge of the
weak spots ; he could have made an audience admire
the verses of Trissotin.
The egotism for which he has been blamed grew out
of his miserable situation and his hard labor. Freed
from such pressure he was capable of being helpful to
others and devoted ; witness the friendships which he
retained to the end of his life ; and certain young liter-
ary aspirants could testify that he gave them, more than
once, advice and time, his only property. But he who
sacrifices his life to live in the future has the right to
withdraw from the demands of society, from all those
Honore de Balzac. 253
little duties which are the life of men of leisure ; and
because m}' brother did so withdraw, he does not de-
serve to be accused of indifference. The letters which
I have cited are a replj' to this reproach of selfishness,
and will enable the reader to judge of his heart. But
more than this, ho possessed the art of making himself
so beloved that in his presence all grievances which,
rightly or wrongly, persons had against him were forgot-
ten, and nothing remained but the affection they felt for
him. The servants who waited on him have never for-
gotten him, and yet he was unable to do for them as he
wished. From the poor old woman of whom he speaks
in Facino Cane (she had taken the place of the " un-
intelligent Myself") — who went every morning to the
rue Lesdiguieres from the far-off purlieus of the fau-
bourg Saint-Antoine, and who used to go and see him
wherever he lived afterwards — to Fran9ois, the old
soldier, who was one of liis last retainers, all loved him
devotedly ; and God knows they had neither leisure
nor plent}- when the}' lived with him.
''I don't know what it is about him, but I'd serve
him for nothing," I have heard one of them sa}^ " You
don't feel tired or sleepy if he wants you, and if he
scolds you in return, it is all right."
As for his friendships, it is quite true, as he wrote to
Monsieur Dablin, that he betra3'ed none and kept them
all. Intimate with man}' of the most remarkable per-
sons of his time, they all took pride in his affection and
returned it in kind. More than once he left liis work
to sta}' with a sick friend ; with him such cl.auJiSLjQf_the_.
he art took p recedence of all others. The allurement he
felt to the friends he loved was so great that often when
254 Honore de Balzac,
he went to see them for a moment he sta3'ed hours ;
then came remorse and admonitions: —
" Monster ! wretch ! 3'ou ought to have been making
cop3' instead of talking ! " and more time was lost in
adding up the number of hours which such pleasures
had cost him, — an exorbitant sum, which, beginning
with reasonable figures, attained to the fabulous. " For
we must reckon the reprints," he said.
To sum up all, this great spirit had the graces and
the charm of those who shine by amiabilit}^ alone. His
happy and kindly gayety gave him that serenity of soul
which he needed to continue his work ; but foolish
indeed are those who pretend to judge of Balzac in
his hours of exuberance ; the child-man once at work
became the gravest and most profound of thinkers.
George Sand, who knew m}- brother well, has spoken
nobly of him, being mistaken on one point only;
namel}', the extreme sobriet}^ which she attributes to
him. His life was not that of an anchorite. Outside
of his work, which took precedence of everything, he
loved and enjoyed the pleasures of this world ; and I
tliink he might have become the most conceited of men
had he not also been the most prudent. He, so out-
spoken in all that related to himself, never committed
any indiscretions in his social relations, and faithfully
guarded the secrets of others though be never was able
to keep his own.
I find in his letters the following appreciation of
George Sand, whom he called his " brother George,"
doing homage, no doubt, to her virile genius : —
" She has none of the littleness of soul nor any of
those base jealousies which cloud so many contempo-
Honore de Balzac. 255
rary talents. Dumas is like her in that respect. George
Sand is a ver}' noble friend ; and I would consult her
with perfect confidence in moments of doubt as to the
logical course to take under such or such circumstances.
But I think she lacks the critical sense, at any rate
loses the first impulsion of it ; she allows herself to be
too easily persuaded, does not hold firmly enough to
her own opinions, or know how to contend against the
arguments her adversary brings forward."
My brother used to say, laughingly, in allusion to his
want of height, that ".great men were nearly always
short; probably because the head should be near the
heart, so that the two powers which govern the organi-/
zation should work in harmon}'."
At home he was always to be seen in a large dressing-
gown of white cashmere, lined with white silk, made like
the habit of a monk, and fastened round the waist by
a silk cord. On his head was the " Dantesque cap'' of
black velvet, made for him by his mother, which he first
took to wearing in his garret, and continued to wear
for the rest of his life. According to the hours at which
he went out, his dress was slovenly or \Qvy neat. If he
were met in the morning, wearied with twelve hours'
hard work, and rushing to the printers with his hat over
his eyes, his beautiful hands hidden in shabby gloves, his
feet in shoes with high quarters, that were often outside
the loose trousers pleated at the waist and held down
with straps, he might have been confounded with the
common herd. But if his brow were uncovered, if he
looked at a passer-by or spoke to him, the most ordinary
of men would remember him. His intellect, constantly
exercised, had developed to its highest degree a forehead
256 Honore de Balzac,
naturallj^ vast, the receptacle of man}- lights ! That in-
tellect showed itself also in his first words and even in his
gestures. A painter might have studied on that mobile
face the expression of all sentiments, — joj, pain, energy,
discouragement, iron^^ hope, or disappointment, — all
conditions of the soul were reflected there.
He triumphed over the vulgarity which seems to be-
long to corpulence by manners and gestures that were
full of grace and natural distinction. His hair, the
fashion of which he was fond of changing, was always
artistic, no matter how he wore it. An immortal chisel
has left his features to posterit}'. The bust which David
made of m}' brother, then forty-four 3'ears of age, has
faithfull}' reproduced his noble brow, and that fine hair
(the sign of a physical vigor that equalled his moral
vigor), the admirable setting of the eyes, the firm
lines of his square nose, the mouth with its curved lips,
where good-humor and satire met and mingled, and the
chin which completed the pure oval of his face before
obesit}' injured its harmon}^ But marble unhappily
could not present those torches of the mind, those
brown e3'es spangled with gold, like the eyes of a
Ij'nx, — e3'es which questioned and answered without
the help of words, which saw ideas and feelings, and
threw out gleams that seemed to issue from an inv/ard
source which poured its ra^^s upon the daylight instead
of receiving any from it.
Balzac's friends will recognize the truth of these
words, which those who never knew him may think
exaggerated.
The time may come when I can finish this narrative
of my brother's life with an account of his last years.
Honor e de Balzac, 257
If so, its details will be accompanied by letters which
will show the change that experience so dearly bought
had wrought in that vast intelligence. The Balzac of
those years had outgrown his effusiveness, and had be-
come prudent, serious, even grave, but always without
misanthropy. I ma^' be able to tell of the last daj's of
a life cut down in the vigor of his age and of his genius,
before he had completed his work, just as he hoped for
happiness and was about to enjoy a tranquillity long-
desired, — a grievous fate, which touched the hearts of
friends and enemies alike.
Immense successes, great affections, were the joys
of his life ; he had also supreme afflictions ; nothing is i
diminutive in the soul of him whom God has endowed j
with exquisite sensibilities and a great mind. Who
shall dare to pity or to env}^ him?
I have revealed his nature ; I have shown him in his
private life, in his feelings for his family and friends.
I have related misfortunes valiantly fought with, cour-
ageously borne. I think I have fulfilled my task by
making others respect and love the man in the writer
whom they admire. Here ends my obligation to him
and to all. Strong souls alone can judge him as an
author.
17
258 Honore de Balzac.
r
CHAPTER IX.
RETROSPECTIVE.
It has been said that women are the ke3'stone
of Balzac's work. This is true ; but those who have
said it show no conception of its real meaning ; and it
will be instructive to see what the}- meant by what thej^
said before calling Balzac himself to testify to the sense
in which it is true.
Sainte-Beuve and Jules Janin were the chief critics
who in Balzac's lifetime attributed his success to women.
In his review of Xa Recherche deVAhsolu Sainte-Beuve
says : —
" In the first place and from the first, M. de Balzac
has put in his interests one half of the public, and a
very essential half to win. He has made it his up-
holder by adroitly flattering certain fibres secretly known
to him. ' Woman belongs to M. de Balzac,' says M.
Jules Janin ; ' she is his, — in full toilette, in dishabille,
in the most trifling particulars of her daily life. He
dresses her and he undresses her. He is a milliner,
or rather, he is a mantua-maker.' And, in truth, what
splendid materials he deals in ; onl}^ they are the worse
for wear ; spots of grease and oil are ,on them. M. de
Balzac has introduced himself to the sex as a confidant,
a consoler, a confessor with a touch of the doctor about
him. He knows many things about their sentimental
Honore de Balzac. 259
and their sensual secrets. Like a doctor he enters their
bedroom and speaks in a whisper of mysterious details
which confuse the modest. A friend of mine suggests
that he has the secret arts and sleight of hand of the
accoucheur or the magnetizer. Many women, even
respectable ones, are taken in by this. . . . M. de Bal-
zac has been fortunate enough to come forward at a
moment when the imagination of woman has been
greatl}' roused, since the emancipation of July, 1830, by
the hopes and promises of Saint-Simonianism."
After Balzac's death Sainte-Beuve added the follow-
ing to his former opinion : —
** Who has better painted the belles of the Empire?
Above all, who has so delightfully sketched the duch-
esses and viscountesses of the close of the Restoration?
— those women of thirty who, having had their day,
awaited their painter with vague anxiety; so much so
that when the}' met, he and they, an electric shock of
recognition passed between them. . . . The theor}^ of
the woman of thirty, with all her advantages and her
positive perfections, is a product of to-da}'. M. de Bal-
zac has invented her ; she is one of his most real dis-
coveries. The key of his immense success lies here.
For this women have forgiven him much, and the}' take
his word on all occasions because he has, this once, so
well understood them."
M. Taine, in his flux of words on Balzac, gives but
little space or thought to his work on woman and thus
dismisses it : —
*' The nature of woman is made up of nervous deli-
cac}', refined and active imagination, native and ac-
quired reserve. This is enough to say that it has almost
260 Honor e de Balzac.
always escaped Balzac's comprehension. . . . Wherever
there is a deformity or a wound Balzac is there. And
what are the promises of happiness and liberty that he
offers? — money, carriage, an opera-box. . . . When
Balzac tries to paint virtue, religion, or love, he is
hampered by their sublimit3\ . . . His finest portraits
of women are elsewhere, among the poor grotesque
fools, pretentious, silly or nagging, spurred by the
devil's claw which their fat libertine of a father, Balzac,
never fails to stick into them. . . . Wherever there is a
sore or a deformity Balzac is found in his quality as a
physiologist."
Among the critics of the present day Mr. Henry
James sa3'S, in substance, that Balzac's women are
made up of duplicity, — there are few human accom-
plishments for which he expressed so explicit a respect.
" Balzac is supposed to have understood the feminine
organism as no one else had done before him ; to have
had the feminine heart, feminine temperament, feminine
nerves at his finger's ends ; to have turned the feminine
puppet as it were inside out. ... It may be said that
women are the ke3'stone of the Comedie Humaiiie j if
they were taken out the whole fabric would collapse. . . .
It seems to us that his superior handling of woman is
both a truth and a fallac}^ To begin with, he does not
take that view of the sex that would commend him to
the female sympathizers of the day. There is not a
line in liim that would not be received with hisses at
an}' convention for giving woman the suflTrage or admit-
ting them to Harvard College. ... He takes the old-
fasliioned view of woman as the female of man, and in
all respects his subordinate. . . . Her metier may be all
Hoiiore de Balzac. 261
summed up as the art of titillating, in one way or other,
the senses of man. Woman has a ' mission ' certainly,
and this is it."
Women themselves have had no voice in this judg-
ment so far as the public are aware. It is not likely
that many could be found to endorse the views just
quoted, because, in the first place (and without touch-
ing upon the question of Balzac at all) the tone of these
remarks is contemptuous of womanhood. They belong
to a period of ideas on which is written passagere.
When we turn to Balzac himself for their refutation
we find that we must go to his life as well as to his
books, in order to discover the spirit of his mind towards
woman. He was not, as a general thing, in the habit
of enunciating principles ; he lived them and made his
characters live and illustrate them. W^e may not find a
confession of faith on this subject, but enough remains
of his words and deeds to show plainl}^ what was his
own conception of woman and her relation to man, —
what it was, and what it ought to be.
If we look back to the earliest years when a senti-
ment towards women could enter his soul, we find that
nothing could exceed the ardor with which he longed to
meet a woman-angel ; to him pure love was the coming
together of two angelic natures ; and these thoughts
kept him pure in heart and deed during his adolescent
life. The mind that analyzed itself in Louis Lambert
analyzed this particular belief and developed it in 8e-
raphita. In that book Balzac, while dealing with the
theories of Swedenborg, went far be3'ond them in his
perception of the one great truth on which the world
should hinge were it not out of joint.
262 Honore de Balzac,
He saw earl}^ that man is a dual being ; that man
aiid woman are needed to express humanity. He saw
also that the thread of the Divine which makes man in
the image of God is transmitted through woman ; that
she is the soul of humanity, regaining full intuition of
God. Man is, in himself, not man but male ; unable
to bring his powers to bear until he recognizes and ap-
propriates Her as his soul ; through her alone he attains
to manhood and is enabled to act. She is the trans-
mitter of the Divine effluence, the inspirer ; he is the
worker, the executor. It is not until her qualities of
endurance, love, and intuition are added to his qualities
of will, force, and intellect that he is a man at all, capa-
ble of an}^ hope or any ambition beyond the grovelling
and passing life of his threescore years and ten. Re-
ceiving this impulse from her, power is born in him, and
he ultimates this power, this effluence, in acts.
This is no new doctrine. It has existed through the
ages ; for it is the essential truth of all things, and the
world is out of joint because we have drifted so far
away from it. Each soul is an epitome of it, for sex
has onlj' an earthly and limited meaning ; the human
soul is man and woman both. Once recognized, and
the function of woman admitted, "there is no height
of goodness or knowledge to which she cannot raise the
man ; if only he follows her lead and keeps her free
from defilement by Matter and Sense, the direct traffic
with which appertains to him. In order properly to
fulfil her function in regard to man and attract his gaze
upward, she must herself aspire continually to the Divine
Spirit within her, the central sun of herself as she is
that of the man ; and the clearness with which she dis-
Honors de Balzac. 263
cerns and transmits the Divine Spirit depends upon her
own purit}'. If, withdrawing her gaze from it, she fixes
her eyes on things without and below, she falls, and in
her fall takes him with her. On the other hand, as
Soul and Intuition of Spirit, she leads him, phj'sic^lly
and mentally, from dissipation and perdition in the
outer and the material. She is the vehicle of the Di-
vine Life ; the transmitter of virtue, which is courage,
the one stable principle of human evolution." — '' She
is the spiritual element in humanity, lacking union with
which man must be chained forever to the material, and
waste his energies in struggles and labors which, even
when most successful, only carry him farther from the
true purpose of life, and render emancipation from car-
nal conditions more tedious and difficult. Goethe, like
Balzac, penetrated to the heart of the great problem in
the last scene of the second part of Faust. His Ewig-
Weibliche is the divine element which woman both
embodies and typifies, and to the purifying and stimu-
lating efllluence from which Man is indebted for what-
ever degree of enfranchisement from the clogging em-
braces of materialism he is able to accomplish. This
is the force which zieht uns hinan, which lifts us toward
higher spheres and inspires us with nobler aims ; which
on the physical plane keeps before our dull and earth-
drawn eyes constant examples of self-sacrifice, altruism,
patience, compassion, and love stronger than death ;
which is most effective in subduing and extirpating the
animal tendencies and inclinations from our nature, and
in substituting impulses and aspirations which may give
us foothold in the path that leads to a life better worth
living. In the figure of Seraphita we behold the final
264 Honore de Balzac.
efflorescence of such endeavor during which the domi-
nant impulse has been uniformly spiritual, and through
which the carnal elements have been gradually subdued
until at length they suffice only to give the mortal form
consistency, and to supply the ph3'sical means of that
inevitable agony of temptation which is the price of
translation to the Divine." ^
Much of the miser}' of the world, possibly all of it, is
attributable to the ignorance or the rejection of tliis
vital truth. The ghastly human miseries which come
from what we call " unhappy marriages " are explicable
when we consider that the world is practically ignorant
of this law. All men are now educated to believe that
power and the highest knowledge are vested in them ;
all women are now educated to receive this as true.
But mark what happens. A man and woman trul}- love
each other and marry ; there is ever}^ a-priori reason
to suppose that a beautiful and solid life in common
will be reared. It fails. Why? Because (1) the man
unconsciously looks for this power from his wife, all
the while consciously acting as if he were (as he has
been taught he is) the source of power ; and because
(2) the woman loyally tries to accept what she has
been taught, namely, that he is the source of power and
knowledge, when all the while she is learning (uncon-
sciousl}') that he is not ; and because (3) she is seldom
clear enough in her mind to think the truth out as it is,
1 For a further understanding of this subject, which can be only
briefly stated here, the reader is referred to the American transla-
tion of Seraphiia and to its introduction. 1 vol. Roberts Bros. :
Boston, 1890. Also to "The Perfect Way ; or, The Finding of
Christ." 1 vol. Scribner and Welford : New York, 1882.
Honors de Balzac, 265
and to recognize earl}' enongh her real mission, — which
is (applying what has alread}' been said) to transmit
illumination and power to him and receive them back
from him put into act and use.
Balzac earh' perceived this truth. It must have
come to such a thinker on the threshold of his inquisi-
tion into human life. The task lay before him, imposed
by the bent of his genius, to exhibit the world to itself
under all its aspects, with a picture of its diseases, the
secret of its distortions, and the possibilitj- of a return
to purit}'. ''In seeing me,'\ he says in his preface to
the Comedie Sumaine^ *' collect this mass of facts and
paint them as they are, in their element of passionate
emotion, some persons have imagined, ver}' erroneously,
that I belong to the school of materialists and sensual-
ists. They are mistaken. I put no faith in any indefi-
nite advancement of Society ; but I believe in the
development and progress of the individual human be-
ing. Those who find in me a disposition to look on
man as a complete being are strangely deceived. Se-
raphita is my answer to this accusation. In copying
the whole of societ}', and in trying to seize its likeness
from the midst of the seething struggle, it necessarily
happens that more of evil than of good is shown. Thus
some portion of the fresco representing a guilt}' group
excites the cry of immorality, while the critics fail to
point out a corresponding part which was intended to
show a moral contrast. The da}' of impartial judgment
has not yet dawned for me ; and I may add that the
writer who cannot stand the fire of criticism is no more
fit to start upon the career of authorship than a travel-
ler is fit to undertake a journey if prepared only for
266 Honore de Balzac,
fine weather. I shall mereh' remark that, although the
most scrupulous moralists have doubted whether Soci-
ety is able to show as much good as it shows evil, yet in
the pictures that I have made of it the virtuous charac-
ters outnumber the bad. Blameworthy' conduct, faults,
crimes, have invariably received their punishment, hu-
man or divine, evident or secret. In this I have done
better than the historian, for I have been free to do so.
History cannot, like the novel, hold up the law of a
higher ideal. History is, or should be, a picture of the
world as it has been ; the novel (to use a saying of
Madame Necker) should paint a possible better
world. '^
And he goes on to give, with pathetic insistence, a
list of the virtuous and irreproachable women who are
to be found in his works. Reading that list of women^
all strongly individual, nearly all powerful agents in the
places assigned to them, we may well wonder that a
critic could have found it in his mind to say that Bal-
zac's view of woman's metier may be summed up as the
art of titillating in one way or another the senses of man.
Here are the women in whom Balzac meant to typify
the best of human nature, that which has a tendency to
uplift and redeem the rest : Constance Birotteau,
Eugenie Grandet, Ursule Mirouet, Pierrette Lorain,
Marguerite Claes, La Fosseuse, Pauline de Villenoix,
Madame Jules, Madame de la Chanterie, Eve Char-
don, Mademoiselle d'Esgrignon, Renee de Maucombe,
Madame Firmiani, and many others on the second
plane.
The true reason why women are and always have
been friends to Balzac, whether as readers and stu-
Honors de Balzac. 267
dents or in actual life, is because he has perceived and
asserted their rightful place in humanity. He has
endeavored to inspire them with a sense — through /
awful and revolting pictures, it is true — of the conse-
quences of falling away from it. He preaches through
facts, never didactically ; but women have seen, more or
less consciously, his meaning, and, inspired by a hid-
den sense within them, they have heard his call to
bring about, ''a possible better world." This is a
reason which escapes male critics. But it would be
quite untrue to assert that such critics are wrong when
they sa}' that the women of thirt}' or forty or an}'
indefinite age are won b}^ the extension which Balzac
gives to their period of charm, and by the impor-
tance which he assigns to their part in life. On the
contrary,' all that magnifies their influence and lifts it
from the more material plane of youth and beauty,
where so many of their perils lie, is justly welcome to
women.
The keynote of Balzac as a moralist is therefore his
belief that woman is the Soul of man. He early saw
the distortions in societ}' caused b}' the ignoring of this
truth, and we must take his word to Madame de Cas-
tries and to Madame Carraud (alread}' quoted) that his
object in writing the Physiologie du Mariage, in 1829,
was to awaken ideas favorable to the emancipation
and higher education of women and to, insist on their
natural and inalienable rights. The book is not suit- '
able for translation, — the same medicine not being .
suited to all constitutions. The Anglo-Saxon mind .
is shocked b}' a jeering or jesting moralism, which
it calls cynicism. But, under any circumstances, the
268 Honore de Balzac.
subject is not tolerable to the conventions of our day,
which would rather not see truth, and when it sees it
escapes it b}' calling it immoral. Tolstoi, when deal-
ing with the same subject, conscientioush', in his out-
wardly brutal and shocking manner, has been tabooed.
The day has not come when it can be dealt with ; but
whosoever shall hereafter deliver a message upon it
which shall reach the universal heart and conscience
will do a deed for women in which Balzac intended to
do, and has done, his part.
At what particular period in his youth these beliefs
as to the true nature of woman's influence came to
him, it is impossible to say, all records of that period
having been destroyed. Whether they were the out-
come of the lad's own mind, trained b}' the meditations
at Vendome and b}' the noble vivginit}- of the senses of
which he speaks in Louis Lambert, or whether Balzac
w^as led to this study by a need to understand how and
why it was that he derived his own force from a woman,
cannot now be told. We know that he placed before
his mind many questions derived from the phenomena
of his own experience, and there are facts which justify
us in thinking that he did so now. Very earl}' in life, not
later probably than his twenty-third or twent3'-fourth
year, he met the woman-angel for whom he longed, and
who, thenceforth, inspired his life until some great
catastrophe overtook their love. All traces of her
name and personalit}^ are lost, no doubt destro3'ed ;
all letters and records of the period during which she
influenced him are missmg. Such veils should not
be vulgarly pushed aside ; happily they cannot be in
the present instance ; whatever is said must perforce
Honors de Balzac. 269
have the reserve and delicacy with which Balzac him-
self shrouded his feelings. A few scattered signs alone
remain to tell of what he passed through, but they are
full of significance ; and a strong retrospective light is
thrown upon his mental condition during those years
by his letters to Madame Hanska, the love of his later
life — for Love, like histor}^ repeats itself.
The most distinct mention of this early love is that
by Theophile Gautier (alread}^ quoted). Once onl}^ did
Balzac make allusion to it, and even then he could say
no more than the first name of her whose memory so
affected him that after man}' years his eyes still filled
with tears. That this love was the influence bj^ which
his early life was shaped, that from this woman he
derived his force and his ambition, and that their
mutual love ended in some great sorrow, no one who
studies Balzac's life can doubt. To judge of it we
must put ourselves in his place ; we must comprehend
the force of his imagination and the excessive sensi-
bility of his spirit. Later, twent}' j-ears later, when
the thought that he might possibly lose Madame
Hanska comes over him, he says: ''If the hope of
my life were to fail me, if I lost you, I should not kill
myself, I should not make myself a priest, — for the
thought of 3'ou would give me strength to endure my
life ; but I would go to some unknown corner of
France, in the Pyrenees or the Ariege, and slowh* die,
doing and knowing nothing more in this world."
These words throw a vivid light on the anguish of
his mind in earlier ^ears.
He makes a few allusions to this cherished woman
in his letters. Speaking of Pauline in the Peau de
270 Honore de Balzac.
Chagrin he says: "For me she exists, onl}^ more
beautiful ; if I have made her into a vision it is that
no one ma\' be master of my secret." And again,
writing to Madame d'Abrantes in 1828, he sa^'s:
''1 have always been crushed beneath a terrible
weight. I am sometimes surprised that I have nothing
now to struggle against except outward misfortune.
You may question all those about me and you will
never obtain any light on the nature of my sorrows.
There are those who die and the physician himself is
^mable to sa}' what malady has carried them off."
Madame Surville alludes in her narrative to some
'* great mental shock " in early 3'outh, as the origin of
his heart-disease ; and he saj's himself, when writing
to his sister in the last year of his life from Ma-
dame Hanska's home in the Ukraine, and telling her
of the progress of his illness : " These terrible suffoca-
tions attack me when distressed, or when I feel an
emotion too ardently. My life ought, for my health's
sake, to be rose-colored. The origin of this disease
was the cruelt}' of that lady whom you know of."
Theophile Gautier points to Albert Savarus as the
secret history of this love ; and he is doubtless right.
Possibly he may have had some private means of judg-
ing ; the tone of his remark implies as much. Albert
Savarus is the stoiy of a man's first love for woman,
his inspirer, the source from whom he derives his power
of action. That this unnamed woman's influence was
such to Balzac, and that for years he was Vambitietix
par amour — ambitious through love — cannot be
doubted. No man could have made the fight that he
did, against such odds from within and from without.
Honore de Balzac. 271
from purely personal views of self-development He
must have had some motive power upon him ; and if
Theophile Gautier is right we may find its nature in
that remarkable book. What the end was of this great
love (which bore fruit in so many of his greatest books)
will probably never be known. That it was disastrous
is certain. If it did not follow the lines laid down in
the stor}' the catastrophe was the same. There is much
in his life that connects itself with this, — his seclusion,
his craving for solitude, the Trappist robe he wore, the
instinctive turning of his soul to Nature as the great
consoler. — ^
One quality has been attributed to Balzac which
cannot be passed over in silence, all the more because
it is especially allied to this early phase of his life. We
have already seen how those who knew him most inti-
mately applied the word *' chaste " to his nature. The-
ophile Gautier says (from actual discussion with him)
that in his opinion real chastity developed to the highest
degree the powers of the mind and gave to those who
practised it mysterious faculties ; and Gautier further
adds that in the opinion of Balzac's most intimate friends
he practised the chastit}' he recommended to others.
Without making an}- assertions on this point, as to
which during his middle life there is no evidence either
wa}', it is right to call attention to this opinion of his
intimate associates, men who would certainly not have
made the same claim for themselves, nor, perhaps, have
desired to do so. It is well to remember that this was
the impression his nature made upon them ; in spite,
too, of his jovial gayety and free speech. We may add,
as a matter both of fact and of suggestion, that this
272 Honors de Balzac.
characteristic of chastity, which was not a negative
thing in a man of Balzac's temperament, but the result
of his powerful will, was the secret of his ability to
enter into the nature of woman and to apprehend her
highest relation to man, — a relation not limited to earth,
though rightfuU}^ bound by its conditions while this life
lasts. An anecdote is told of him which illustrates this
point and gives pleasure to the reader of it : —
On some occasion when Balzac happened to be at
Marseilles the young men of that town, under the lead-
ership of Mery, gave him a banquet. An eye-witness
relates that Balzac arrived punctually, holding in his
hand a little snuff-box which he had bought of an anti-
quary for three hundred francs on his way to the dinner.
The descendants of the Phocian colon}-, feeling it in-
cumbent on them to oner due^'omage to the great
writer, the exponent of woman, turned the conversation
upon the sex. Mery, the wittiest of men, was their
mouthpiece. He made a brilliant speech, of a free na-
ture, disrespectful to women. Balzac listened and said
nothing ; he crumbled his bread and played with his
snuff-box, with which he seemed much pleased. But
when a pause came and he was evidently expected to
take up the subject, he replied with such a warm de-
fence of women, made with so much judgment and deli-
cacy that Mery was completely abashed ; and the memory
of that banquet and of Balzac's defence of womanhood
long survived in the memor}- of those present.
In the midst of the heavy troubles of all kinds which
beset Balzac at the opening of his career he had the
good fortune to find encouragement, advice, and s^^m-
path}' in the friendship of several women of rare
Honore de Balzac, 273
distinction of mind and character. First, and para-
mount among them, was Madame de Bern}', whose
early death withdrew her, only too soon, from the ten-
der gratitude of her j'oung friend. She was, undoubt-
edly, the confidant of his early sorrow, and his chief
support and means of consolation under it. The de-
struction, or concealment, of their correspondence was
owing to the fact that it concerned those circumstances
of his life which he desired to keep secret. In his other
letters he makes man}^ allusions to Mme. de Berny,
which show his ardent gratitude and deep attachment
to her. Those in his letters to Madame Carraud have
already been quoted. To another friend he says, speak-
ing of her death: "She whom I have lost was more
than a mother, more than a friend, more than any crea-
ture can be to another creature. I can explain her only
as divinity. She sustained me under great sorrows by
words, l)y actions, b}' devotion. If I still live it is
through her. She has been all to me ; and though for
the last two years illness and the lapse of time had
separated us, yet we were plainl}' visible to each other
from a distance. She re-acted upon me ; she was, as
it were, m}' moral sun. Madame de Mortsauf in the
Lys is a pale expression of her noble qualities ; it is
but a distant reflection of her, for I have a horror of
prostituting my own emotions, and the world will never
know the sorrows that overcome me."
He mentions elsewhere that from the year 1821 she
had never failed to give him daily two hours of her
.time, snatched from societ}', from her famil}', from her
A^arious duties, and from all the attractions of Parisian
life. " Twelve years,'* he exclaims, " of a subhme de-
18
274 Honors de Balzac.
votion which saved me ! " Madame Surville has al-
ready told us what he suffered at her death. In her
narrative she withholds his letters on the subject ; but
in one of them, which is included in the Correspondance^
there is this allusion to Madame de Bern}- : —
"Les Jardies, 1839.
" I am alone to face m}' troubles. Formerlj^ I had
one to help me conquer them, — the gentlest and most
courageous being upon earth ; a woman who is reborn
daily in my heart, and whose divine qualities make all
other friendships pale b}^ the side of hers. I have no
longer an adviser on my literar}- difficulties, no longer a
supporter in the difficulties of life. I have no other
guide than the thought, ' What would she sa}^ if she
were living?' Minds like hers are rare. The in-
timacy which might have been so dear to me between
you and me is prevented hy your duties as wife and
mother. There is only Madame Zulma [Carraud]
among those in whom I can trust who has the intellect
to pla3^ her part to me. Never was there a more re-
markable mind smothered so completely as Madame
Zulma's ; she will die unrecognized in her lonely
corner. Madame Hanska could be everything to me ;
but I cannot be a burden on her fate ; and even if I
could, I would not, unless she knew well what she was
undertaking."
The following extracts are from his letters to Ma-
dame Hanska before her husband's death, and while his
feelings for her did not exceed the limits of a warm
friendship : —
Honore de Balzac, 275
" Paris, August, 1835.1
"You have been ill! you have suffered! and al-
waj's for and through others, — ever the same self-
abnegation !
"If you only remain a short time in Vienna, how
shall I send you Seraphita and Le Lys dans la Vallee f
Should you decide to return home at once, give me your
exact address. In a country so barren of resources as
yours and in the depths of the desert you are about to
inhabit perhaps my letters may be more welcome than
amid the gayeties you are now enjoying, and which, I
fear, they have sometimes interrupted too gloomily.
May 5'ou never know the bitter sadness that comes of
deception, which the sense of loneliness increases ; and
this at the ver}' moment when we ma}" happen to need
the special support of friends. I must own to you that
the cruel conviction is growing upon me that I cannot
much longer bear up under m}' hard work. The}' talk
of victims of war and epidemics ; but who thinks of the
battlefields of art, science, literature, and of the mounds
of dead and dying slain by their efforts to succeed ? . . .
" I am, perhaps, on the eve of beginning a political
existence which may in time give me a certain influence,
even if it does not lead to a high position. But it does
not tempt me ; for I feel it to be outside of m}' tastes
and m}^ natural habits of mind and character. Certain
persons powerful in will and influential in position —
statesmen — have approaclied me on the subject, and
two newspapers have sounded me. One of the latter
1 This is the first letter to Mme. Hanska which lias been pre-
served. Previous letters were burned by a fire which occurred in
M. Hanski's house in Moscow.
276 Honore de Balzac.
has many subscribers, not in France onl}', but all over
Europe. If these papers were united under an intelli-
gent and capable editor, they could become a power.
Two other journals would enter the association, and we
should found a fifth. The end would be, sooner or later,
the triumph of the party they represent. But what
ought we to call that party? 'That is the question.'
Shall it be the party of men of intellect, or the party of
Intelligence? . . . The scheme is a fine one ; but to put
it into execution is another matter. So I merel}' listen,
and make no reply to the flattering or the merely agree-
able speeches addressed to me.
"You ask me to tell you of my daily life. That would
be troubling you with many annoyances and vexations.
I should have to tell you of an endless series of comings
and goings to meet my payments and do m}^ business
honorably. Life in Paris involves a frightful waste of
time ; and time is the material out of which life is made,
so the}" say. When I am not bending over my writing
by the light of my candles, or lying exhausted on the
sofa, I am rushing breathlessly about on business, sleep-
ing little, eating little, — in short, like a Republican
general fighting a campaign without bread or shoes.
Solitude pleases me, however ; for I hate the social life
of the world, which bruises the heart and belittles the
mind.
" Do not, I beg of you, make any comparison be-
tween the friendship which 3'ou inspire and that which
you grant. Never allow 3'ourself to imagine that I have
ceased to love 3'OU ; for though I may often be over-
worked, as I am now, j'et in m}' hours of fatigue and
despair, — hours when mj- energy relaxes, and I sit in
Honore de Balzac. 277
my chair with pendent arms and sunken head, body
wear}- and mind depressed, — the wings of memory
still bear me to the cool green shades wliich refreshed
m\' soul, to her who smiles to me afar off, wlio has
nothing in her heart that is not pure and true, who in-
spires me, reanimates me, and renews, if I ma}' say so,
by the excitement of the soul, those powers to which
others give the name of talent. You are all this to me,
and you know it ; therefore never speak jestingl}' of my
feelings, as you do sometimes."
" Paris, October, 1836.1
'' I am depressed, but not utterly cast down ; my
courage remains to me. The feeling of desertion and
the solitude in which I am left grieves me more than
m}^ other disasters. There is nothing selfish in me ;
but I do need to tell my thoughts, m}' efforts, m}- feel-
ings to a being who is not myself ; otherwise I have no
strength. I should care for no crown unless there were
feet at which to laj' the honors men might put upon m}'
head. ... I have said a long and sad farewell to my
lost years, — engulfed beyond recall ! The}- gave me
neither complete happiness nor complete misery ; they
kept me living, — frozen on one side, scorched on the
other ; and now I am conscious that nothing holds me
to life but a sense of duty. I entered on my present
phase of life with the feehng that I should die exhausted
with my work ; but I thought I should bear it better
than I do. For the last month I have risen at midnight
and gone to bed at six in the evening; and I have
forced myself down to the lowest amount of food that
1 This letter was written after his lawsuit with Buloz, when so
many of his literary associates deserted him.
278 Honore de Balzac.
will support me, so as not to weary my brain by diges-
tion. Well, not only do I feel weaknesses which 1 could
not describe to 3'ou, but, with so much life driven to the
brain, I experience strange things. Sometimes I lose
the sense of verticality ; even in bed mj^ head seems to
fall to the right or left ; and when I rise I feel impelled
by an enormous weight which is in my head. I under-
stand how Pascal's absolute continence and vast men-
tal labor made him see an abyss surrounding him, so
that he was obliged to sit between two chairs, one on
each side of him.
*' I did not leave the rue Cassini without regret. I do
not yet know whether I can keep a part of my furniture
to which I am attached, or even my library. I have
made, in advance, every sacrifice of lesser pleasures
and memories that I ma}^ keep this one little joy of
feeling that these things are still mine ; they would not
count for much in satisfying the thirst of my creditors,
but they would slake mine in that march across the
sands of the desert on which I am about to start.
" To show you how good m}- courage is, I must tell
you that Les Secrets des Ruggieri was written in a
single night; think of that when you read it. La
Vieille Fille was written in three. La Perle brisee,
which ends L' Enfant Maudit^ was done in a few
hours of moral and physical anguish ; it was my
Brienne, my Champaubert, my Montirail, in short,
my campaign of France ! But it was the same with
La Messe de VAtMe and Facino Cane, I wrote the
first fift}^ sheets of Les Illusions Perdues in three daj^s
at Sache. What kills me are the proof corrections.
The first part of L^ Enfant Maudit cost me more pains
Honore de Balzac, 279
than many volumes. I wanted to bring that part up
to the plane of La Ferle brisee and make them a sort
of little poem of melancholy with wliioh no fault could
be found.
" This is the last plaint that I shall cast into your he&rt ;
in m}' confidences to you there is a certain selfishness
which I must put an end to. When you are sad I will
not aggravate your sadness, for I know that your
sorrows aggravate mine. I know that the Christian
martyrs smiled ; and I know, too, that if Guatimozin
had been a Christian he would have consoled his min-
ister, and not have answered, ' And I — am I on a bed
of roses ? ' A fine saying for an aboriginal ; but Christ
has made us more considerate, if not better.
*' Well, adieu ; the day is dawning ; mj^ candles pale.
For the last three hours I have been writing to you,
line after line, hoping that in each \ov\ would hear the
cry of a true feeling, deep, infinite as heaven, far above
the petty and transitory vexations of this world,
incapable of thinking that it can ever change. What
would be the good of intellect if not to place a noble
thing upon a rock above us, where nothing material,
nothing earthl}^ can ever touch it?
*' But this thought would lead me too far ; my proofs
are waiting. I must plunge into the Augean stable
of mj' style, and sweep out its faults."
" Paris, January, 1838.
*' Now as to the business which takes me to the
Mediterranean ; Mt is neither marriage, nor anything
adventurous, nor foolish, nor light-minded, nor im-
1 His trip to Sardinia.
280 HonoH de Balzac.
prudent. It is a serious and a scientific business,
about which I can as 3'et tell 3'ou nothing, because I ara
pledged to absolute secrec}'. Whether it turns out
well or ill, as I risk nothing but the journe3% which
will, in an}' case, be a pleasure and a change for me,
I think I may embark on this enterprise without
anxiety.
'' You ask me how it is that I who know so much (as
you indulgently say), and can observe and penetrate
all tilings, can also be so duped and deceived. Alas,
would you respect me if I were never duped, if I were
so prudent, so observing, that no deceptions ever
happened to me ? But, putting that view of the ques-
tion aside, I will tell you the secret of this apparent
contradiction. You can readil}' see that when a man
becomes an accomplished whist-player and knows after
the fifth card is played where all the others are, he
should like to put science aside and watch how the
game will go by the laws of chance? Just so, you dear
and fervent Catholic, God knew that Eve would yield,
but he let her alone to do so. Or, if you do not like
that way of explaining the matter, here is still another
which ma}^ please you better. When, night and da}',
my strength and m}- faculties are strained to the utmost
to invent, write, render, paint, recall ; when I take my
flight slowly, painfully, often with wounded wing,
across the mental spaces of literarj^ creation, how can
I be at the same time on the plane of material things ?
When Napoleon was at Essling he was not in Spain.
I do see plainly enough that persons are deceiving me,
or tliat they are going to do so ; that such and such
man has betrayed me, or will betray me and carrj^
Eonore de Balzac. 281
awa}' a bit of my fleece ; but just at that moment, when
I see it all clearl}', I am compelled to go and fight else-
where ; copy has to be delivered ; or some book will
be spoiled unless I finish it. . . .
" I have said for the last twelve 3'ears what 3'ou now
say to me about Walter Scott. Beside him, Byron is
nothing, or almost nothing. You are mistaken about
the plot of ^ Kenil worth.' In the opinion of all make!
of tales, and in mine, the plan of that work is the
grandest, the most complete, the most wonderful of all.
It is a masterpiece from that point of view, just as ' St.
Ronan's Well ' is a masterpiece in detail and patient
finish, the ' Chronicles of the Canongate ' in sentiment,
'Ivanhoe ' (the first volume, be it said) for its historical
qualit}', the ^ Antiquar}^' for poetry, the 'Heart of Mid-
Lothian * for interest ; each of those books has its own
particular interest, but genius shines over all. You
are right, — Scott will live and grow after Byron is for-
gotten ; but I speak of Byron read in translation ; the
poet in the original must ever live, if onl}^ for his form
and his impetuous force ; though Byron's brain never
had an}' imprint on it except that of his own person-
alit}' ; but the whole world posed before the creative
genius of Scott and was there reflected.
"It is very kind of Monsieur Hanski to imagine that
women fall in love with authors. Tell him that I have,
and have had, nothing to fear on that score. I am not
onl}' invulnerable but secure from attack. The English-
woman of the times of Cr^billon the younger is not the
Englishwoman of to-da}'.
" I do not read the newspapers ; you can easil}' believe
I have not the time ; therefore I am ignorant of what
282 Honore de Balzac.
5011 tell me of Jules Janin, who takes, I hear, an atti-
tude of open hostility to me personally and to my works.
I am, as you know, indifferent to the blame as well as
to the praise of those who are not the elect of m}^ heart,
above all to that of journalism, and, generally, to that of
what is called " the public." ... To sum it all up let
me say that whenever j^ou hear that I have yielded in
matters of principle, honor, and personal self-respect,
do not believe it.
" After idling a little for a month, — going two or three
times to the Opera, and as often to La Belgiojoso and
sometimes to La Visconti (speaking in the Italian
fashion), — and having had enough, and too much, of that
sort of thing, I am glad to be quit of it and to go back
to my work of twelve and fifteen hours a d?iy. When
my house is built and I am fairly installed and have
earned two or three thousand francs of my own, I
have promised myself the reward of going to see you,
not, as you say, for a week or two, but for two or three
months. You shall work over my comedies and during
that time Monsieur Hanski and I will be off to the In-
dies, astride on those smoky benches 3'ou tell me of.
" The Princesse Belgiojoso is a woman wholly unlike
all other women, — not attractive according to my ideas ;
pale with Italian pallor, thin, with a touch of the vam-
pire. She has the good fortune not to please me.
With a good mind, she shows it too much ; she is al-
ways trying for effect, and missing her end by pursuing
it with visible care and effort. I first met her five j^ears
ago at Gerard's. She came from Switzerland, where
she had taken refuge. Since then she has recovered
her great fortune, thanks to the influence of our Foreign
Honore de Balzac. 283
Office, and now lives in conformity with her position.
Her house is on a good scale, and the talk one hears
there is witty. I have gone two Saturdays and dined
there once, that is all. . . . Skin-deep affections (les
amitUs ct^piderme) do not suit me ; they weary me,
and make me feel more keenly than ever the treasures
contained in the hearts that shelter me. In this respect
I am not a Frenchman in the lighter acceptation of the
word."
'• Ajaccio, March 26, 1838.
*' Dear Countess, — This date will show you that I
am only twenty hours distant from Sardinia. When I
tell you that my present enterprise is a desperate effort
to put an end to my business troubles 3'ou will not be
surprised by it. I only risk a month of my time and
five hundred francs for the chance of a great fortune.
** Monsieur Carraud decided me. I submitted certain
scientific conjectures to him. As he is a very learned
man, who does nothing, publishes nothing, and is lazj',
there was no obstruction to his opinion being given, as
it was, in favor of my ideas. He sa3's that whether I
succeed or do not succeed, he respects the idea as most
ingenious. There is no scientific problem he cannot
explain if questioned. But the trouble is that these
vast mathematical minds judge of life only by what it
is ; the}' do not see the logical end of it ; and so they
await death to be rid of life. This vegetable existence
is the despair of Mme. Carraud, who is all soul and fire.
She was utterly amazed when she heard Monsieur Car-
raud propose to go with me, — he who will not leave
the house to attend to his own affairs. However, the
natural man returned to him and he gave up the project.
284 Honore de Balzac,
" Here I am, alone in Napoleon's native town. I have
been to see the house where he was born ; it is a poor
hovel. I have rectified a few mistakes. His father was
a rather rich land-owner, and not a mere clerk, as sev-
I eral lying biographers have said. Also, when he
reached Ajaccio on his wa}^ back from Eg3'pt, instead
of being received with acclamations, as the historians
I aver, a price was put on his head. They showed me
the little beach where he landed. He owed his life
to the courage and devotion of a peasant, who took
him to the mountains and hid him in an inaccessible
place.
^' I am going to Sassari, the second capital of Sardinia,
where I shall not stay long, as what I have to do there
will take no time at all. The great question will be
decided in Paris. All I need to do is to obtain a speci-
men of the thing. You ma}^ puzzle your head, most
gracious and intelligent lad}^ of the manor, but you will
never find out what that means.
'* Corsica is one of the most magnificent countries in
the world ; mountains like those of Switzerland, but no
fine lakes. France does not make the most of this
noble country. It is as large as several of our depart-
ments, but does not yield as much as one of them ; it
ought to have five million of inhabitants, and there are
less than three hundred thousand. We are beginning
to make roads and clear forests, which alone are wealth.
As the soil is wholh' unexplored there may be the finest
mines in the world of metal, marble, and coal. Unhap-
pil3', the country is not only unexplored, but it is not
studied, nor even known, on account of bandits and the
savage state into which it has lapsed."
Honore de Balzac. 285
" Alghiero, Sardinia, April 8.
" I am here after five da^'s in a coral row-boat on its
way to Africa, — a good voyage, but I learned the priva-
tions of mariners ; nothing to eat but the fish we caught,
which they boiled into an execrable soup. I had to
sleep on deck and be devoured b}- insects, which abound,
the}' say, in Sardinia. . . . Africa begins here. Already
I see a naked population, bronzed like Ethiopians."
•' Cagliari, April 17th.
*' I have crossed the whole of Sardinia, and seen
things such as the}- tell us of the Hurons or the Polyne-
sians. A desert kingdom, real savages, no husbandry ;
long stretches of palm-trees and cactas, goats browsing
on the undergrowth and keeping it down to the level of
their heads. I have been seventeen to eighteen hours
on horseback (I who have not mounted a horse for the
last four 3'ears) without seeing a single dwelling. I
went through a virgin forest lying on the neck of my
horse in fear of my life, for I had to ride through a
water-course arched over with branches and climbing
plants which threatened to put out my eyes, break m}^
teeth, and even wrench off my head. Gigantic oaks,
cork-trees, laurel and heather thirty feet high. Nothing
to eat. As soon as I reached the end of my expedition
I had to think of returning ; so, without taking an}' rest
I rode on to Sassari, where I found a diligence which
brought me to this place. I passed through a region
where the inhabitants make a horrible bread by pound-
ing green acorns and mixing the flour with clay, — and
this within sight of beautiful Italy ! Men and women
go naked, with a bit of cloth to hide their nudit}-. No
286 Honore de Balzac.
habitation has a chimney ; thej' make their fires in the
middle of their huts, which are full of soot. The women
spend their time in pounding the acorns and making
cla}' bread ; the men keep the goats and cattle. The
soil is uncultivated in the richest spot on earth. And
yet, in the midst of this utter and inexplicable misery,
there were villages where the costumes of the peasantry
were of amazing richness !
"I have put off writing to Monsieur Hanski until I
reach Milan and can give him some real news. I have
thought of 3'ou often on my adventurous trip, and I
fancy 1 can hear Monsieur Hanski saying, ' What the
devil is he doing in that galere .?' '' ^
" Milan, May 20, 1838.
"Dear Countess, — You know all that that date
says to me. To-da}^ I begin the 3'ear at the end of
which I shall belong to the vast, unnumbered com-
panj^ of the resigned. I swore to myself in the days
of sorrow, struggle, and faith which made my youth so
miserable that I would struggle no more against an}'-
thing whatsoever when I reached the age of fort}^
That terrible year has begun for me far from you, far
from my own people, in bitter sadness which nothing
1 It is unnecessary to repeat here in our limited space the story
of his disappointment. Madame Surville has given it in her nar-
rative with general correctness, but with one mistake. The dis-
covery that the Genoese had obtained a grant to tlie mines followed
immediately on Balzac's return from his journey, without the de-
lay of a year, as his sister states. He had taken up the idea the
previous year when at Genoa. His enthusiasm induced the Geno-
ese to apply for the grant. When Balzac made his journey the
following year he was then too late, as he discovered on landing
at Genoa.
Honore de Balzac, 287
can dissipate ; for of myself I cannot change ni}^ fate,
and I no longer believe that some fortunate event may
modify it.
*' I came here from Genoa on my way to France, and
I have stayed on to do a work for which the inspiration
has suddenly come to me after I had vainly implored it
for several jears. 1 have never read a book in which
happy love, satisfied love, has been pictured. Rousseau
used too much rhetoric ; Richardson preached too much ;
the poets are too flowery, the novel-writers slaves to fact ;
Petrarch thought too much of his imagery, his concetti,
— he saw poetry better than he did women ; Pope over-
did the grief of Heloise, — he wanted to make her better
than nature, and the better, they say, is the enemy of
the good. It may be that God, who created love with
humanit}', alone understands it. Certainl}^ none of his
creatures, as I think, have truly rendered the sorrows,
imaginations, and poesies of that divine passion, which
every one talks of, and so few have known. . . .
*' I have been sitting on a bench for nearl}^ an hour
with m^" e3'es fixed on the Duomo, fascinated by the
memories your letter brought to me. What unutterable
sadness to be so near you in thought, so far in reality !
Ah, dear fraternal soul, the Duomo was glorious, sub-
lime, to me in that hour of June ! I lived a lifetime
beneath it. . . .
" I went 3'esterda3" to see the Luini frescos at Sa-
ronno, and they seem to me worthy of their fame. The
one that represents the marriage of the Virgin has a
peculiar charm about it ; the figures are angelic, and,
what is rare in frescos, the tones are mellow and
harmonious.*'
288 Honore de Balzac.
"Paris, June 10, 1838.
" I crossed the Saint- Gothard, with fifteen feet of
snow on the path I took ; the road was not distinguish-
able even by the tall stone posts which mark it. The
bridges across the mountain-torrents were no more vis-
ible than the torrents themselves. 1 came near losing
my life in spite of the eleven guides who were with me.
We crossed the summit at one o'clock in the morning
by a sublime moonlight, and I saw the sunrise tinting
the snows. A man must see that sight once in his life.
I came down so rapidly that in half an hour I had passed
from twenty- five degrees below freezing (which it was
on the summit) to I don't know what degree of heat in
the Vallee de la Reuss. After the horrors of the Devil's
bridge I crossed the Lake of the Four Cantons at four
in the afternoon. It has been a splendid journey ; but
I must do it again in summer, to see all those noble
sights under a new aspect. . . .
" Believe that I have perfect confidence in 3'our
literary judgment ; I have made you in that respect the
successor of the friend whom I have lost. What you
say to me becomes the subject of long and serious
meditation ; and I now want your criticism on La
Yieille Fille. Show neither pity nor indulgence ; go
boldly at it. Should I not be most unworth}" of the
friendship 3'ou deign to feel for me if in our intimate
correspondence I allowed the pett}' vanity of an author
to aff'ect me? . . .1 beg you to be concise in praise,
and prolix in criticism. Wait for reflection ; do not
write to me after the first reading. If 3'ou knew how
much instinct, or rather I should say critical genius,
there is in what you write to me, you would be proud
Honore de Balzac. 289
of yourself, though j'ou prefer to leave that sentiment
to 3'our friends.
"Yes, — now don't defend yourself; don't make
3'our familiar little gesture, and hide 3'our ej'es with
those white and dimpled fingers ! — yes, our best con-
temporaneous critics are not wiser than jou. You
make me reflect over my work so tltat I often remodel
mj' ideas on what you 833% You will believe this, for you
know well that, though I am sincere in all things, I am
especiall3' sincere in art. I have none of that pater-
nal foolishness which ties a band round the eyes of so
many authors ; and if La Vieille Fille has no merit, I
shall have the courage to cut it out.
" I have been home eight days, and I have made un-
availing efforts to take up my work. My head refuses
to do an3' intellectual work ; it is full of ideas, but none
will come out. I am incapable of fixing m3' thoughts
or of constraining m3' mind to consider a subject under
all its aspects, and so resolving on a course. I don't
know when this imbecilit3' will cease ; perhaps it is onl3'
the result of having lost my customar3" habits of work."
" Le8 Jardies, July, 1838.
*' At present the house is not furnished, but it will be
little b3' little. Just now I have an old cook of m3'
mother's and her husband to wait on me.
" I shall stay here till m3' fortune is made ; and I am
alread3' so pleased with the life that when I have earned
the capital of my tranquillit3' I think I shall want to
finish my days here in peace, bidding farewell, without
flourish of trumpets, to all my hopes, aspirations, am-
bitions, — in short, to everything. The life 3'ou lead
19
290 Honors de Balzac.
— that life of country solitude — has great charms for
me. I did want more because I had nothing at all,
and once in the domain of illusions, it costs a 3'oung
man nothing to wish for much. To-da}' my failure in
success has wearied my character, — I do not sa}''
my heart, which will ever hope, under all circum-
stances. ... •
" I must tell you that I have been painfully struck by
the extreme melancholy of your religious views. For
some time past your letters have seemed to mean,
* Earth no longer interests me ; I have nothing more
to do with it.' You do not know how man}' deductions,
ill-founded perhaps, I draw from this. But, as you say
it to me in all sincerity, you must be expressing what you
feel ; if not, you would be false or distrustful, when jo\x
should be all truth with an old friend like me. Even if
I displease 3'ou, I must sa}' in confidence that I am not
satisfied, and that I should like to see you in another
state of mind. To seek God in this way means re-
nouncing the world ; and I cannot understand why you
should renounce it when you have so many ties to bind
3^ou to it, and so many duties to fulfil. None but feeble
or guilty souls can reall}^ take such views."
No letters to Madame Hanska appear in the Corre-
spondance during the years 1839, 1840, 3841, and
1842.
Honors de Balzac, 291
CHAPTER X.
LAST YEARS.
The last eight years of Balzac's life are contained in
the history of his intercourse with Madame llanska.
His health was already failing ; although this fact does
not seein to have struck the minds of his friends and
contemporaries. His robust and vigorous appearance
and sunn}' disposition probably misled them ; but in
his letters we may trace, unmistakably, that the springs
of life were giving way. His own belief in the destruc-
tive power of Thought and Will was never more exem-
plified than in his own experience. This belief he has
illustrated again and again in his books, and was
now to illustrate in his life. The blade wore out the
scabbard.^
Monsieur Hanski died in the winter of 1842-43, and
in August and September of the latter year Balzac
made his first visit to St. Petersburg, with the result,
on his side, of an absorbing love which superseded all
other thoughts and hopes in his mind ; and on Madame
Hanska's side, of an evident aflfection and a desire for
1 The reader is referred to the American translation of La Peau
de Chagrin and its Introduction. Also to the Introduction to the
Etudes Philosophiqaes, nominally by Felix Davin, really by Balzac
liimself; reprinted in de Lovenjoul's " Hist, des CEuvres de Bal-
zac/' page 194.
292 Honors de Balzac,
his allegiance, tempered b}^ a sense of other duties,
— duties to her daughter and to her property, — which
made her reluctant to consider the question of marriage.
It was not until they were at Strasburg together in
1846 that she pledged herself to him ; and his letters
from 1843 to 1846 betray the injurj^ her doubts and
hesitations did to his mind, and probably to his health.
Even after the promise had been jnade she could not
be brought to fulfil it ; and it was onl}" in 1849 that
he felt any assurance that the marriage would take
place. Some of the difficulties which Madame Hanska
put forward were genuine ; others seem to have pro-
ceeded from her reluctance to take the final step ;
though it is quite evident that she never for a moment
thought of reUnquishing Balzac's devotion.
Among the serious difficulties which beset the marriage
was the difl^erence of nationalit}'. It was necessary to
obtain the Czar's permission, and this was long with-
held. Monsieur Hanski had left his wife an immense
landed propert}' and the guardianship of their daughter.
Kussian law is extremely rigid in its interpretation of
such duties. Madame Hanska went to St. Petersburg
in the spring of 1843 for the legal settlement of her
aflTairs, and she seems to have then become aware that
marriage with a foreigner could not take place without
the relinquishment of her whole fortune to her daughter.
It is evident that she was a woman of deep natural
aflTections and a devoted sense of dut}' ; no personal
considerations of property influenced her, — for in the
end she relinquished her fortune, — but her first duty
was, obviously, to her child, then a girl of fourteen;
and we cannot wonder that she refused to make so
Honors de Balzac. 298
great a change in her own life until the life of her
daughter was more developed. The wonder rather is
that a woman in her position should have thought of
such a marriage at all ; for Balzac could offer her noth-
ing but a most unfortunate outward life, — crippled by
debt. The fact that she loved him, and that her fam-
11}' loved him and desired the marriage, and treated
him with filial respect and affection, is strong testimony
to the sort of man he was. His genius, heart, and prin-
ciples seemed to them to outweigh all other considera-
tions ; a testimony which does even more honor to their
natures than to his.
When Balzac left Madame Hanska at St. Petersburg,
in Sei)tember, 1843, she promised to meet him the
following year at Dresden. The promise was broken ;
but she made a short visit to Paris in the summer of
1844. She did not go to Dresden till the beginning
of 1845, and even then she put obstacles in the way
of his joining her until April, when she sent for him.
In the following September he again met her at Baden,
and by that time the chief obstacle between them was
in fair way to be removed, — her daughter Anna being
engaged to marrj' a young Polish nobleman, Comte
Georges Mniszeck, the owner of a vast and very beauti-
ful estate in Volhynia, which Balzac describes as an-
other Versailles.
The following winter Madame Hanska, her daughter,
and the young count went to Ital}^, inviting Balzac to
accompany them. He met them at Chalons, and to-
gether they went to Naples, he himself returning to
Paris in January, 1846, but rejoining them in Rome
in March of that year. The young couple were married
294 Honors de Balzac.
during the summer, and Balzac was soon after summoned
to join Madame Hanska at Wiesbaden. It was during
a visit the}^ paid at that time to Strasburg that she
first pledged herself to marry him. Later, in the same
year, he made her a flying visit of four days at Wies-
baden, which led his lively friend, Madame de Girardin,
to call him " il vetturino per amore," — for we must
remember, difficult as it may be to do so, that in those
days railroads were not.
During these years Balzac's life in Paris had passed
through periods of great depression, when he felt him-
self physically and mentall}^ incapable of hard work ;
although the necessity for it was even greater than
ever ; for he now began, silently, and apparently tak-
ing no one into his confidence, to prepare for this
hoped-for marriage. Little by little, he collected his
treasures of rare old furniture, pictures, and works of
art of all kinds, and not long after Madame Hanska's
pledge was given he bought and remodelled the little
house in the rue Fortunee, of which Gautier has
told us.
From time to time during these years his natural
vigor and his inspiration returned to him. He tells
of this joyously, with all his former eagerness ; but, as
a general thing, the reader feels that his wing is broken.
Reference to the chronological list in the appendix to*
this volume will show the work he did during these
years, in the course of which he produced (among other
less remarkable tales) three of his greatest books, and
one of his noblest characters : JLes jPaysans, the two
volumes of Zes Parents Pauvres., and Madame de la
Chanter ie.
t Honore de Balzac. 295
In Januar}', 1847, Madame Hanska came to Paris
alone, — tlie young couple having gone to visit their
estates in Pohxnd. Certain allusions in Balzac's let-
ters show that during this visit she identified herself
with all his affairs, and approved of the home he was
preparing for her. In fact, she was in part its pur-
chaser, and joined with him in filling it with works of
art. On her return to Poland in April, Balzac accom-
panied her as far as Francfort, and in the following
September he made his first visit to Wierzschovnia,
her home in the Ukraine.
These chronological facts thus baldly stated will
serve to explain Balzac's letters which give the best
pictures of his life and mind during these years.
"Berlin, Oct. 14, 1843.
"Dear Countess, — I arrived here this morning at
six o'clock without stopping except for twelve hours at
Tilsit. ... As long as I was on Russian soil I seemed
to be still with you, and though I was not exactlj' gay,
you must have seen by my little note from Taurogen,
that I could still make a jest of my sorrows. But once
on foreign soil I can tell j'ou nothing, except that this
dreadful journey maj^ be made to go to you, but not in
leaving 3'ou. The aspect of Russian territory, without
cultivation, without inhabitants, seemed natural, but
the same sight in Prussia was horribly sad, — in
keeping with the sadness within me. Those barren
tracts, that sterile soil, that cold desolation, that utter
povert}', pierced and chilled me. I felt more saddened
than if there had been a contrast between the condition
of my heart and that of Nature.
296 Sonore de Balzac.
" I know how you feel b}' the way I do. There is a
void within me which widens and deepens more and
more, and from which I cannot turn my mind. I have
given up going to Dresden ; I have not the courage.
Holbein's Madonna will not be stolen before next year^
and then, in the month of Ma}^, I shall make the trip
with other thoughts in my mind. Don't blame me for
my faint-heartedness. M}^ present journey' gives me
none of the pleasure I fancied it would when 3^ou said
to me in Petersburg, ' Go here,' and ' Go there.' I
listened, and went in spirit, for 3'ou bade me ; but
now, how can I help it ? away from you, all is lifeless
and soulless. Next 3'ear, perhaps ! but now I have
onl}' the gulf of toil before me ; and to that I must go
by the shortest way.
"This dismal Berlin is not comparable with the
Bumptuous Petersburg. In the first place, one could
cut out a score of mean little towns like the capital
of Brandebourg from the great city of the great Euro-
pean empire, and the latter would still have enough
left to crush twent}^ other little Berlins. At first sight
Berlin seems more populous. I have seen more people
in the streets than we did at Petersburg. Moreover,
the houses, without being handsome, seem to me well
built. The public buildings, ugl}- to look at, are of
handsome cut stone, with space about them to show
their proportions, — that is one trick, no doubt, by
which Berlin seems more populous than Petersburg.
. . . Berlin and its inhabitants will never be otherwise
than a mean little city inhabited by vulgar, fat people ;
and 3'et I must admit that to any one returning from
Russia, Germany presents an undefinable something
Honors de Balzac. 297
which can only be rendered by the magic word ' lib-
erty,' — expressed in free manners, or rather, 1 should
say, freedom in manner and ways/'
" Oct. 16.
** I dined j-esterda}- with Madame Bresson ; it was
a grand diplomatic dinner in honor of the king's fete-
day. Except the ambassadress herself, the guests
were all old and ugly, or 3'oung and frightful. The
handsomest woman, though not the youngest, was the
one I took into dinner. Guess who? — the Duchesse
de Talleyrand (ex-Dino), who was there with her son,
the Due de Valengay, looking ten years older than his
mother. The conversation was wholl}' made up of
proper names and trifling incidents happening at court ;
it explained to me Hoffmann's ridicule of the German
courts. . . .
'' Monsieur de Humboldt came to see me this morn-
ing, charged, so he said, with the compliments of the
King and the Princess of Prussia. He told me how to
find Tieck at Potsdam. I want to see Tieck, and I
shall take the opportunity to study that barrack of the
great Frederick, who was, as de Maistre said, ' not a
great man ; at the most a great Prussian.' . . .
'' Since writing the above I have seen Tieck in his
famil}'. He seemed pleased with my homage. There was
an old countess present, a contemporary in spectacles,
octogenarian perhaps, — a mummj' with a green eye-
shade, who seemed to me a domestic divinity. I got
back to Berlin at six o'clock without having eaten
a mouthful since morning. Berlin is the city of ennui.
I should die here in a week. Poor Humboldt is dying
of it ; he pines for Paris."
298 Honor^ de Balzac.
" Dresden, Oct. 19, 1843.1
*' . . . Yesterday, having missed the hour for the
Gallery, I wandered over Dresden in all directions.
It is, I do assure j'ou, a charming town ; far preferable
as a residence to that paltry and melancholy Berlin.
There is more of the metropolis about it. It is half-
Swiss, half-German ; the environs are picturesque and
charming. I can readily understand why persons
should live in Dresden, where there is a mingling of
gardens among the houses which refreshes the eye. . . .
*' I saw so many Titians in Florence and Venice that
those in the Gallery here seemed of less value to me.
Correggio's ' Night ' is over-rated, I should sa}' ; but
his ^ Magdalen' and two Virgins of his, the two Madon-
nas of Raffaelle, and the Flemish and Dutch pictures,
are alone worth the journe3\ The famous ' Tresor * is
nonsense. Its three or four million diamonds cannot
dazzle eyes that have just seen the Winter Palace.
Besides, a diamond says nothing to me ; a dew-drop
! sparkling in the rising sunlight seems to me a thousand
/ times more beautiful than the finest diamond, — just as
a certain smile is more precious to me than the finest
picture. It follows that I must come back to Dresden
with you to let the pictures have full effect upon me.
Rubens moved me ; but the Rubens in the Louvre are
more satisfying. The true masterpiece of the Dresden
gallery is a picture by Holbein which eclipses all the
rest. How I regretted that I could not hold your hand
in mine while I admired it with that inward delight and
plenitude of happiness which the contemplation of the
1 Unimportant circumstances changed his plans and made him
go to Dresden.
Honore de Balzac, 299
beautiful bestows. We are prepared for the Madonna
of Kati'aelle, but Holbein's Madonna seized me like an
unexpected J03'.
" It is eleven o'clock at night. I am in a hotel where
every one has gone to bed. Dresden is quiet as a sick-
room. I have no desire to sleep. Have I grown old,
that tiie Gallery gave me so few emotions ? Or is it
that the source of my emotions has changed ? Ah,
trul}^ I perceive the infinitude of my attachment and
its depth by the void there now is in my soul. For me,
to love is to live ; I feel this, I see it more than ever
now ; all things prove it to me ; I recognize that never
again can any taste, an}" absorption of mind, any pas-
sion exist for me but that you know of, — which fills not
onh' my heart, but m}^ whole brain.
" Adieu, dear star, forever blessed. There may come
a time when I can tell you the thoughts that now op-
press me. To-night I can only say that I love j'ou too
well for my peace of mind, and that absence from you
is death to me. . . . There are moments when I see
clearly the least little objects that surround you ; I look
at that cushion with a pattern of black lace worked upon
it on which you leaned, — I count the stitches. Never
was my memor}'^ so fresh. My inward sight, on which
are mirrored the houses I build, the landscapes I create,
is now all given to the service of the most completely
happy memory of my life. You cannot imagine the
treasures of rever}^ which glorify certain hours — some
there are which fill my eyes with tears."
" Passt, Feb. 6, 1844.
"... I beg you not to be troubled about adverse
reviews of me ; it might be more injurious the other
800 Honore de Balzac.
VfSLj. In France a man is doomed if he gets a name, and
is crowned while living. Insults, calumnies, rejection,
will do me no harm. Some day it will be known that
though I lived by my pen not a penny has ever entered
my purse that was not laboriously and hardly earned ;
that praise or blame are alike indifferent to me ; that I
have done my work amid cries of hatred, literar}- fusil-
lades, and have held m}' course with a firm hand, imper-
turbably. . . . Dear star of the first magnitude, I see,
with regret, that you commit the mistake of defending
me. When any one says harm of me in j'our presence
there is but one thing for you to do, — laugh jn your
sleeve at those who calumniate me by outdoing what
they sa}'. Tell them, ' If he escapes public indignation
it is only because he is so clever in evading the law.'
That is what Dumas did when some one said to him
that his father was black, and he replied, ' My grand-
father was a monkey.' . . .
" You say in your last letter: What a volume that is
which contains La Maison JSTucingen, Pierre Grassou,
and Les Secrets de la Princesse de Cadignan. Per-
haps you are right ; I am proud of it (between our-
selves). Next comes Les Petits Bourgeois^ and after
that Les Freres de la Consolation} Nothing will then
be wanting to my Parisian scenes but the artists, the
theatre, and the savants. Those done, I shall have
painted the great modern monster under all its
aspects.
** Here then are the stakes I play for: during the
present half-century four men will have had a vast in-
^ Now named IJEnvers de VHistoire Contemporaine.
Honors de Balzac. 301
fluence on the world, — Napoleon, Cuvier, O'Connell;
and I desire to be the fourth. The first lived on the
blood of* P^urope, he was inoculated with war; the
second espoused the whole globe ; the third incar-
nated in himself a people ; and I shall have carried
a whole society in m}' brain. Better live thus than
sit every night calling out, ' spades, trumps, hearts,'
or troubling one's self as to why Madame Such-a-one
does thus and so. But there will always be some-
thing in me that is greater tlian the writer, and far
happier than he, — namely, 3'our serf. M}^ feeling,
in itself, is to me nobler, grander, more complete
than all the gratifications of vanity or fame."
" Feb. 6, 1844.
'* Yesterday I consulted Dr. Roux (Dupuytren's
successor), and he advises me to make a journe}' on
foot as the onl\' means of putting an end to the dis-
position my brain shows to become inflamed. When I
don't suflfer in the head I suffer in the intestines, and I
have alwaj's a little fever. But just now as I write to
you I feel well, or rather I feel better. . . .
" Ah, one more look at that dear room in Petersburg,
and a deep sigh, alas, that I am not there ! Why
should n't you have a poet as others have a dog, a
parrot, a monkey? — all the more because I have some-
thing of all three of them in me. I tell 3'ou again and
again, I am faithful (here the countess throws up her
head and casts a superb glance).
"Adieu, till to-morrow. The last two da3s I have
recovered a little gayety. Can it be that something
fortunate is happening to you?"
302 Honore de Balzac,
"Feb. 19, 1844.
"... Yes, you have every reason to be proud of
3'Our child. It is through seeing the young girls of her
sphere and those who are the best brought-up here that
I say to you, and repeat it, that you are right in being
proud of 3'our Anna. Tell her that I love her, for you
whose happiness and pride she is, and for her own
angelic soul which I appreciate. . ♦. . Do you know
what is the most lasting thing in sentiment? It is la
sorcellerie a froid^ — charm that can be deliberately
judged. Well, the charm in you has undergone the
coolest examination, and the most minute, as well as
the most extended comparison, and all is in your
favor. You, dear fraternal soul, 3'ou are the saintl}'^
and noble and devoted being to whom a man confides
his whole life and happiness with ample securit3\ You
are the pharos, the light-giving star, the sicura ric-
chezza, sejiza hrama. I have understood you, even
to 3^our sadness, which I love. Among all the reasons
which I find to love you — and to love 3'Ou with that
flame of 3"outh which brought me the onl3^ happ3''
moment of my past life — there is not one against my
loving, respecting, admiring 3^ou. In 3'our presence
no mental satiet3^ is possible : in that I sa3' to you a
great thing — I say the thing that makes happiness.
You will learn henceforth, from day to da3^, from year
to 3'ear, the profound truth of what I am now writing
to 3'OU. Whence comes it? I know not; perhaps from
the similarity of characters, or that of minds, but
above all from that admirable phenomenon called in-
timate comprehension, and also from the circumstances
of our lives. We have both been deeply tried and
Honore de Balzac. 303
tortured in the course of our existence ; each has a
thirst for rest, — rest in our hearts and in our outward
lives. We have the same worship of the ideal, the
same faith, the same devotion. Well, if those elements
cannot produce happiness, as their contraries produce
unhapf)iness, we must deny that saltpetre, coal, and
such things, produce ashes. But over and above these
reasons it must be said, dear, that tliere is another, —
a fact, a certainty' ; it is the inspiration of feeling, the
inexplicable, intangible, invisible flame which God has
given to certain of his creatures, and which enfolds
them ; for I love you as we love that which is beyond
our reach ; I love you as we love God, as we love
happiness."
" Feb. 28, 1844.
*'In spite of what you tell me of your plans for
Dresden, I hardly believe in them. If you leave
Petersburg the middle of May you cannot reach
Wierzschovnia before the end of June ; how then can
you expect to be in Dresden in October? Will four
months suffice to take possession of your rights, exam-
ine the accounts of the administration and the guardian-
ship, and re-establish the statum quo of your personal
government? No, I know you cannot leave in Octo-
ber ; and I know, too, your anxious tenderness for 3'our
child will never suffer her to travel in winter. Do 3'ou
comprehend what there is of despair to me in these
convictions? Life was onl}^ supportable in the hope
of Dresden ; it will overwhelm me, annihilate me, if I
have to wait longer. . . .
*' I went this morning for the proofs of what I have
written of JLes Petits Bourgeois. The printing-office
304 Honors de Balzac.
is close to Saint-Germain-des-Pres ; the idea came to
me to enter the church, and I prayed for yo\x and 3'our
dear child before the altar of the Virghi. Tears came
into my eyes as I asked God to keep you both in life
and health. Perhaps, in returning from those heiglits
I have brought back some gleams from the ideal throne
before which we kneel. With what fervor, what ar-
dor, what abandonment of myself, do I feel that I am
bound to you forever, — for time and for eternity, as
pious people say.
''I inclose the first flower that has bloomed in my
garden ; it smiled to me this morning, and I send it
charged with all those thoughts and emotions which
cannot be written. . . . No, never in my living life
have I said one word of 3'ou, nor of my worship, nor
of my faith ; and probably the stone which will some
day lie above my body will keep the secret that I have
kept in life. Therefore, there was never in this world
a fresher and more immaculate feeling in any soul than
that you know of."
"Passy, Oct. 11, 1844.
''To clear off some twenty thousand francs of debt
and to start for Dresden in December with Les Pay-
saiis finished, — that is my dream ; and if not realized
how can I live through 1845?
''The death of your cousin Thaddeus grieves me.
You have told me so much of him that you made me
love him whom you loved. You have doubtless guessed
why I called Paz Thaddeus, and gave him the charac-
ter and sentiments of your poor cousin. While you
weep for his loss remind 3'ourself that I will love you
for all those whose love you lose. ...
Honors de Balzac. 305
** Are j'ou reall}' satisfied with the young man?^ Ex-
amine him without predilections ; for such excellent
prospects for your child will certainly tend to make the
suitor himself seem perfect. Remember that her whole
life is involved. I am glad the first points, those of
taste and sympathy, so necessarj^ for her happiness
and yours, are satisfactory ; but, nevertheless, study
him; be as stern in judgment as if you did not like him.
The things to be considered aV)ove all else are prin-
ciples, character, firmness. But how stupid of me to
be giving this advice to the best and most devoted of
mothers. I am sure I don't know why I am recom-
mending prudence to one who possesses all the wits of
all the Rzewuski, and who has an eye at the tip of each
dainty little finger.
'' C came to see me 5'esterday. He is a terrible
dullard. I am alarmed to think that the king takes
him with him five times out of ten wherever he goes.
Louis-Philippe commits the same, fault that Napoleon
committed. He wants to be all and sole. There comes
a day when empires perish because the man they rest
on perishes, having neglected to provide his substi-
tute. One thing is certain, the peace and tranquillity
of Europe hang on a thread, and that thread is the
hfe of an old man of seventy-six."
"Passy, Oct. 21, 1844.
" I am perfectly well again, and have gone back to
work. This is a piece of good news I ought to write to
3'ou at once. But oh ! dearest, a year is a year, don't
3'ou see? The heart cannot deceive itself; it must
^ Comte Georges Mniszeck, as suitor to her daughter.
20
306 Honor e de Balzac.
suffer its own pains in spite of the false remedies of
hope — Hope ! is it anything more than pain dis-
guised? ...
" I went out yesterday- for the first time ; and I
bought a clock of regal magnificence, and two vases
of sea-green marble, which are not less magnificent.
A rich amateur is covetous of my Florentine furniture,
and is coming to see it. I shall ask fort}' thousand
francs. Anotlier bit of news : Girardon's ' Christ,' for
which I paid two hundred francs, is valued at five
thousand, and at twentj^ thousand with the Brustolone
frame. I have also found a splendid pedestal for that
bust by David, which they tell me is a great success.
This beautiful thing only cost me three hundred francs,
and the late Alibert, for whom it was made, must have
paid fifteen or twenty thousand for it. And yet you
laugh, dear countess, at my dealings in the kingdom of
Bric-a-brac. Dr. Nacquart is very much opposed to
my selling the furniture. He says : ' In a few months
you will be out of your present difficulties, and these
magnificent things will be your glorj^* 'I like money
better,' I replied. So 3'ou see, Harpagon was the poet,
and the poet was Harpagon. Dear, believe me, I can-
not suffer much longer as I am. Think of it! another
delay ! When Les JPaysans is quite finished, I shall
claim a word from you, permitting me to join you in
your steppes."
" November, 1844.
" As for 3'our suggested plan, I would rather renounce
tranquillity than obtain it at that price. When a man
has troubled his country and intrigued in court and city,
like Cardinal de Retz, he may evade his debts at Com-
Honore de Balzac. 307
mercy if he chooses ; but in our commonplace epoch
a man cannot leave his own place without paying all
he owes ; otherwise he would seem to be escaping his
creditors. In these days we are doubtless less grand,
less dazzling, but we are certainly more orderl}', per-
haps more honorable, than the great lords of the great
century. This comes, possibly, from our altered un-
derstanding of what honor and dut>' mean ; we have
placed their meaning elsewhere, and the reason is
simple enough. Those great men were the actors on
a great stage, whose business it was to be admired, and
they were paid for being so. We are now the paying
public, which acts only for itself and by itself. There-
fore, don't talk to me of Switzerland or Itah-, or any-
thing of that kind. My best, my'onlj^ countrj' lies
within the fortifications of Paris. If I leave it it will
only be to see you, — as you well know. I should
alread3' have done so had 3'ou permitted it.
*' I have received a letter from Lirette, asking me to
be present at the ceremony of her taking the vows and
veil." 1
" December 3.
*'I got up at half-past two this morning, worked till
midday, ate a hasty breakfast, and reached the convent
at one o'clock. These good nuns reallj' think the
world turns for them alone. I asked the portress how
long the ceremony would last, and she replied, 'An
hour.' So I thought to myself: I can see Lirette after
it, and get back in time for my business at the printing-
1 Mile. Lirette Borel, a confidential friend or companion of
Mme. Hanska, had come to Paris to enter, with Balzac's assist-
ance, the Order of Saint-Thoraas-de-Villeneuve.
308 Honore de Balzac.
office. Well, it lasted till four o'clock ! then I had to
see the poor girl afterwards ; I did not get away till
half-past five. However, it was right that my dear
countess and Anna should be represented at the burial
of their friend ; so I went through with it bravely.
I had a fine place beside the officiating priest. Tlie
sermon lasted nearly an hour ; it was well written and
well delivered, — not strong, but full of faith. The
officiating priest went to sleep (he was an old man).
Lirette never stirred. She was on her knees between
two postulants. The little girls were ranged on one
side of the choir ; the chapter was on the other, be-
hind the grating which was made transparent for the cere-
monj'. Lirette, together with the postulants, heard the
sermon on her knees, and did not raise her eyes. Her
face was white, pure, and stamped with the enthusiasm
of a saint. As I had never seen the ceremony of tak-
ing the veil, I watched, observed, and studied everj--
thing with a deep attention which made them take me,
I have no doubt, for a very pious man. On arriving
I prayed for you and for your children fervently ; for
each time that I see an altar I take my flight to God
and humblj- dare, and ardently, to ask his goodness for
me and mine, — who are you and yours. The chapel,
with its white and gold altar, was a very pretty one.
The ceremony was imposing and very dramatic. I felt
deeply moved when the three new sisters threw them-
selves on the ground and were buried under a pall,
while prayers for the dead were recited over those three
living creatures, and when, after that, they rose and
appeared as brides crowned with white roses, to make
their vows of espousal to Jesus Christ.
Hon ore de Balzac. 309
"Just then an incident occurred. The j-oungest of
the sisters — pretty' as a dream of love — was so agi-
tated that when it came to pronouncing the vows she
was obliged to stop short just at the vow of chastity.
It lasted thirt}' seconds at most ; but it was awful ;
tliere seemed to be uncertaint}-. For m}' part, I admit
that I was shaken to the depths of my soul ; the emo-
tion I felt was too great for an unknown cause. The
poor little thing soon came to herself, and the ceremony
went on without further hindrance. . . .
'* I saw Lirette after the ceremony ; she was ga}- as
a bird ; she said she was so happ}' that she prayed con-
tinuall}' that God would make us all monks and nuns.
We ended by talking seriously of 3*00 and 3'our dear
child.
*' To-morrow I am going to see a little house which
is for sale near the church of Saint Vincent-de-Paul ;
the Byzantine church which we went to see, you re-
member, and where a funeral was going on. You said
to me, looking at the vacant ground near the church,
* I should not be unwilling to live here ; we should be
near to God, and far from the world.'"
"Passy, Feb. 15, 1845.
" Poor dear countess, how many things I have to say-
to 3'ou. Without your inexorable order, I should have
been in Dresden a month ago. . . . All these uncer-
tainties have weighed heavil3- upon me ; for how can I
work when every hour I expect a letter to tell me to
start at once? I have not yet written one line for the
end of Xes Paysans. This uncertainty has completel3^
disorganized me. From the mere pomt of view of
810 Honore de Balzac.
material interests it is fatal. In spite of yoxxv fine
intelligence you are unable to understand this, for 3'ou
know nothing of Parisian economy or the painful straits
of a man who tries to live on six thousand francs a year.
But the worst of all is the impossibihty of occupying
my mind. How can I throw myself into absorbing labor
with the idea before me of soon starting — and starting
to see you? It is impossible. To do so I need to have
no heart. I have been tortured and agitated as I never
was in my life before. It is a triple martyrdom of the
heart, of the head, of the interests, and (my imagina-
tion aiding) it has been so violent that I declare to you
I am half dazed, so dazed that to escape madness I
have taken to going out in the evening and playing
lansquenet at Madame Merlin's and other places. I
had to appl}' a remedy to such disease. I have been to
the opera, and dined out twice, and tried to lead a gay
life for the last fortniglit. And now I will work night
and day and finish Les Pay sans. It will take a month
of herculean labor, but I inscribe upon m}' brain (to be
rejected by my heart) the words : ' Think no more of
your star, nor of Dresden, nor of travel; stay in your
chains and toil miserably.' "
" April 5, 1845.
" I do not know what to think of what you say of
m}^ letter. I, to give you pain or the faintest grief! I,
whose constant thought it is to spare you pain ! Good
God ! however right m}' intentions were, it seems that
I have hurt you, and that is enough. . . . When I see
you I will explain all. . . . Under such irritating cir-
cumstances I was impatient. I write my letters hastily
and never read them over. I say what is in my mind
Honore de Balzac. 311
without reflection. If I bad reread that letter perhaps
I should have sacrificed it to Vulcan, as I often do others
in which my voice gets too loud."
" April 18.
" You write, 'I wish I could see you.' Well, when
you hold this letter in your dainty fingers, may they
tremble a little, for I shall be very near you, at Eise^
nach, at Erfurt, — I can't now tell where, for 1 shall
follow my letter. To-day is Friday, and I start
Sunday."
" Sept. 10, 1845.
*' My faculties have come back to me more brilliant
than ever. 1 am certain that the present two books
will be worthy of the former ones. I tell you this
to calm the anxiety of your fraternal soul as to the reac-
tion of the physical upon the mental faculties, and to
prove to you for the millionth time that I tell you the
exact truth and hide nothing, either good or bad. Go
to the baths of Teplitz, or elsewhere, if necessar}', only
be faithful to 3'our promise at Sarraate. ... I have no
words but the mute language of the heart to thank you
for that adorable letter, in which your gayety breaks
forth with sparkling gush, — sweet treasure of your dear
mind, which the charming weather has brought back to
you. I remember your once saying to me : ' It is onl}'
wrong doers who can stay sad when the joyous sun is
shining.'
"I am working, working, — God knows how, and
God knows wlw. When 3'ou hold this letter in your
hand I shall probably have no debts, except to m}^
family. We will talk these things over on the boat
312 Honore de Balzac.
from Chalons. There is much to tell, and I hope that
this time 3'ou will not be dissatisfied with your servant.
I have an enormous amount of work to do in thinking,
writing, and correcting, so as to be free to accompany
you. When this letter reaches you, think that we are
each going towards the other. Take care of yourself ;
see to your health ; your child's welfare depends on it.
1 dare not say mine, and yet, what else have I in this
world?"
" Passt, January 1, 1846.
''Another year, dear, and I enter it with pleasure.
Thirteen years in Februar3- since the happy da}' when
I received your first letter. They seem to me links,
indestructible, eternal, glittering with happiness and
life. The fourteenth year will soon begin. . . . You
are m}' happiness, as you are my fame and my future.
Do you remember that early morning at Valence on the
bank of the Rhone, when our gentle talk made you for-
get 3'our neuralgia? when we walked for two hours in
the dawn, both ill, yet without noticing the cold or
our own suflTerings? Believe me, such memories, which
are wholly of the soul, are as powerful as the material
recollections of others; for in you, soul is more beauti-
j ful than the corporeal beauties for which the sons of
Adam destroy themselves."
*' February 14, 1846.
" You do not yet know that I am silently collecting
superb things in art furniture, — thanks to researches,
tramps about Paris, economies and privations. I don't
mean to speak of this, however ; I shall not unmask
my batteries until my dream gathers more and more
the semblance of reality. , . . Yesterday I found two
Honore de Balzac. 313
Sevres vases (of the Restoration) which were, no doubt,
painted for some entomologist, for they are covered
with the loveliest insects ; evidently' the work of an
artist, and of great value, — a real discovery, a rare
chance, such as I have never before met with. "With
time and patience one can find everything in Paris,
even bargains. Just now I am in treat}' for a chan-
delier which must have belonged to some emperor of
Germany, for it is topped by a double-headed eagle.
It is Flemish, and certainly came from Brussels before
the Revolution ; weighs two hundred pounds, and is all
brass. I expect to get it for its intrinsic value, 450
francs. I want it for mj' dining-room, which will be in
the same style. I see your alarm at this news ; but
don't be uneasy, I am not making debts ; I obe}' your
supreme commands. ... I saw the other daj' in a
bric-a-brac shop a miniature of Madame de Scvigne,
done, I thought, in her lifetime. It can be had for
ver}' little; do you want it? It struck me as rather
good, but I had no time to examine it properly."
" 16th.
** I have seen that miniature again and it is hideous.
But on the other hand I have bought a portrait of
Maria Leczinska after Coy pel, evidently painted in
his atelier. I got it for the value of the frame. It
is one of those portraits of queens such as they give
to cities or great personages, and will do verj' well
to decorate the salon. Gautier is to bring me a
painter named Chenavard to pass judgment on it,
for, like Louis XIV., ' I don't choose to deceive
myself.'"
314 Honore de Balzac.
" Pass Y, June 14, 1846.
"My financial situation is better than I tiiought.
My principal creditors are perfectly satisfied with the
liberal manner in which I have settled their accounts.
I can easily pay all. My health is excellent, and as
for talent — oh! I have recovered it in all its early
bloom. My arrangements with publishers will be con-
cluded this week. Write me the exact time when you
will permit me to go to 3^ou, so that I may be quite
ready. Here is what I am going to work at now :
Jj'IIistoire des Parents Paiivres, Le JBorihomme
Po7is^ and La Cousine Bette ; also Les Me f aits dhm
Procureur du roi. and the last of Les Paysans. This
will bring me in more than my payments. . . . The
publishing business is just now in a bad way. I am
to see Furne, Veron, and Charpentier this morning.
''I am going valiantly to work with much ardor.
Already I have spent two long nights on Le Bon-
homme Pons. I think it will be a really fine work,
remarkable even among those I am best satisfied with.
You shall see ! I have dedicated it to our dear Teano,
and I want it to be worthj^ of him. The stor}^ belongs
to the order of Cesar Birotteau and the Lt iter diction.
The point is to interest the reader in a poor and simple-
minded man, an old man, crushed by humiliations and
insults, full of feeling, forgiving all and revenging him-
self onl}' by benefits. La Cousine Bette is also a poor
relation, crushed by humiliations and insults, living in
the midst of three or four families, and meditating ven-
geance for her bruised pride and wounded vanit3\
These two histories, with that of Pierrette, will make
the series of Les Parents Pauvres."
HonorJ de Balzac, 315
" July 14, 1846.
'' Two years of peace and tranquillit}- are absolutel}'
necessary to soothe my soul after sixteen 3ears of suc-
cessive catastropiies. I feel, I do assure jou, very
weary of these incessant struggles. If it were not for
the new motives for courage which have entered my
heart I should, like that drowning man whose strength
kept him up for hours in a furious sea, succumb at last
to the gentler waves within sight of port. To be
dragged incessantly awa}' from all calmness and from
the work of the mind by annoyances and anxieties
which would drive ordinary people mad, is that living,
I ask you ?
'' 1 have not lived in these latter j'ears, except at
Dresden, Baden, Rome, or when we journeyed together.
Thanks be to you, oh, dear and tender consoling angel,
who alone have poured into m\' desolate life some
drops of pure happiness, that marvellous oil which
does at times give courage and vigor to the fainting
wrestler. That alone should open to you the gates of
paradise, if indeed 3'ou have an^^ faults to reproach
3'ourself with, — 3'ou, perfect woman, devoted mother,
kind and compassionate friend. It is a great and noble
mission to console those who have found no consolation
on this earth. I have in the treasure of 3'our letters,
in the still greater treasure of m3' recollections, in the
grateful and constant thought of the good you have
done to m3- soul by your advice and your example, a
sovereign remed3' against all misfortunes ; and I bless
you ver3^ often, m3- dear and beneficent star, in the
silence of night and in the worst of my troubles. May
that blessing, which looks to God as the author of all
316 Honore de Balzac.
good, reach you often. Tiy to hear it in the murmur-
ing sounds which are heard in the soul though we
know not whence they come. My God ! without you,
where should I be?" . . .
"July 20, 1846.
'' You tell me of complications in your affairs. But,
as you say, we must trust in Providence, for all things
are in danger if we sound the earth about us. ... I
must tell you, however, that nothing surprises me
more than to see you so troubled over things 3'ou can-
not change, — you, whom I have seen so submissive
to the Divine will ; you, who have always walked
straight before you, looking neither to the right nor to
the left, and still less behind you, where the past is
engulfed as one dead. Why not let yourself be led by
the hand of God through the world and through life as
you have been hitherto ; and so advance into the future
with that calmness, serenity, and confidence which a
faith like 3'ours ought to inspire ? I must admit that in
seeing my star, which shines with so pure a ray, thus
disturbed about material interests, there is something, I
know not what, which I do not like, and which makes
me suffer. You have already given too much of 3'our
time and 3'our beautiful youth to such cares, in spite of
your instincts and your natural aversions ; but you were
then compelled to do so by necessity, by the interests
of your beloved child, and by 3'our sense of duty. Now
that you have fulfilled with such scrupulous and merito-
rious thoroughness your obligations to your admirable
daughter, who understands so well what she owes to
3'ou, and whom you have now established according to
the choice of her heart and also in accordance with
Honor e de Balzac. 317
3'our own ideas and S3'rapathies, j'ou surely have noth-
ing more to do than to seek the rest and quietude you
so fulh' deserve, and give up the burden of business
affairs to your children, who will continue the work of
your patient and laborious administration. What can
3'ou fear for them, so intelligent, so enlightened, so
reasonable, so perfecth' united, so fitted for one another?
Why foresee events which might trouble such security?
Wh}' fear catastrophes which, I delight in thinking,
can never happen? B3' spending your strength on
imaginar}' dangers 3'ou will have none left for real ones
— if they ever threaten 3'ou, wliich 1 doubt."
" July 20, 1846.
*' I have just found a letter from 3'Our children in the
post-office, to which Anna has added these few words,
which make me uneas3\ She says : * Mamma is sad
and suffering. You ought to come here and help us to
distract her mind.* I went at once and took m3' place
as far as Mayence, I shall go through as punctually
as possible ; 3'ou cannot doubt it. Adieu."
He joined them soon after at Wiesbaden and made
the little trip to Strasburg which has alread3' been
mentioned. During this and the following year (1846,
1847) he did no other work than to finish certain books
alread3' in course of publication, and write the first third
of Xe Depute d'Arcis, which was finished b3' M.
Charles Rabou and published three 3'ears after Balzac's
death.
In October, 1847, he made his first visit to Madame
Hanska's home in the Ukraine, of which he gives the
following description to his sister, Madame Surville.
UNIVERSITI
318 Honore de Balzac,
" WiERZSCHOVNIA, Oct. 8, 1847.
*' My dear Sister, — I arrived here without other
accident than extreme fatigue ; for I have come over a
quarter of the earth's diameter and even more in eight
daj's, without stopping or going to bed. If I had
doubled the distance I should have found myself beyond
the Himalayas. As I got here ten days before my
letter, I greatl}^ surprised ray friends, who were much
touched by my eagerness.
" This habitation is an actual Louvre, and the territory
belonging to it greater than that of one of our depart-
ments. In France we have no conception of the extent
and fertilit}^ of these great estates, where no manure is
ever used, and where they sow wheat year after 3-ear.
Though the young count and countess have something
like twenty thousand male peasants (forty thousand
souls) to their share alone, it would require four hundred
thousand to keep all the land in cultivation. They only
sow as much as the3' are able to reap and gather in. . . .
'' The country is peculiar in the sense that side by side
with the utmost magnificence the commonest comforts
are lacking. This estate is the only one in the province
which possesses a Carcel lamp and a hospital. There
are mirrors ten feet high, and bare walls ; 3'et Wierz-
schovnia is held to be the most sumptuous dwelling in
the Ukraine, which is the size of France. Delightful
tranquillity reigns. The authorities have been full of
attentions, I might say chivalric attentions for me ;
otherwise without such miraculous help, I could never
have got here ; being ignorant of the languages of the
regions through which I passed. From the European
frontier to Odessa the country is a flat plain, like our
Honor e de Balzac. 319
Beauce. Mj^ arrival has been sadly celebrated by two
terrible conttagrations, which burned several houses. I
saw the dreadful sight. . . .
*'In spite of these fertile lands the commutation of
crops into mone}' is extremel}' difficult, for the bailiffs
steal, and labor is scarce to thresh the wheat, which is
done b}" machines. Nevertheless, few persons in
France have any idea of the wealth and power of
Russia. It must be seen to be believed. This power
and wealth are all territorial, which will, sooner or later,
make Russia the mistress of European markets for all
natural products. . . .
'' I have taken a heav}' cold, which will probably last
me two months ; it is so bad I cannot leave the house.
I ought to go to Kiev, the Rome of the North, a city
with three hundred churches, to pay mj^ respects to the
Governor, who is viceroy of three great principalities
of the size of an empire, and obtain my permit to re-
main here. It is physically impossible that I should
return to Paris for six or eight months. The winter is
beginning, and I could not riskajourne}" at that season.
I shall probably be in Paris towards April ; but even
so, I shall return here immediatel}^, as we wish to make
a journey to the Crimea and the Caucasus and go as
far as Tiflis. The idea of such a journc}" delights me.
There is nothing finer than that region. The}' sa}' it is
like Switzerland plu^ the sea and the vegetation of the
tropics."
*' November, 1847.
'' You cannot imagine the enormous wealth which ac-
cumulates in Russia and is wasted for want of means of
transportation. Here (and Wierzschovnia is a palace)
320 Sonor^ de Balzac.
they heat the stoves with straw, and burn more in one
week than there is in the Saint-Laurent market in Paris.
I went the other day to the follioark of Wierzschovnia,
which is the place where the}' stack the wheat and
thresh it ; for this village alone there were twenty
stacks, each thirty feet high by one hundred and twenty
five feet long and thirt}' feet broad. But the thefts of
the bailiffs and the heavy expenses diminish the reve-
nues greatly. We have no idea in France of existence
here. At Wierzschovnia, for instance, it is necessary
to have all trades on the place. There is a tailor, a
shoemaker, a confectioner, an upholsterer, etc., attached
to the house. I understand now what the late Mon-
sieur H. (who had a whole orchestra in his service)
said to me at Geneva about his three hundred servants.
*' M3' great hope and desire is not, as yet, near to its
accomplishment. Madame Hanska is indispensable to
her children. She guides and instructs them in the
vast and difficult administration of the property. She
has given all to her daughter. I knew of this intention
when I was with her in Petersburg ; and I am delighted
that the happiness of my life is detached from all self-
interests ; it makes me the more solicitous to guard
that which has been confided to me. ... I have seen
Kiev, the orthodox city of three hundred churches, and
the riches of Lavza, the Saint Sophia of the steppes.
It was well to see it once. I was showered with atten-
tions. Would you believe it, a rich moujik has read all
my books and burns a taper for me weekly before Saint
Nicholas ! He gave money to the servants of Madame
Hanska's sister to let him know when I came to Kiev,
so that he might see me.
Honors de Balzac. 321
** I Imve a delightful suite of rooms, — a salon, stud}',
and bed-chamber. The study is in rose-colored stucco,
with a fireplace, superb carpets, and commodious fur-
niture. The windows are one sheet of glass, so that I
can look round the landscape on all sides. You can
imagine that Wierzschovnia is indeed a Louvre when
I tell 30U it contains five or six other such suites of
rooms for guests. As I am working hard just now, I
breakfast in my own rooms and only go down to din-
ner ; but the ladies and Comte Georges pay me little
visits. It is a patriarchal life without the slightest
ennui.
"Your letters gave me great pleasure. I am delighted
to know from my mother that the little house in the
rue Fortunee is carefulh' guarded. Madame Ilanska
has been very anxious about it on account of the valu-
ables it contains. They are the product of six years'
economy, and she is afraid of thieves or accident. It
is indeed a nest, built straw by straw."
Balzac returned to Paris on the eve of the Revolu-
tion of February, 1848. It was at this time that he
met the gens-de-lettres at the Institute, in response to
Ledru-RoUin's invitation, of which Champfleury gives
the amusing account already quoted. This 3'oung writer
had lately dedicated a book (" Feu Miette ") to Balzac,
who in return invited him to the rue Fortunee. The
account which Champfleury gives of the sumptuous lit-
tle 'Miest," destined to see a month's fruition of the
hope of years, is valuable as being one of the most per-
sonal pictures which we have of its master, and the
only one which shows him to us in his last years : —
21
322 Honor e de Balzac.
"On the 27th of February, 1848, three days after
the departure of Louis Philippe, Monsieur de Balzac
wrote to ask me to go and see him in the rue For-
tunee. His household appeared to consist of a valet
and a concierge. M. de Balzac came downstairs to
meet me, wrapped in the well-known white dress of a
monk. His face was round, his black eyes excessively
brilliant ; the general aspect of his skin olive, with
strong red tones on the cheeks, and pure yellow ones
about the temples, near the ej'es ; his thick hair was
very black, but threaded with silver, — a powerful
mane. In spite of the ample robe, I noticed that his
stomach was enormous. Monsieur de Balzac was hand-
some. Unlike most persons who are unable to find the
man of their thoughts when they first meet a genius,
I was surprised b}^ his beauty. ... It was not, of
course, that Greek beauty which has turned the bald
heads of France and Germany; it was the beauty be-
longing to his intellect, which was not shut in within
himself (as in many men), but expanded itself on his
face. The face of the author of the Comedie Humaine
showed strength, courage, patience, and genius. His
eyes questioned and listened like those of a priest and
a ph3'sician. I have never seen any like them for ful-
ness of idea and depth. His joyous face inspired jo}',
just as an actor who yawns can make his audience
yawn. All known portraits of Balzac are insuflBcient
to represent him.
'^ After two hours' conversation I rose to go. M. de
Balzac took me down a broad staircase different from
the one by which we went up. I noticed, in passing,
a marble statue of himself, three-quarter . size, which
Honore de Balzac. 323
seemed to me second-rate. 'Ah! do you care for
art ? ' he said to me. * Then I must show you my col-
lection.' We went up through other rooms until we
entered a long gallery, in which the chief picture was a
large Domenichino. There were many other pictures,
but I have forgotten their subjects and the names of
their painters.
**As we walked along, I wondered a little that I
seemed to know the place. M. de Balzac explained the
various objects. He told me, among other things, the
genealogy of the frames. One of them had belonged
to Marie de Medicis, and M. de Rothschild was anxious
to possess it. I was turning over in my mind how it
could be that I knew this gallery without ever having
entered it, when, as we passed into another room, M.
de Balzac stopped me before a little carved wooden
frame, empty, yet hung intentionally in a strong light.
' When the famous [Dutch antiquary whose name
I have forgotten] heard I had a frame by this master,'
said M. de Balzac, ' he would have given the last drop
of his blood to get half of it.' Then the truth flashed
upon me. I was in the gallery of Cousin Pons. Here
were Cousin Pons' pictures, Cousin Pons' curios. I
knew them now.
''After the picture gallery we entered a room lighted
by a single window. The door once closed, nothing
could be seen but cases filled with books in good bind-
ings. It would have been difficult to get out of the
room without a guide. . . . M. de Balzac then showed
me, with the enthusiasm of a proprietor, the arrange-
ments of the house, the convenience of the rooms, the
bathroom, the boudoir of the late banker Beaujon, the
.324 Honor e de Balzac.
frescos of which had just been restored ; and, finall}^ a
large salon, full of all sorts of curiosities, carved fur-
niture, comfortable arm-chairs just repolished and care-
fully regilded. I spent three hours in this way, — three
rapid hours, — during which M. de Balzac seemed to
me the man I had pictured him, — the simple and sin-
cere artist, full of a certain pride which charmed me,
showing deep respect for the hand of man in art, and
loving literature as the Arab loves the wild horse of the
desert which he has mastered."
Balzac returned to Wierzschovnia in October, 1848,
and did not leave it again till April, 1850. His letters
to his sister during this period show the two-fold strug-
gle that he went through ; first, with the fatal malady
that was already upon him (without his knowledge),
and next in the unavailing effort to bring Madame
Hanska to take the step of marriage. The letters are
unutterably sad ; not so much for what they sa}^ as for
what the reader, with his clearer knowledge of all that
was about to happen, sees in them. In the present day
we know more of disease and its causes than the lait}^,
or even many of the ph}- sicians, of the first half of this
century. It is plain to all who read this history now
that Balzac was in the grasp of a mortal malad}' as
early as 1847, before he went to that cruel Russian
climate, which gave him his coup-de- grace. After he
was taken ill at Wierzschovnia, he trusted, with his
natural confidence, to a local doctor, who tortured him
with remedies to no purpose, agaiiast the advice of his
own son, a physician of broader intelligence. Dr. Nac-
quart, his lifelong friend and physician, being asked to
give the causes of Balzac's death, wrote a long and
Honore de Balzac. 325
rather irrelevant statement, in which, however, the fol-
lowing significant facts appear: *' A long-standing
disease of the heart, aggravated b}^ over-work at night,
and the use, or abuse, of coffee had taken a new and
fatal development. ... His breathing was short and
panting, and forbade all active motion ; his voice, form-
erh' so strong, was weak and broken ; his e3'es, once
clear and far-sighted, were covered with a film or veil.
The patient retained hopes of himself; but science had
in the first instance diagnosed the complication of a
marked albuminaria {profonde albuminarie) , and could
see no prospect of recovery." Balzac himself seems
never to have lost heart ; and this was fortunate in-
deed ; for his ignorance as to his true state gave him
his heart's desire in his marriage ; which appears (we
are tliankful to feel) to have been as deep a happiness
to his wife as it was to him.
The following letters and extracts of letters will tell
brieflj^ the story of the last two years : —
*' WiERzscHOVNiA, November, 1848.
"Young Ladies and very honored Nieces:^
'*I am highly pleased with your letters, which gave
me great satisfaction, and which any other uncle than
one known for his agreeable writings would regard
with blackest envy on account of their graceful live-
liness, and the perfection of their style. Therefore
have the}' won for each of you, as due recompense for
such fine talents, a " caraco " made of magnificent
termolama, trimmed with handsome fur; which 3'our
august uncle will endeavor to smuggle through the
1 Mesdemoiselles Sophie and Valentine Surville.
326 Honore de Balzac.
custom-house, and which will make 3'ou objects of envy
to all your companions in the drawing-class. You can
never wear out your termolamas, because that thick,
handsome silken stuff will last ten or fifteen 3'ears. The
3'oung countess has a fur-lined garment made of termo-
lama, which her mother wore in 1830, and which still
retains its colors. I don't know how the Orientals man-
age to put the sun into their stuffs. Those Eastern
peoples are drunk with light.
*'Do me the favor to send me the following receipts,
clearly and carefully written out, so that they can be
taught to moujik cooks : (1) the tomato sauce in-
vented by your mother, exactly as it is served at your
table ; (2) the onion puree which Louise used to make
at your grandmother's. For here, I must tell you, we
live in the midst of a great desert, and in order to
swallow a bit of beef or mutton (which is not Pre-Sale),
one needs the resources and persuasions of Parisian
cookery. Be proud of thus becoming the benefactresses
of a land entirel}' deprived of veal, — I mean eatable
veal ; for the cows do have calves here as elsewhere,
but tliose calves are republican in their leanness. Beef,
such as 3'ou know it in Paris, is a mj'th ; I remember
it in my dreams. Excellent tea is a consolation, and
the dairy products are delicious ; but as for vegetables,
they are dreadful. Carrots taste like radish, and turnips
have no taste at all. On the other hand, the}^ make por-
ridge out of many things, millet, oats, buckwheat, barlej",
— I beheve they make it out of the barks of trees.
Therefore, my dear nieces, have pity on this region,
so rich in corn, so poor in vegetables. How Valentine
would laugh at the apples, pears, and plums. . . .
Honore de Balzac. 327
" Now, Sophie, you need not be uneas}^ about the
music for the Comtesse Georges. She has tlie genius
of music, as she has that of love. If she had not been
born an heiress, she would certainly have become a great
artist. Music, her mother, her husband, — there you
have her character in three words. She is the fairy of
tlie domestic hearth, the sparkle of our souls, our gay-
ety, the life of the liouse. When she is not in it the very
walls miss her, for she brightens them with her pres-
ence. . . . She is thoroughly educated, without pedan-
try ; her naivete is delicious ; although she has been
married two years, she is as meny as a cliild, and full
of laughter as a young girl, — which does not prevent
her from feeling a religious enthusiasm for noble things.
Physically, she possesses grace, which is sometimes
more beautiful than beauty, and this triumphs over a
complexion which is rather dark ; her nose is well-cut,
but pretty only in profile ; her figure is perfect, supple,
elegant ; her feet and hands delicate and wonderfiill}'
small. All these advantages are brought into relief by
an air of distinction, of race, that indefinable air of easy
grandeur which all queens do not possess, and which is
now lost to us in France, where every one expects to be
the equal of others. She speaks four languages as well
as if she were born in the countries where they are
spoken. She is keenly observing ; nothing escapes lier;
I am often surprised by this myself; but with it all she
is extremely discreet. After living in the house with
her some weeks I could think of no word to describe
her to my own mind but ' pearl.' Her husband adores
her.
'' I wish I could think that Valentine would study as
328 Honore de Balzac.
much as the Comtesse Georges, who, besides all her
other studies, gives much time every day to the piano.
The thing that has given her this splendid education is
work. Now I must tell my dear little niece that to do
nothing but what we like to do is the origin of all
degradation, especially for a woman. Rules to obey,
duties to be done, have been the law of this .young girl's
life, although she was an only daughter and a rich
heiress. Even to this dav, she is a little child in pres-
ence of her mother ; she disputes with others the honor
of waiting on her ; she has an English, I may sa}^,
feudal reverence for her; she knows how to combine
deep love and deep respect, tenderness with familiarit}^
without infringing on the enormous distance between
her mother and herself. The young countess has never
said ' thou ' to her mother, and yet the problem of
infinite tenderness and infinite respect is perfectly
solved.
" Don't think this a lesson, my dear nieces. I know
your aflfection for 3'our parents, who have made your
childhood and 3'outh a poem, such as your mother and
I never had in our day, and which your excellent
mother vowed you should some day enjo}'. In France
we are not born, as these people are here, to see a whole
population prostrate before social grandeur ; we have
no longer the right to think any one beneath us ; we
are each obhged now to acquire our own value person-
ally. This will make a great people of us, — provided
we do not let commonplace and vulgar vanities get the
better of us. So I entreat Valentine to set tasks to
herself, to find work to be done, if only to get the habit
of duty, — of course without neglecting the ordinary
Honore de Balzac. 329
and daily employments of the household ; and above
all, to repress the desire to do only ichat one likes, for
that is a descent into all misfortunes.
"But that's enough morality, — for 3'ou are both
such little pests that \ou are capable of thinking I
make your * caracos ' bitter to you. God forbid that
I should be like those parents who spread their children's
bread and butter with moral rhubarb."
"February 9, 1849.
*' You tell me, m}' dear sister, that 3'ou think of
leaving jour present house and finding a cheaper one
elsewhere. You are right ; for in crises like 3our pres-
ent one it is well to cut down expenses to absolute
necessities. I can cite my own case for that. I never
spent more on myself in Paris (counting carriages and
trips to Sache) than two hundred francs. I advise 3'OU
to look about the neighborhood of Pass}', les Ternes, or
Chaillot ; there you will find as good an apartment as
3'our present one for less mone}'. If I were Surville
I should take a single room in a central part of Paris
and keep my oflSce there. In this way you will pull
through the present crisis. You know what means I
employed to live cheaply. My cooking was done twice
a week, Mondays and Thursdays. I ate cold meat and
salad the other days. By contenting myself at Passy
with strict necessaries, I managed to spend onh^ a
franc a head each day. I could do it again without
blinking."
" March 3, 1849.
*' The winter has not spared us ; the cold has been
like that of 1812. I took a fourth cold at Kiev, which
330 Honord de Balzac.
has made me suffer long and cruell}'. The treatment I
have been undergoing for my heart and lung trouble
was interrupted, for I had no strength for it. I have
reached the stage of absolute muscular weakness in
those two organs, which causes suffocation for no cause
at all, — a slight noise, a word spoken loudl3\ However,
this last cold is getting better, and they are going to
try and remedy the muscular exhaustion ; otherwise,
the journey home would be ver}^ difficult. I have had
to get a valet, — being unable to lift a package, or make
any movement at all violent. . . .
' ' The conclusion of the great affair of my life meets
with difficulties foreseen and caused bj^ mere formali-
ties ; so that though we are both most anxious to reach
the rue Fortunee, there is still great uncertainty."
" March 22, 1849.
*' At last I obtained permission to write to Peters-
burg for the consent of the sovereign ruler to our
marriage. He refused it ; and his minister writes that
we know the laws and the}' must be obeyed. Weary
of the struggle, Madame Hanska now talks of my
returning to Paris, and selling everything in the rue
Fortunee. Here, she is rich, beloved, respected ; she
spends nothing ; and she hesitates to go where she sees
only troubles, debts, expenses, and new faces. Her
children tremble for her. You can see that in view
of all these doubts expressed and felt about future
happiness, an honorable man ought to depart, return
the property in the rue Fortunee to whom it belongs,
go back to his pen, and hide himself in some hole at
Passy.
Honore de Balzac, 331
*' I have, and I have alwa3's had in Madame Hanska
the best and most devoted of friends, — a friend such as
one finds but once in life. Her children love me as one
of tlieir own famik, but the}' do not wish their adored
mother to run the risks of an unfortunate future ; and
they are right. You cannot imagine the wisdom and
good sense of Madame Hanska ; they are equal to her
educational knowledge, which is vast. She is still beau-
tiful ; but she has a dread of society and all its annoy-
ances ; she loves quiet, sohtude, and studj'. . . .
"The only thing that I thirst for is tranquillit}*, do-
mestic life, and moderate work in finishing the Comedie
Humaine. If I fail in this completely, I shall take
what belongs to me in the rue Fortunee and begin m}'
life anew. But this time I will board in some establish-
ment and live in one room, so as to be independent of
everjthing, even furniture. Will you believe me when
I tell you that the prospect does not alarm me — except
for my mother. But even then, bv spending only one
hundred and fifty francs a month, I could still pa}' her
income. If I lose all here I shall live no longer. I
should be content with the garret in the rue Lesdigui-
eres and one hundred francs a month. The heart, the
mind, the ambition, can desire no other thing than that
I have sought for sixteen years. If that immense hap-
piness escapes me I have no need for anything — I
could desire nothing. . . . You must not think that I
care for luxury. I care for the luxury of the rue For-
tunee with all its accompaniments, — a beautiful wife,
well-born, a competence, and friends ; but in itself it is
nothing to me, — the rue Fortunee exists oiAy for and
by her."
332 HonorS de Balzac.
" April 9, 1849.
" Would 3'ou believe that m}^ troubles have made
me lose two sound teeth, white and uninjured, and
that without pain? No one knows what the years
1847 and 1848 have cost me; above all in the un-
certainty that overhangs my fate. Here I have ma-
terial tranquillit}^ and that is all. ... I wish I could
see something reassuring about the future ; but all is
doubtful and tending to the worst side."
« April 30, 1849.
*' I am still here, detained hy illness. Alas ! I have
paid tribute to 1848. I have come to such a pass that
I can no longer brush my hair without suffocation and
palpitation. Twice I nearly strangled from the impos-
sibility of inhaling and exhaling my breath. I cannot
go upstairs. . . . Happily there is a doctor here, a
pupil of the famous Franck (the original of my Medecin
de Campagne). He and his son say the trouble is a
simple hypertrophy and answer for my complete cure.
But here I am, in for a course of treatment for God
knows how long. . . .
'* This horrible illness, horrible for a man of m}" viva-
city (for is it living to have to avoid everything, — the
least expression of feeling, a word too eagerly said, a
step too rapid ?) , is complicated by the effects of the
climate. Till now, I have not felt the baneful effects
of the Asiatic climate. It is fearful. I have headaches
all the time. Heat and cold are both excessive. Asia
sends us winds charged with elements quite other than
those of European atmospheres. But, as I tell you, the
doctors answer for my recovery, and I could not be as
Honore de Balzac. 333
well cared for in Paris as I am here, where everj' one
shows me such tender, fraternal, filial feelings and
genuine attachment, like that of a loving family. We
live as though we had but one heart among the four.
This is, I know, reiteration ; but it is the only definition
I can give of the life I live here. . . .
" Cost what it may, I shall return to Paris in August.
One should die in one's form. IIow can I oflTer a life
broken as mine is now ? I shall do what my situation
requires towards the incomparable friend who for six-
teen years has shone upon my life like a blessed star."
*' June 21, 1849.
*' The trouble in my heart (not to speak of those in my
stomach which are a consequence of it) has increased
to such a degree that the treatment is renewed. I have
been auscultated, and the disease named (so as not to
alarm me) simple hypertrophy. It appears that the
father undertook the cure against the advice of the son,
who, imbued with our French ideas, thought it was all
over with me. . . . [Here follow man}' details of his
ilhiess and treatment.] However, the doctor is con-
fident he can complete the work and make me as good
as new. He is a great physician, quite unknown. He
does justice to the French faculty ; says they are the
first in the world for recognizing and diagnosing dis-
eases ; but declares them absolutely ignorant, with a
few exceptions, of therapeutics, — that is, the knowledge
of means of cure. Is it not dreadful to think that
Frederic Soulie died for want of this doctor of mine ? —
for two months ago I was as ill as Soulie was when he
put himself under treatment."
334 Honore de Balzac.
" August 6, 1849.
" Affairs here, financiall}', are in a perilous state.
Enormous crops, no mone}^ I fear, for reasons not of
a nature to put in a letter, that the purpose that brought
me here is indefinitely postponed. Can you believe
that it is impossible to send monej^ out of this country' ?
Not only does an imperial edict forbid it, but the Jews
exact fifteen or twent}" per cent commission. You can
have no conception of the greed of the Jews here. Shy-
lock was a joke to them, a born innocent. And re-
member this is only in the matter of exchange ; when
it comes to borrowing they sometimes require fifty per
cent, even one Jew from another Jew."
" October 20, 1849.
*' I have had what the doctor calls an intermittent
cephalalgic fever. It was horrible. It lasted thirty-
four days. I am as thin as I was in 1819 ; though
there is still a little flesh on my stomach, the last refuge
of the fat which illness has taken from me. . . . The
fever is over and done with, but it has interrupted the
treatment of the chronic affection. . . .
*' Tell my mother that although I cannot return to
Paris now, I have hopes of a happy termination of my
journey here ; you can safely say that. I had better stay
here some months longer than go to Paris now and re-
turn. You may say that things are perhaps going bet-
ter than I am willing to write. But manage so that she
shall not suspect that I am ill.
'' I have a dressing-gown for my illness which forever
puts an end to the white robes of the Chartreux. It is
made of termolama, a Persian or Circassian stuff", all
Honor e de Balzac. 335
silk, with those miracles of hand-work you see in India
shawls. It lasts for years. You are clothed with the
sun. It is warm and light. My termolama has a black
ground, with palm leaves wreathed with delicate little
flowers with gold reflections, — all hand-work ; some-
thing like Venetian brocade embroidered in silver and
gold. My illness has made a baby of me. I am pos-
sessed by one of those delightful joys we onh' have at
eighteen. I march about in the glor}' of my termolama
like a sultkn. I am writing to you now in my
termolama.
*' The Comtesse Anna and her husband have brought
back from Wiezniovicz the alarm-clock of Marina
Mniszeck, the czarina, whose wedding outfit, as appears
from the archives of the famil}' here, contained a bushel
of pearls and six chemises. Their uncle was the last
king of Poland, to whom Madame GeofFrin sold her
pictures. The 3'oung count and countess have brought
to Madame Ilanska the loveliest Greuze I ever saw,
*'La Jeune Fille effrayee," done b}^ Greuze for Mme.
Geoffrin ; and two Watteaus, also painted for Madame
GeofFrin. These three pictures are worth 80,000
francs. There are also two admirable Leslies, "James
II. and his first wife," a fine Van Dyck, a Cranach,
a Mignard, a Rigaud, a Netscher, and a portrait of
James II. b}' Lei}', all superb ; besides these, three
Canaletti, bought by the king from tlie Rezzonicos,
and three Rothari, finer than the Greuze. Rothari was
a Venetian painter of the eighteenth centurj', almost
unknown in France. The Empress Maria Teresa made
him a count of the Russian empire. He is the Greuze
of ItaAy. The Comtesse Georges wishes the three
336 Honore de Balzac.
Canaletti to be in my gallery, the two Watteans^ the
Greuze, and the finest of the Rothari in the salon in
marquetry, for which I now want only two flat vases
in malachite, and two jars to make it complete. Oh,
I forgot two Van Huysums, which if ^'ou covered them
with diamonds would be scarcely paid for. What treas-
ures these great Polish houses contain ! and how the
treasures rub shoulders with barbarism I
'' Adieu ; I chatter like a convalescent.'*
"Nov 29,1849.
" I have had to go back to the treatment for heart-
disease. My doctor is a great physician, buried at
Wierzschovnia, who, like many another genius, dislikes
the art in which he excels. . . . He has invented jooio-
ders. . . . He keeps the composition of his powders so
great a secret that he will not even reveal it to his son.
He has radically cured persons much worse than I.
" I don't wonder 3'ou are proud of 3'our girls. They
write me charming letters. . . . Those girls are the
compensation for your life. We must not be unjust to
Fate, we can accept troubles for such joys. It is just
so with me and Madame Hanska. The gift of her affec-
tion explains to me my sorrows, my misfortunes, my
labors. I have paid in advance the price of this treas-
ure. Napoleon said that everything is paid for here
below, nothing is stolen. I even feel as if I had paid
very little. What are twentj^-five years of struggle and
toil to win at last so splendid, so radiant, so complete
a love. It is now fourteen months that I have been
living here in a desert, — for it is a desert, — and thej^
have passed like a dream ; without one hour of weari-
Honore de Balzac. 337
ness, "without a word of discussion. Our sole dis-
quietude has been caused by the state of our health
and our affairs."
To his friend and intimate associate, Monsieur Lau-
rent-Jan, Balzac wrote occasionally on the subject of
his dramatic work. It is evident that his mind turned
to that as the field of his future career. He speaks of
it with all his old courage in his last letter to this
friend : —
« Dec. 10, 1849.
*' My dear Laurent, — A long and cruel disease of
the heart, with manj' ups and downs, which attacked me
in the winter of last j'ear has prevented me from writ-
ing except on m}- inextricable affairs, and, as in duty
bound, to my family. But to-day the doctors (there
are two) allow me, not to work, but to amuse mjself,
and I profit by the permission to send yon a little line.
" If I get back to Pai'is within two months I shall be
lucky, for it will take nearly that time to complete my
cure. I have grievously paid, alas, for the excesses
of work in which I indulged, — for the last ten years
specially. But don't let us talk of that.
" So, about the beginning of February I shall be in
Paris, with the firm intention and desire to work as
member of the Society of Dramatic Authors ; for in my
long days of illness I have thought of more than one
theatrical California to work up. But what can I do
here? It is impossible to send manuscript over a cer-
tain size. The frontiers are closed on account of the
war, and no stranger is admitted to the countr3^ I am
sure there must be great difficulties in the wayof litera-
22
338 Sonore de Balzac,
ture and the arts in France at this time. All is at a
standstill, is it not? Shall I find an hilarious pubUc in
1850? It is doubtful. Still, 1 mean to work. Think,
one scene written a day makes three hundred and
sixty-five scenes a year, — that is, ten plays. Suppose
five fail and three have only partial success ; there
remain two triumphs, which will be a pretty good re-
sult. Yes, courage ! If health returns to me I will
boldly embark on the dramatic gallej' laden with good
subjects ; but God save me from bringing up before
a bank of oysters.
" I tell you, m}^ friend, all happiness depends on
courage and work. I have had many periods of
wretchedness, but with energy, and above all, with
illusions, I pulled through them all. That is why I
still hope, and hope much.
" We have a learned man here, just from Kurdistan,
where he found the Jews of Moses, pure blood.
" We shall meet soon."
" February 28, 1850.
'' My dear Sister, — I was obliged to go to Kiev to
renew my permit and have my passport vised. Alas !
it was fatal to my health. On the second day a terrible
blast of wind, which they call here the chasse-neige^
caught me, though I was so wrapped in furs no spot
seemed left for it to reach me, and I took the most
dreadful cold I have ever had in my life. . . . But
my cherished hopes ma}' be realized. If so, there will
be further delays. I must go again to Kiev to take out
proper papers. All is probable ; for these four or five
successive illnesses, and my suff'erings from the climate
(which I laughed at for her sake) have touched that
Honors de Balzac,
noble soul ; she is more touched b}' them than she is,
as a sensible woman, frightened by my few remaining
debts. I see now that all will go well. ... In that
case my, or rather our arrival in the rue Fortun^e will
take place during the first two weeks in April."
" WiERzscHovNiA, March 15, 1850.
*'My dear good, beloved Mother, — Yesterda3% at
seven in the morning, thanks be to God, my marriage
was celebrated in the church of Sainte-Barbe at Berdit-
chef, b}' a priest sent by the bishop of Jitomir. Mon-
seigneur wished to marry us himself; but being pre-
vented, he sent a very saintl}^ man, the Abbe Count
Czarouski, the oldest and most distinguished of the
Polish Catholic clergy.
" Madame Eve de Balzac, your daughter-in-law, has
taken (in order to remove all difficulties in the wa}' of
our mari'iage) the heroic resohition, prompted by her
sublime maternal affection, of giving all her fortune to
her daughter, reserving onl}^ an income for herself.
'' My return is now certain ; but it will depend on a
journey to Kiev to alter my passport, and inscribe the
name of ray wife. . . . We are now two to thank you
for all the care you have taken of our house, and to
offer you our respectful tenderness.
''Accept the assurance of m}' respect, and my filial
attachment. Your submissive son \^Tonfils soumis]."
" WiERzscHOVNiA, Marcli 15, 1850.
" My dear Sister, — Yesterda}', at Berditchef, in the
parish church of Sainte-Barbe, a delegate from the bishop
of Jitomir blessed and celebrated my marriage. So for
340 Honors de Balzac.
the last twent3'-four hours there is a Madame Eve de
Balzac, nee Comtesse Rzewuska, or a Madame Honore
de Balzac. It Is no longer a secret, and I write to you
with the least possible delay. . . . The witnesses were
Comte Georges Mniszeck, ra}^ wife's son-in-law, Comte
Gustave Olizar, brother-in-law of the Abbe Comte Cza-
rouski, and the priest of the parish of Berditchef. The
Comtesse Anna accompanied her mother, both at the
summit of happiness. It is, as you know, a marriage
of the heart, for Madame Eve de Balzac has given her
entire propert}' to her children, — Comte Georges being,
perhaps, better to her than any son would have been. . . .
" I hope we shall start for Paris in a fortnight ; our
journey will consume another fortnight. So, I can now
say to you ' we shall soon meet.*
" Thy brother Honore,
at the summit of happiness."
His old friend Madame Carraud had met with re-
verses. Pier husband was dead ; her means straight-
ened ; and she had been obliged to sell the greater part
of her property. One of Balzac's first thoughts after
his marriage was that it gave him the opportunitj- to do
for her what she had done for him in his dark days.
" WiERzscHOVNiA, March 17, 1850.
" My very dear and kind Madame Carraud, —
I have put off answering your good and admirable
letter until toda}-, for we are such o]d friends that I
cannot let j^ou hear from an}' one but me of the happy
conclusion of that long and beautiful drama of the
heart, which has continued through sixteen years.
Honors de Balzac.^ 341
Three days ago I married the only woman I have
loved, whom 1 now love more than I ever did, whom I
shall love till death. I believe this union to be a com-
pensation which God has held in reserve through all
my adversities, my years of toil, the difficulties I have
met with and finally surmounted. I had no happiness
in 3'outh, no blossoming spring- tide, but I shall have a
brilliant summer, and the sweetest of all autumns. Per-
haps from this point of view my most happy marriage
may seem to you a personal consolation, by proving
that after many sufferings there are blessings which
Providence will, sooner or later, bestow. . . .
'' I have so often described you to my wife, and your
letter has so fully completed the portrait, that you seem
to her a friend of long standing. Therefore with one
and the same impulse, the same emotion of the soul,
we both offer you a room in our house in Paris, where
you can live absolutel}^ as though 3'ou were in your
own home. What can I sa}' to .you? That you are
the onl}' one to whom we would make such a proposal,
and that you ought to accept it, — or you deserve
trouble. For, reflect, did I not go to you in the sacred
confidence of friendship, when you were happy and I
was struggling through the storm, through the high
waves of my equinox, drowned in debt? ^ow I can
have the sweet and tender reprisals of gratitude. . . .
Come to us, then, from time to time, to be near 3-our
son, to breathe -in art, Paris, elegance ; come and see
and talk with enlightened people, and refresh yourself
in two hearts that love 3'ou, — one because 3'ou have
been so good and tender a friend, the other because
you have been all that to me.
342 Honore de Balzac.
'•'• This is only what I did in the old da3'S at Saint-Cjr,
AngOLileme, and Frapesle. There I gathered strength ;
there I had the sights about me that I needed ; there
my desires were quenched. You shall now know how
sweet it was to live so ; you. shall learn by your own
experience all that you were (without knowing it) to
me, poor toiler, — misunderstood, weighed down through
many years by physical and mental anguish. Ah ! I
can never forget your motherhood for me ; 3'our divine
sympathy for suffering. Thinking of all this, and of
the way you are bravely facing adversity, I — who have
so often struggled with that rough adversary — I tell
you I am ashamed of my happiness when I think that
you are unhappy. But no, we are both above such
pettiness of heart. Each can say to the other that
happiness or unhappiness are only forms of being in
which great souls can feel the}^ live a stronger life.
We know that we need as much philosophic vigor for
the one position as for the other ; and that the unhappi-
ness which finds true friends is, perhaps, more endur-
able than the happiness which is envied.
'* So, then, when you come to Paris you will come to
us, and without sending word. Come to the rue For-
tunee as to your own home, exactly as I used to go to
Frapesle. It is my claim, m}' right. I remind you of
what you said to me at Angouleme on the day when I
(worn out with writing Louis Lambert., and ill, 3'ou
know wh}') feared madness, and spoke to you of the
way mad people were abandoned. You answered, ' If
you go mad I will take care of you.' Never have I
forgotten those word's, your look, the expression of
your face ; they are all as plain before me as they
Honore de Balzac. 343
were on that June day of 1832. It is in virtue of that
promise that I claim you now when I am mad with
happiness."
" WiERZscHOVNiA, April 15, 1850.
" My dear Mother, — We are dela3'ed here. I can
hardly see to write. I have some trouble in my eyes
which prevents either reading or writing. It comes
from a draught of air and the present medical treat-
ment. The doctor is not alarmed. He wants me to
continue the treatment six daj's longer. I have had a
serious relapse in my heart-trouble and also in the lung.
I have lost more ground than I had gained. Every
motion that I make stops both speech and breathing.
'* Oh, my poor eyes, — once so good ! "
*' Dresden, May 11, 1850.
" We have been three weeks in making a journey
which should have taken six days. Sometimes it re-
quired fifteen or sixteen men to hoist the carriage out
of the mud-holes into which it sank up to the doorways.
At last we are here, living, but ill and tired out. Such
a journey ages one ten years.
"Let the house be ready, flowers and all, by the
20th. ... I want Madame Honore to see it in its best
arra3\ There must be flowering-plants in all the jar-
dinieres. I mean this for a surprise, and shall sa}'^
nothing about it. . . . Here is where the plants must
be put: 1st, the jardiniere in the front room ; 2d, that
in the Japanese salon ; 3d, the two in the bedroom with
the cupola ; 4th, I want cape jessamine in the two tin}'
jardinieres on the fireplace <^f the gray room with cu-
pola ; 5th, the two large jardinieres on the staircase
344 Honore de Balzac.
landings ; 6th, small ferns in the two bowls which
Feucheres mounted. I don't know whether Grobe has
finished the jardiniere in marquetr}^ for the green salon.
If done (it must stand between the writing-table and
the cabinet in marquetr}-), I want it filled with beauti-
ful^ beautiful flowers."
"There is a Turkish proverb," says Gautier, in the
essay from which we have already quoted, " which
declares that when the house is finished death enters.
Nothing is so to be dreaded as a wish reahzed. His
debts were paid, the longed-for marriage accomplished,
the nest for his happiness lined with down, and (as if
they foresaw the coming end) even his enemies were
beginning to praise him. It was all too good ; nothing
remained for him but to die. His illness made rapid
progress ; but no one dreamed of a fatal end, we had
such confidence in Balzac's athletic constitution ; we
thought he would bury us all.
" I was about to make a journe}^ into Italy, and be-
fore leaving I went to say good-by to my illustrious
friend in the rue Fortunee, where he had arrived with
his wife a few weeks earlier. He had just driven out
to the custom-house, the servant said, to recover some
foreign curiosities. I left the house reassured ; and the
next day I received a note from Madame de Balzac,
dated June 20, which kindly explained, with polite
regrets, why I had not found her husband at home.
At the bottom of the letter Balzac had scrawled these
words : —
'^ ' I can no longer read or write.
' "De Balzac.'"
Honore de Balzac. 345
^' I have kept that sorrowful line, — the last, probably,
that the author of the Comedie Humaine ever wrote.
It was, though I did not comprehend it at the time, the
supreme cry of the thinker and the worker : ^ It is
finished 1 ' The thought that Balzac could die never
once came to me.
^^ A few weeks later I was at Florian's on the Piazza
San Marco ; the ' Journal des Debats,' one of the few
French papers which reach Venice, lay beside me. I
took it up and read the death of Balzac. I nearly fell
upon the marble pavement ; and m}' grief was suddenly
mingled with a feeling of indignation and rebellion that
"was not Christian, for all souls are alike in the sight of
God. 1 had that morning visited the insane hospital
on the island of San Servolo, and had seen decrepit
idiots, drivelling old men, human larvae no longer di-
rected by even animal instincts, and I asked myself
why that luminous brain was put out like the snuff of a
candle when the vital spark remained in those darkened
heads with a fitful gleam."
Victor Hugo saw Balzac dying and dead, and the
words in which he tells of that death-bed and the part-
ing scene in Pere-Lachaise may fitly end this memoir :
'^On the 18th of August, 1850, my wife, who had
been that morning to call on Madame de Balzac, told
me that Balzac was dying.
"My uncle, General Louis Hugo, was dining with
us, but as soon as we rose from table I left him and
took a cab to the rue Fortunee, qiiartier Beaujon,
where M. de Balzac lived. He had bought what re-
346 Honore de Balzac.
mained of the hotel of M. de Beaujon, a few buildings
which had escaped the general demolition, and out of
them he had made a charming little house, elegantly
furnished, with a porte cochere on the street, and in
place of a garden a long, narrow, paved courtj^ard, with
flower-beds about it here and there.
^^I rang. The moon was veiled by clouds; the
street deserted. No one came. I rang again. The
gate opened ; a woman came forward, weeping. I gave
my name, and was told to enter the salon, which was
on the ground-floor. On a pedestal opposite the fire-
place was the colossal bust by David. A wax-candle
was burning on a handsome oval table in the middle of
the room.
^' Another woman came in, also weeping, and said to
me : ' He is dying ; Madame has gone to her own
room. The doctors gave him up yesterday. They all
said, " We can do nothing for him." The night was
dreadful. This morning at nine o'clock Monsieur be-
came speechless. Madame sent for a priest, who came
and administered extreme unction. Monsieur made a
sign that he understood it. An hour later he pressed
the hand of his sister, Madame Surville. But since
midday the rattle is in his throat, and be sees nothing.
He cannot live out the night. If j^ou wish me to do so,
I will call Monsieur Surville, who has not 3'et gone to
bed.^
" Monsieur Surville confirmed all the servant had said.
I asked to see Monsieur de Balzac. We passed along
a corridor, and up a staircase carpeted in red, and
crowded with works of art of all kinds, vases, pictures,
statues, paintings, brackets bearing porcelains ; then
Honore de Balzac. 347
through another corridor, where I saw an open door.
I heard a loud and difficult breathing. I was in Mon-
sieur de Balzac's bedroom.
^^The bed was in the middle of the room. M. de
Balzac lay in it, his head supported by a mound of
pillows, to which had been added the red damask cush-
ions of the sofa. His face was purple, almost black,
inclining to the right. The hair was gra}', and cut
rather short. His eyes were open and fixed. I saw his
side face only and, thus seen, he was like Napoleon.
" A light near the bed fell on the portrait of a young
man, rosy and smiling, hanging over the mantel-piece.
I raised the coverlet and took Balzac's hand. It was
moist with perspiration. I pressed it; he made no
answer to the pressure.
^*The room was the same in which I had seen him a
month earlier, gay, full of hope, certain of his recovery.
We talked and argued long, politically. He reproached
me for my ' demagogy.' He himself was legitimist.
He said to me : ' How can you renounce with such
serenity the rank of peer of France, the noblest of all
titles except that of King of France ? ' He also said :
' I have bought this house of M. de Beaujon without the
garden, but with the gallery leading into the little church
at the corner of the street. I have a door on my stair-
case which leads into the church ; a turn of the lock and
I am there at mass. I care more for that little gallery
than for the garden.'
'^ When I left him he followed me to the staircase,
walking painfully, to show me this door. Then he
called to his wife : ' Be sure you show Hugo all my
pictures.'
848 Honore de Balzac.
^'The nurse said, 'He will die at daybreak/
''I turned away, bearing with me the remembrance of
that dying face. As I crossed the salon I looked again
at the bust, immovable, impassive, proud, and vaguely
beaming, and I compared death with immortality.
This was Sunday. They buried him on Wednesday.
He was first taken to the Chapel Beaujon, through the
door which, to him, had been more precious than the
gardens of his predecessor.
''Edmond Giraud had made his portrait on the day
of his death.
''The funeral services took place at Saint-Philippe-du-
Roule. The minister of the Interior, Baroche, sat be-
side me in church, close to the coffin. He said to me :
' This was a very distinguished man.* I replied, ' He
was a man of genius.' The procession crossed Paris
and went to Pere-Lachaise along the boulevards. Rain
was falling as we left the church and until we reached
the cemeter3^ It was one of those days when the
heavens seem to weep. We walked the whole distance.
I was on the right at the head of the coffin, holding one
of the silver tassels of the pall. The other pall-bearers
were Alexandre Dumas, Monsieur Baroche, and Sainte-
Beuve.
"When we reached the grave, which was on the brow
of the hill, the crowd was immense ; the path was nar-
row and steep ; the horses could hardly draw the
hearse, and it threatened to slide backward. . . . The
coffin was lowered into the grave, which is near to those
of Charles Nodier and Casimir Delavigne. The priest
said a last prayer, and I a few words. While I was
speaking the sun went down. All Paris lay before me
Honor e de Balzac, 349
afar off in the splendid mists of the sinking light, the
glow of which appeared to fall into the grave at my feet
as the dull noise of the earth upon the coflSn interrupted
my last words : —
*^ ^No, it is not the Unknown to him. No, I have
said it before, and I shall never weary of saying it, —
no, it is not darkness to him, it is Light ! It is not
the end, but the beginning ; not nothingness, but eter-
nit3' ! Is not this true, ye who listen to me ? Such
coffins proclaim immortalit}'. In presence of certain
illustrious dead we feel the divine destin}' of that in-
tellect which has traversed earth to suffer and be puri-
fied. Do we not say to ourselves here, to-day, that it
is impossible that a great genius in this life can be other
than a great spirit after death? ' ''
Let us leave him there where they laid him — the
spot on which he stood in his inspired youth, and
thought: '^The noblest epitaphs are the single names,
— La Fontaine, Moliere, — names that tell all and make
the passer dream."
A broken column and a single name now mark his
grave.
APPENDIX.
I
COMPLETE WORKS OF H. DE BALZAC.
La Comedie Humaine.
SCENES DE LA VIE PRIV^E.
Name.
1. Gloire et Malheur
2. Le Bal de Sceaux
3. M^moires de deux jeunes
Marines ....
4. La Bourse ....
5. Modeste Mignon . .
6. Un D^but dans la vie
7. Albert Savarus . .
8. La Vendetta . . .
9. Une double famille .
10. La Paix du manage .
11. Madame Firmiani
12. £tude de femme . .
13. La F ausse ma itresse .
14. Une Fille d'Eve . .
15. Le Message ....
16. La Grenadi^re . . .
17. La Femme abandonn^e
18. Honorine ....
19. Beatrix
Date.
Dedicltion.
1829
Mile. Marie de Montheau.
1829
Henry de Balzac.
1841
George Sand.
1832
a Sofka.
1844
a une Polonaise [Mme. Hanska].
1842
a Laure [Mme. SurvilleJ.
1842
Mme. de Girardin.
1830
a Puttinati.
1830
La Comtesse Louise de Turhein.
1829
Mile. Valentine Surville.
1832
Alexandre de Berny.
1830
Jean-Charles de Negro.
1842
La Comtesse Clara Maffei.
1838
La Ctsse. Bolognini, nee Vimercati
1832
Marquis Damaro Pareto.
1832
a Caroline.
1832
La Duchesse d'Abrant^s.
1843
Achille Uev(^'ria.
1838
a Sarah.
352
Appendix.
Name.
Date.
20.
Gobseck
1830
21.
La Femme de trente ans
1834
22.
Le Pere Goriot . . .
1834
23.
Le Colonel Chabert . .
1832
24.
La Messe de 1' Ath^e . .
1836
25.
L'Interdiction ....
1836
26.
Le Contrat de mariage .
1835
27.
Autre etude de femme .
1839
28.
La Grande Breteche . .
1832
Dedication.
Baron Barcliou de Penhoen.
Louis Boulanger.
Geoffroy de Saint-Hilaire.
La Comtesse Ida de Bocarm6.
Auguste Borget.
Contre - Amiral Bazoche.
Giacomo Rossini.
Leon Gozlan.
SCENES DE LA VIE DE PROVINCE.
29. Ursule Mirouet . . . 1841
30. Eug(^nie Grandet . . . 1833
31. Le Lys dans la valine . 1835
32. Pierrette 1839
33. Le Cur^ de Tours . . . 1832
34. Le Manage d'un gar9on 1842
35. L'lllustre Gaudissart . 1833
36. La Muse du departement 1843
37. La Vieille fille .... 1836
38. Le Cabinet des Antiques 3837
39. Les Illusions Perdues . 1836
Mile. Sophie Surville.
a Maria
Docteur J. B. Nacquart.
Mile. Anna Hanska.
David (d' Angers).
Charles Nodier.
La Duchesse de Castries.
Comte Ferdinand de Gramont.
E. Midy de la Greneraye-Surville.
Baron Hammer-Purgstall.
Victor Hugo.
SCENES DE LA VIE PARISIENNE.
40. Ferragus
41. La Duchesse de Langeais
42. La Fille aux yeux d'or .
43. C^sar Birotteau . . .
44. La Maison Nucingen
45. Splendeurs et miseres
des courtisanes . . .
46. Les Secrets de la Prln-
cesse de Cadignan
47. Facino Cane
48. Sarrasine . .
49. Pierre Grassou .
50. La Cousine Bette
51. Le Cousin Pons
1833 Hector Berlioz.
1834 Franz Liszt.
1834 Eugene Delacroix.
1837 Alphonse de Lamartine.
1837 Mme. Zulma Carraud.
1838 Prince Alphonso Serafino di Porcia.
an . . 1839
Th^ophile Gautier.
. . . 1836
a Louise.
. . . 1830
Charles de Bernard du Grail.
. . . 3839
Lieut.-Colonel Periollas.
. . . 1846
Prince di Teano.
. . . 1847
Prince di Teano.
Appendix.
353
Name.
Date.
52.
Un Prince de la Boh^me
1839
5;J.
Gaudissart II
3844
54.
Les Employes ....
1836
55.
Les Conn^diens sans le .
savoir
1845
56.
Les Petits Bourgeois . .
1845
Dedication.
Henri Heine.
La Princesse Belgiojoso.
La Ctsse. Seraphina San-Severino.
Comte Jules de Castellane.
a Constance Victoire.
SCENES DE LA VIE MILITAIRE.
57. Les Chouans .... 1827 Theodore Dablin.
58. Une Passion dans le de-
sert 1830
SCENES DE LA VIE POLITIQUE.
59. Un ]£pisode sous la Ter-
reur 1831
60. Une Tc-nebreuse Affaire 1841
61. Z. Marcas 1840
62. L' En vers de I'Hist. con-
temporaine .... 1847
63. Le Depute d'Arcis.
M. Guyonnet-Merville.
M. de Margonne.
Comte Guillaume de Wurtemburg.
SCENES DE LA VIE DE CAMPAGNE.
64. Le Mddecin de campagne 1832 a ma M^re.
65. Le Curd de village . . 1837 a Helene.
66. Les Paysans .... 1845 P. S. B. Gavault.
ETUDES
PHILOSOPHIQUES.
67.
La Peau de Chagrin . .
1830
M. Savary.
68.
Jesus-Christ en Flandres
1831
Mme. Desbordes-Valmore.
69.
Melmoth rdconcilie . .
1835
General Baron de Pommereul.
70.
Le Chef-d'oeuvre inconnu
1832
a un Lord.
71.
Gambara
1837
Marquis de Belloy.
72.
Massimilla Doni . . .
1839
Jacques Strunz.
23
354
Appendix,
Name.
Date.
73.
La Recherche de I'Absok
I 1834
74.
L' Enfant Maudit . .
1831
75.
Les Maranas . . .
. 1832
76.
Adieu
1830
77.
Le R^quisitionnaire .
1831
78.
El Verdugo ....
1829
79.
Un Drame au bord de la
1834
mer
80.
L'Auberge rouge . .
1831
81.
L'lilixir de longue vie
. 1830
82.
Maitre Cornelius . .
1831
83.
Catherine de Medicis
1836
84.
Les Proscrits . . .
1831
85.
Louis Lambert . . .
1832
86.
Seraphita
1833
Dedication.
Mme. Josephine Delannoy.
La Baronne James de Rothschild.
La Comtesse Merlin.
Prince Frederick de Swartzemburg.
M. de la Ribellerie.
Martinez de la Rosa,
j La Princesse Caroline Galitzin
\ de Genthod.
Marquis de Custine.
Au Lecteur.
Comte Georges Mniszeck.
Marquis de Pastoret.
Almae Sorori.
Et nunc et semper dilectje dicatum.
Mme. Eveline Hanska, n^e Com-
tesse Rzewuska.
l^TUDES ANALYTIQUES.
87. La Physiologic du man-
age 1829 Au Lecteur.
88. Petites mi seres de la vie
conjugal e.
{End of La Comedie Humaine.)
Theatre.
Vautrin Drame 5 Actes
Les Ressources de Quinola Comedie 5 Actes
Pamela Giraud .... Drame 5 Actes
La Maratre Drame 5 Actes
Le Faiseur (Mercadet) . Com6die 5 Actes
Les Contes Drolatiques.
Porte Saint Martin 1840.
Odeon 1842.
Gaiete 1843.
Theatre Historique 1848.
Gymnace 1851.
CEUVRES Dl VERSES.
Contes et Nouvelles et Essais Analytiques in all 41
Physiognomies et esquisses Parisiennes . in all 27
Croquis et fantaisies . in all 39
Appendix,
355
Portraits et critiques litt^raires. Polemique Judiciare . . in all 25
Etudes Historiques et Folitiques in all 36
Correspondance de H. de Balzac No. of letters 384
These works are contained, in the foregoing sequence, in the Edition
definitive des Oiiuvres completes de H. de Balzac, 24 vols. Calniann
Ldvy. Paris, 1879. The above list, and the two succeeding ones are
made from those contained in the bibliographical work of M. le Vicomte
de Spoelberch de Lovenjoul, — as already stated.
II.
COMPLETE WORKS OF H. de BALZAC,
With Year of Composition.
1829.
Les Chouans.
Fragoletta, Latouche.
Phyaiologie du manage.
1830.
£tude de moeurs par les gants.
Ki Verdugo.
Une viie de Touraine.
Complaintes satiriques sur les
mceurs du temps.
Un Homme nialheureux.
L'Usurier (fragment de Gobseck).
£tude de femme.
Visiles.
Voyage pour I'tternite.
L' Spicier.
Des Artistes.
La Paix du M(^nage.
La Maison du Chat-qui-pelote.
Le Bal de Sceaux.
La Vendetta.
Gobseck.
Une double famille.
Le Bibliophile Jacob.
Le Charlatan.
Les Deux Reves (Catherine de
Medicis).
L'Oisif et le Travailleur.
Madame Toutendieu.
Moeurs aquatiques.
Des Mots a la mode.
De la Mode en litterature.
Noiivelle Th^orie du dejeuner.
£tudes pour Le Feuilleion des Jour-
naux Politiques.
Adieu.
356
Appendix.
La Jeunesse fran^aise.
£tude de Philosophie morale sur
les habitants du Jardiii des
Plantes.
De la vie de chateau.
Physiologic de la toilette.
Physiologic gastronomique.
Gavarni.
Le Miuistre.
Un Entr'acte.
Une Vue du grande monde.
L'tlixir de longue vie.
Traite de la vie elegante.
L'Archeveque.
Ressouvenirs.
Les Voisins.
Une Consultation.
L'Opium.
La Reconnaissance du gamin.
La Colique.
La Coniedie du Diable.
Fragment d'une Satire Menipp^e.
Des Salons litteraires et des mots
elogieux.
La Tour de la Birette.
Le Gar9on de Bureau.
La Derniere Revue de Napoleon.
Sarrasine.
Des Caricatures.
Une Lutte.
Les Litanies romantiques.
La Danse des Pierres (fragment
de Jt^sus-Christ en Flandres).
Le Petit Mercier (Hist, des Treize).
La Mort de ma Tante.
Le dernier napoleon (Peau de
Chagrin).
De ce qui n'est pas a la mode.
Une Garde.
Si j'etais riche.
Vengeance d'artiste.
Entre Filets, L
Une Passion dans le desert.
Une Inconsequence.
Entre-Filets, IL, III.
Un lilpisode sous la Terreur.
Souvenir d'un paria.
Lettres sur Paris.
1831.
Les Deux Dragons.
La Grisette.
L' Amour.
Le Marchand de bustes.
Une Passion au college.
La Femme de trente ans, l^re partie.
L'Enfant maudit, l^re partie.
La Piece nouvelle et la Ddbut.
Un Lendemain.
Histoire de giberne.
La cour des MessaL'^eries-royales.
Ci-git la muse de Beranger.
Une charge de dragons.
La Kequisitionnaire.
Une Famille politique.
Un commis-voyageur de la Lib-
ert^.
M^canisme intellectuel, etc.
Saint-Simonien et Saint-Simoniste.
Paris en 1831.
Un Importun.
Un Depute d'alors.
La Femme de Trente ans, 2^ partie.
Le Cornac de Carlsruhe.
Le Dimanche.
Opinion de mon dpicier.
Longchamps.
L'Embuscade.
Une semaine de la Chambre des
Deputes.
De rindifference en maliere puli-
tique.
Appendix.
857
Des fli^es particulieres, etc.
Enquete sur la politique de, etc.
Tableau d'un int^rieur de famille.
Le Provincial.
Inconvenients de la presse, etc.
La Patriotisme de Clarice.
D'un pantalon de foil de chevre.
Le suicide d'un poete.
line D^bauche (Peau de Chagrin).
Les Proscrits.
Un dejeuner sous le pont Royal.
La Belle Imperia (Contes Drola-
tiques).
Ordre public.
Une stance a I'hotel Bullion.
Conseil des ministres.
Croquis.
Don Pedro IL
Mani^re de faire une ^meute.
Un conspirateur moderne.
Physiologic des positions.
Rondo brillant et facile.
Le Banquier.
Le Chef-d'oeuvre inconnu.
Physiologie de I'adjoint.
Deux rencontres en un an.
Les Grands Acrobates.
Un Fait personnel.
L'Auberge rouge.
La Peau de Chagrin.
Le Claqueur.
Vingt et un Septembre, 1822.
Jdsus-Christ en Flandres.
La Comedie du Diable.
La Femme de trente ans.
Le Sous-pr^fet.
Exaltation des ministres.
Morality d'une bouteille de Cham-
pagne.
Critiques pubii^es dans La Carica-
ture.
Physiologie du cigare.
La Fortune en 1831.
Grand Concert vocal et instru-
mental.
L'Enibarras du choix.
Six degr^s du crime Six degr^s de
la vertu.
Details sur un prefet de police.
Maitre Cornelius.
La Dome des luvalides.
1832.
Un journ^e du nez de M. d'Argout.
Deux destinies d'homme.
Religion Saint-Simonienne.
Le Depart.
Histoire du Chevalier de Beauvoir.
Le Grand d'Espagne.
£chantillon de causeries fran^aises.
La Maitresse de notre colonel.
Depart d'une diligence.
Voila mon homme.
Madame Firmiani.
Le Message.
Le Colonel Chabert.
Proces de La Caricature.
Sur le monument du Due de Berry.
Le Philipotin.
Terme d'Avril.
La vie d'une femme.
Fac^ties choldriques.
Contes Drolatiques (1" Dixain).
Le Refns.
Le Cur^ de Tours.
La Grande Bretdche.
Le Conseil.
Enseignement.
La Bourse.
Sur la situation du parti royaliste.
La Femme abandonn^e.
Lettre a Charles Nodier.
358
Appendix,
Louis Lambert.
Voyage a Juva.
La Grenadi^ve.
Critiques publi^es dans la Carica-
ture.
Les Marana.
Lettre in^dit de Louis Lambert.
Histoire des Treize (fin).
Le Contrat de Mariage.
Le L3's dans la vallee.
Seraphita (fin).
Brillat-Savarin.
1833.
Critiques publides dans la Carica-
ture.
Preface de I'Histoire des Treize.
Histoire des Treize, le"" Episode.
Histoire des Treize, 2e Episode.
Le Prosne du joyeulx cur^ de
Meudon.
Histoire de PEmpereur.
Contes Drolatiques, 2^ Dizain.
Th^orie de la demarche.
Perseverance d'amour.
La Muse du D^partement.
Le Medecin de campagne.
Eugenie Grandet.
L'lUustre Gaudissart.
1834.
Les Jeunes Gens de Paris.
Histoire des Treize, 3e Episode.
La Femme de Trente ans.
La Recherche de I'absolu.
Seraphita.
Lettre aux ^crivains fran9ais du
xix. siecle.
Aventures d'une idde heureuse
(fragment).
Le P6re Goriot.
1835.
Un Drame au bord de la met.
Melmoth reconcilid.
1836.
La Messe de TAth^e.
L'Interdiction.
£tudes critiques, Chronique de
Paris.
La France et I'fitranger.
Le Cabinet des Antiques.
Facino Cane.
Ecce Homo.
Le Lys dans la valine (fin).
Histoire du proc6s du Lys.
L'Enfant maudit, 2e partie.
La Vieille Fille.
La confidence des Ruggieri.
1837.
Les Illusions perdues, l^^e partie.
Les Martyrs ignores.
Les Employes, ler partie.
Gambara.
Contes drolatiques, 3^ Dizain.
Cesar Birotteau.
Six rois de France.
1838.
Le Cabinet des antiques (fin).
Splendeurs et Mis^res des courti-
sanes.
Les Employes (fin).
La Maison Nucingen.
Traite des excitants modernes.
Une Fille d'five.
Appendix.
359
1839.
Le Curd du village.
Beatrix.
Illusions perdues, 2'^ partie.
Lettre a propos du Cur^ de village.
Massimilla Doni.
Les Secrets de la Princesse de
Cadignan.
Memoire sur le proces Pe^'tel.
Proems de la Soci^t^ des Gens-de-
lettres.
Petites Mis^res de la vie conju-
gale.
Le Notaire.
L'Epicier.
Mem. de Deux Jeunes Marines.
Catherine de Mddicis.
1842.
Les Ressources des Quinola. (Comv5-
die.)
Albert Savarus.
Un D^but dans la vie.
Les Mechancet^s d'un saint.
La Chine et les Chinois.
Un Manage de gar9on.
Les Amours de deux betes.
Autre fitude de femme.
Avant-propos de la Com^die Hu-
1840.
Pierrette.
Vautrin. (Drame.)
Z. Marcas.
Revue Parisienne.
Un Prince de la Boh6me.
Peines de coeur d'une chatte An-
glaise. ,
Guide-Ane, etc.
Monographie du rentier.
Pierre Grassou.
La Femme de Province.
La Femme comme il faut.
1841.
Una Ten^breuse Affaire.
, Les Deux Fr^res.
Notes remises a IVIM. les deputes.
Le Martyr Calviniste.
Ursule Mirouet.
La Fausse Maitresse.
Voyage d'un lion d'Afrique.
Physiologic de I'employe.
1843.
Tony Sans-soin.
Sur Catherine de M^dicis.
Honorine.
Monographie de la presse Parisi-
enne.
La Muse du d^partement (fin ).
Spl. et Mis^res de courtisanes
(fin).
Illusions Perdues, 3e partie.
Pamela Giraud. (Drame.)
Madame de la Chanterie.
1844.
Modeste Mignon.
Gaudissart II.
Les Pay sans.
Les Com^diens sans le savoir.
Histoire et Physiologie des boule-
vards de Paris.
Ce qui disparait de Paris.
B«5atrix (fin).
860
Appendix.
1845.
Une rue de Paris et son habitant.
Le Luther des chapeaux.
Un Homme d'affaires.
Petites Mis6res de la vie conjugale.
1846.
Une Prediction.
Lettres a Hippolyte Castille.
Les Parents Pauvres, lere partie.
L'Enversde I'Hist. contemporaine.
1847.
Les Parents Pauvres, 2^ partie.
Le Depute d'Arcis (commence-
ment).
1848.
Profession de foi politique.
La Maratre. (Drame.)
L'Envers de I'Hist. Contem. (fin).
Posthume.
La Filandiere.
Fragments, Revue Parisienne.
Le Faiseur (Mercadet).
Code Littdraire.
Les Petits Bourgeois.
Le monde comme il est, etc.
Inedit.
L*£cole des Manages.
£tude sur la Russie (1849).
III.
TITLES OF BOOKS, TALES, AND PLAYS
Announced by Balzac, but never Published.
(Those relating to the Wars of the Empire were intended for Les Scenes
Militaires.)
L' Absolution.
Une Actrice en voyage.
A marches forcdes.
Les Amours d'une laide.
Anatomie des Corps Enseignants.
Les Anglais en Espagne.
Annunciata. (Play.)
Apres Dresde.
L'Arm^e roulante.
L'Armde roulante. (Play.)
L' Attache d'Ambassade.
L'Aubergiste.
La Bataille de Dresde.
Une Bataille vue de I'Empire.
La Campagne de France.
Causeries du Soir.
Le Chretien.
Le Combat.
La Comddie d'amour. (Play.)
Comment on fait un minist^re.
Appendix.
361
La Conspiration Prudhomme.
" " •' (Play.)
Le Corsaire Alg(?rien.
Les Courtisans. (Play.)
Une Croisi^re.
Debuts d'un homme politique.
Le Dernier champ-de-bataille.
Les Deux ambitieux.
Les Deux amours.
Deux bienfaiteurs de I'humanitd.
Les Deux Extremes.
Les Deux Sculpteurs.
Dialogue Philosophique et Poli-
tique sur la perfection du XIX.
si^cle.
Le Diplomate.
Distraction.
Une Douleureuse histoire.
L'fimir.
Les Enfants.
L'Entree en campagne.
Entre Savants.
Les Environs de Paris.
£tude sur la Russie.
La Fille et la Femme. (Play.)
Fragment d'Histoire g^n^rale.
Les Fran9ais en Egypte. 3 epi-
sodes.
La Fr^lore.
La Garde Consulaire.
Gendres et Belles-M^res.
Les Gens ridds.
Gobseck. (Play.)
Les Grands I'Hopital, le Peuple.
Le grand P^nitencier.
Les Heritiers Boirouge.
Histoire du succession du Marquis
de Carabas dans le fief du Co-
quatrix.
L'Histoire et le Roman.
Int^rieur de College.
Jacques de Metz.
Le.Iuge de P.iix.
Le Juge dinstruction.
Le Mariage de Prudhomme. (Play.)
Le Ministre. (Play.)
Le Ministre. (Novel.)
Les Mitouflet.
Monographic de la Vertu.
Moscou.
Le Nouvel Abeilard.
Orgon. (Play.)
L'Original.
Les Partisans.
Pathologic de la vie sociale.
La Penissi^re.
Un Pensionnat de demoiselles.
Le P6re prodigue. (Play.)
Les Petit Bourgeois. (Play.)
Le Philanthrope.
Pierre et Catherine. (Play.)
Les Pontons.
Le Pretre catholique.
Le Privilege, tableau du XV. siecle.
Le Prophete.
Richard Coeur d'^ponge. (Play.)
Le Roi des Mendiants. (Play.)
Scenes de la vie du monde.
Soeur Marie des Anges.
Les Soldats de la R^publique.
Sophie Prudhomme. (Play.)
Sous Vienne. 3 Episodes.
La Succession Pons. (Play.)
Le Theatre comme 11 est.
Les Trainards.
Les Trois Cardinaux.
La Veille et le Lendemain, (Play.)
Les Vendeens, guerres civiles au
XIX. siecle.
La vie et aventures d'une idee.
Une vue de Paris.
362
Appendix.
IV.
LIST OF THE AMERICAN TRANSLATIONS
Made by Katharine Prescott Wormeley, and Pub-
lished BY Roberts Bros., Boston, U. S. A.
Those marked * are, or will be, in process of preparation.
THE COMEDY OF HUMAN LIFE.
Scenes from Private Life.
English Name.
French Name.
Fame and Sorrow.
(Tale.)
Gloire et Malheur.
The Purse.
<(
La Bourse.
Modeste Mignon.
(Novel.)
Modeste Mignon.
Albert Savarus.
(Tale.)
Albert Savarus.
Madame Firmiani.
((
Madame Firmiani.
Paz.
((
La Fausse maitresse.
La Grenadi^re.
((
La Grenadiere.
P^re Goriot.
(Novel.)
Le P6re Goriot.
Colonel Chabert.
(Tale.)
Le Colonel Chabert.
The Atheist's Mass.
"
La Messe de lAth^e.
La Grande Breteche.
((
La Grande Breteche.
*A Start in Life.
(Novel.)
Un D^but dans la vie.
*The Peace of a Household.
(Tale.)
La Paix du manage.
*Gobseck.
. "
Gobseck.
*The Injunction.
"
L'Interdiction.
*The Marriage Contract.
(Novel.)
Le Conti-at de mariage.
Scenes from Provincial Life.
Ursula.
(Novel.)
Ursule Mirouet.
Eugenie Grandet.
u
Eugenie Grandet.
The Lily of the Valley.
'«
Le Lys dans la valine.
Appendix.
363
English Name.
The Two Brothers.
The Illustrious Gaudissart.
♦Pierrette.
*The Curate of Tours.
•The Old Maid.
•The Gallery of Antiquities.
French Name.
" Le Menage d'un gar9on.
(Tale.) L'lllustre Gaudissart.
" Pierrette.
" Le Cure de Tours.
" La Vieille tille.
" Le Cabinet des antiques.
Scenes from Parisian Life.
The Duchesse de Langeais.
C^sar Birotteau.
Cousin Bette.
Cousin Pons.
Bureaucracy.
Facino Cane.
•Ferragus.
•The House of Nucingen.
•The Secrets of the Princesse
de Cadignan.
•Pierre Grassou.
•Comedians unknown to them-
selves.
(Novel.) La Duchesse de Langeais.
*' Cesar Birotteau.
" La Cousine Bette.
" Le Cousin Pons.
" Les Employes.
(Tale.) Facino Cane.
" Ferragus.
" La Maison Nucingen.
** Les Secrets de la Princesse de
" Cadignan.
" Pierre Grassou.
" Les Com^diens sans le savoir.
Scenes from Military Life.
A Passion in the Desert.
♦The Chouans.
(Tale.)
(Novel.)
Une Passion dans le desert.
Les Chouans.
An Episode under the Terror.
An Historical Mystery.
*Z. Marcas.
•Madame de la Chanterie.
Scenes from Political Life.
(Tale ) Un Episode sous la Terreur.
(Novel.) Une Tdn^breuse Affaire.
(Tale.) Z. Marcas.
(Novel.) L'Envers de THistoire con
temporaine.
The Country Doctor.
Sons of the Soil.
•The Village Curate.
Scenes from Country Life.
(Novel.)
Le M^decin de campagne.
Les Paysans.
Le Cur^ de village.
364
Appendix.
Philosophical Studies.
English Name.
The Magic Skin,
with Introduction by G. F.
Parsons.
Louis Lambert (with same).
Seraphita (with same).
Jesus Christ in Flanders.
The Hidden Masterpiece.
Gambara.
The Alkahest, or House of
Claes.
The Exiles.
*L'Enfant Maudit.
*A Drama on the Seashore.
*The Red Inn.
*Adieu.
*The Maranas.
*The Elixir of Long Life.
*Maitre Cornelius.
♦Catherine de Medicis.
*Le R^quisitionnaire.
French Name.
(Novel.) La Peau de Chagrin.
(Novel.)
Louis Lambert.
((
Seraphita.
(Tale.)
Jesus-Christ en Flandres.
"
Le Chef-d'oeuvre inconnu.
<(
Gambara.
(Novel.)
La Recherche de I'absolu.
(Tale.)
Les Proscrits.
<(
L'Enfant Maudit.
<(
Un Drame au bord de la Mer.
((
L'Auberge rouge.
"
Adieu.
"
Les ]\Iarana. ,
"
L'Elixir de longue vie.
tt
Maltre Cornelius.
"
Catherine de Medicis
((
Le Requisitionnaire.
INDEX.
AbrantIcs, Duchesse d', 125, 126.
Albert Savarus, 169, 227, 270,271.
Auberge Rouge, L', 86.
Balzac, Honors de,
complete life cannot be written: why, 1, 225.
aspect, known chiefly under one, 2.
contemporaries, records of, 3, 4.
birth and infancy, until aet. 4, 6.
childliood, until set. 8, 7-15.
Vendome, at school at, set. 8 to 14, 15-17. 47-58.
Tours, life at, set. 14 to 15, 17-20.
Paris, school life in, set. 15 to 17, 20, 60-63.
law studies, aet. 17 to 20, 22-24.
garret, life and letters in, set. 20 to 21, 26-39, 65 68.
Villeparisis, life and letters, xt. 21 to 23, 40, 41, 68.
Rue de Tournon, life in set. 28 to 32, 77-82, 116.
literary life, desire for, 24, 25, 64.
a seer; the gift of avatar, 66, 67, 208.
misjudged by friends, 25, 26, 57, 59, 64, 75-77.
political opinions, 63, 135-141.
publisher, attempt as, 70-74, 115, 116.
Comedie Humaine, first idea of La, 83, 84.
personages, his view of his, 83-85, 88.
courage under trials, 88-90. 91-92, 144, 244, 277-279, 333.
illusions gave him courage, 100-103, 106, 111, 180, 338.
Sardinia, trip to, 103-107, 146, 279-286.
neologisms, he defends his. 111, 112.
early life as a man withheld, 113.
literary career, opening of, 117-120.
journalist, as, 119.
journalism, opinion of, 119, 120.
366 Index,
Balzac, Honors de, — continued.
rue Cassini, removes to, 120.
health, geniality, vigor, 58, 59, 123.
portrait by Lamartine, 123-125.
Duchesse d'Abrantes, friendship with, 125, 126,
"Louise," correspondence with, 127.
Mme. Hanska, first letter from, 127.
Duchesse de Castries, relations with, 127-13-4.
Mme. Carraud, friendship with, 134-146, 340-341.
sympathy with those oppressed, 139.
Mme. de Berny, first mention of, 142, 147.
woman, feelings and work for, 141, 142, 227, 228, 258-268.
Les Jardies, 146, 147, 187-189, 242.
publishers, difficulties with, 149-154, 158.
conscience as to his work, 150.
publishing, Balzac's system of, 151, 152.
profits of work doubtful, 152, 153.
Soc. des Gens-de-lettres, services to, 154.
last meeting with Gens-de-lettres, 156, 157.
lawsuit with Revue de Paris, 160, 161, 231-237.
habits of work, 161, 162, 213-216.
devotion of servants, 162, 163,
founds the Chronique de Paris, 163-165.
founds the Revue Paris ienne, 165.
posterity, can be judged only by, 165, 166.
dramatic work, 166-170, 234.
modernity ; Gautier's view narrow, 170-172.
his style,"" 173-176, 206-207.
" the father of realism," 177-179.
what is in a name, 180-184, 245.
the vernal grasses, 184, 185.
result of twelve years' work, 186.
desire for heights, 187, 188.
academy, refused admittance to, 190, 191.
George Sand's judgment of him, 192-203.
Theophile Gautier's judgment of him, 204-230.
enemies; how acquired, 232,
regrets Monographic de la presse, 233.
loyalty in friendship, 237, 253, 341-341.
knowledge not superficial, 240.
desire for money justified, 241.
criticism, courage under, 232, 233, 299, 300.
gratitude for appreciation, 108, 179, 180, 244.
works planned but not written, 179, 247.
Index. 367
Balzac, Honors de, — continued.
"life was good beside him," 249, 250.
George Sand, liis opinion of, 254.
personal appearance, 123, 125, 204-206, 255, 256, 322.
the keystone of his work, 258-2G8.
his early and unknown love, 2G8-271.
Albert Savarus, 1G9, 270, 271.
a characteristic of his nature, 271, 272.
Madame de Berny, 273, 274.
Mme. Hanska, letters to (1835 to 1838), 275-290.
death of M. Hanski, 291.
letters to Mme. Hanska (1843 to 1846), 295-317.
first visit to the Ukraine, 317.
returns to Paris in 1848, 321-323. *
goes again to the Ukraine, 324.
letters to nieces and sister, 325-337.
hopes deferred, and illness, 330-336.
projects for dramatic work, 337, 338.
marriage, 338-341.
*'at the summit of happiness," 340.
the reprisals of gratitude, 340-342.
death and burial, 344-349.
Balzac, M. de, father, 6, 8-11, 22, 24, 25, 64.
Balzac, Mme. de, mother, 6, 7, 12, 26, 40, 41, 96, 103, 339, 343.
Barri^re, M. Marcel, 153, 176.
Belgiojoso, Princesse, 282.
Berlin, 295-297.
Berny, Madame de, 125, 142, 144, 147, 273, 274.
Buloz, IGO, 161, 231-237.
Cane Facino, 66, 67, 208, 278.
Caricature, Le, 119.
Carraud, Madame Zulma, 90, 125, 129, 134-146, 239, 274, 340,341.
Carraud, Commandant, 90, 283.
Castries, Duchesse de, 127-134.
Catherine de M(?dicis, 82.
Cesar Birotteau, 117, 314.
Champfleury, 3, 115, 156, 157, 166, 321-324.
Chouans, Les, 77, 79, 117.
Chronique de Paris, 164, 165.
Comedie Humaine, La, 82, 83, 85, 86, 196, 213.
Contes Drolaiiques, 97, 111.
Contrat de Mariage, Le, 242.
368 Index.
Cooper Fenimore, 165, 184.
Correspondence [see Letters], 2, 3.
Dablin, M Theodore, 237-239.
Dramatic Work, 166-170, 235, 337, 338.
Dresden, 298, 299.
Duchesse de Langeais, La, 129.
Dumas, Alexandre, 300, 348.
Enfant Maudit, L', 132, 278, 279.
Episode sous la Terreur, Un, 86.
Eugenie Grandet, 85, 143, 144, 249.
Ferky, M. Gabriel, 4.
Feuilleton des Journaux, 119.
Fortunee rue, 229, 322-324, 330, 331.
Friends and acquaintance, 118, 125, 189-191, 218-223.
Gautier, Theophile, 3, 149, 170, 175, 204-230, 270, 344, 345.
Gay, Madame Sophie, 118.
Girardin, £mile de, 117, 119.
Girardin, Mme. :tmile de, 115, 123, 221-223.
Gobseck, 85.
Gozlan, L^on, 3, 153, 180-185.
Grenadiere, La, 60.
Hanska, Madame, nde Comtesse Rzewuska, 3, 127, 274-349.
Hanski, Monsieur, 127. 281, 282, 286, 291.
Holden, LL.D., Prof. Edward S., 4.
Humboldt, Baron von, 297.
Hugo, Victor, 155, 190, 345-349.
James, Mr. Henry, 260.
Jan, M. Laurent-, 336.
Jardies, Les, 111, 146, 147, 224, 225, 289.
Jdsus-Christ en Flandres, 132.
Kiev, 320.
Lamaetine, 123-125.
La Touche, Henri de, 77, 121.
Letters,
to his sister Mme. Surville, 27-29, 31, 34-37, 42, 44, 77, 79, 91, 98,
107, 108, 110, 234, 235, 241, 318, 319, 329, 330, 332-334, 336, 338,
339.
Index. 3G9
Letters, — continued.
to his mother, 96, 103, 339, 343.
to the Duchesse d'Abrantes, 125, 126. <
to the Duchesse de Castries, 130, 133, 134. \
to Madame Carraud, 129, 130, 140, 142-147, 239, 340.
to M. Charles Nodier, 190.
to M. Theodore Dablin, 237, 238.
to Madame Hanska, 275, 277, 279, 283, 285, 280, 288, 289, 295, 297,
298, 301-307, 309-317.
to his nieces, Miles. Surville, 325.
to M. Laurent-Jan, 337.
•* Ix)uise," 127.
Louis Lambert, 16, 47-57, 91, 93-94, 96.
Lovenjoul, le Vte. de Spoelberch de, 1, 4, 117.
Lys dans la Vallee, Le, 134, 160, 161, 184-180, 231.
Maitre, Cornelius, 86.
Marcas, Z., 95, 180-184.
Margonne, M. de, 90, 125, 234.
Medecin de campagne, Le, 142, 143.
Mery, 271.
Mniszeck, Comte Georges, 293, .305.
Mniszeck, Comtesse Anna, 302, 317, 327-328.
Monographie de la Presse, 119, 233.
Nacquart, Dr., 114, 304, 324-325.
Nodier, Charles, 190, 191.
Parents Pauvres, Les, 313.
.Parsons, George Frederic,
Introduction to La Peau de Chagrin, 291.
Introduction to Louis Lambert, 57.
Introduction to S^^raphita, 264.
Peau de Chagrin, La, 93, 291.
Petersburg, St., 291, 296.
Physiologie du mariage, 131, 239, 267.
Pons, Le cousin, 121, 314, 323.
Preface to La Comedie Hnmaine, 85, 138, 139, 179, 180, 265, 266.
Proscrits, Les, 86, 171, 172.
Publishers and editors, 116, 117, 119, 120, 149-154.
Revue de Paris, 120, 160, 161, 231-234.
Revue Parisienne, 165.
24
370 Index.
Sach^, 90.
Sainte-Beuve, 165, 166, 176, 258, 259, 348.
Saint-Gothard, 287.
Sand, George, 3, 121, 122, 192-203.
Sanson, 86, 87.
Sardinia, 103-105, 146, 283-286.
Scott, Sir Walter, 82, 86, 280.
S(^raphita, 144, 179, 226, 261, 263-265.
Silhouette, La, 119.
Soulie, Frederic, 333.
Surville, Madame, 2, 5-46, 70-112, 231-257, 318-320, 329, 339.
Surville, Miles. S. and V., 325, 336.
Taine, M. Henri, 121, 179, 186, 259, 260.
Talleyrand, Duchesse de, 297.
Tieck, 297.
ViEiLLE Fille, La, 288, 289.
Wedmore, Mr. Frederick, 177.
Werdet, Edmond, 4, 151, 152, 165.
Wierzschovnia, 127, 318-321, 324-343.
Works of art, etc., collection of, 121, 228-230, 294, 312, 313, 323, 335-
336.
C4LIFOW*5^
BALZAC IN ENGLISH,
An Historical Mystery.
Translated by KATHARINE PRESCOTT WORMELEY.
12mo. Half Eussia. Uniform with Balzac's Works. Price, $1.50.
An Historical Afystery\s the title given to'* Une Ten^breuse Affaire," which
has just appeared in the series of translations oi Honoie de Baltac's novels, by
Katharine Prescott Wormeley This exciting; romance is full of stirring interest,
and is distinguished by that minute analysis of chaiacier in which us eminent
author excelled. The characters stand boldly out from the surrounding incidents,
and with a fidelity as wonderful as it is truthful. Plot and counterplot follow
each other with marvellous rapidity; and around the exciting davs when Na-
poleon was First Consul, and afterward when he was Emperor, a mystery is
woven in which some royalists are concerned that is concealed with masterly
ingenuity until the novelist sees fit to take his reader into his confidence. The
heroine, Laurence, is a remarkably strong character : and the love-story in which
she figures is refreshing in its departure from the beaten path of the ordinary
writer of fiction. Michu, her devoted servant, has also a marked individuality,
which leaves a lasting impression. Napoleon, Talleyrand, Fouch^, and other
historical personages, appear in the tale in a manner that is at once natural and
impressive. As an addition to a remarkable series, the book is one that no
admirer of Balzac can atTord to neglect. Miss Wormeley's translation reproduces
the peculianties of the author's style with the faithfulness for which she has
hitherto been celebrated. — Saturday EveniH^ Gazette.
It makes very interesting reading at this distance of time, however; and Balzac
has given to the legendary account much of the solidity of history by his adroit
manipulation. For the main story it must be said that the action is swifter and
more varied than in many of the author's books, and that there are not wanting
many of those cameo-like portraits necessary to warn the reader against slovenly
fjerusal of this carefully written story; for the complications are such, and the re-
ations between the several plots involved so intricate, that the thread might
easily be lost and much of the interest be thus destroyed The usual Balzac
compactness is of course present throughout, to give body and significance to the
work, and the stage is crowded with impressive figures. It would be impossible
to find a book which gives a better or more faithful illustration of one of the
strangest periods in French history, in short ; and its attraction as a story is at
least equalled by its value as a true picture of the time it is concerned with. The
translation is as spirited and close as Miss Wormeley has taught us to expect in
this admirable series. — Ne-vu York Tribune.
One of the most intensely interesting novels that Balzac ever wrote \% An
Historical Mystery, whose translation has just been added to the preceding
novels that compose the "Com^die Humaine" so admirably translated by Miss
Katharine Prescott Wormeley. The story opens in the autumn of 1803, in the
time of the Empire, and the motive is in deep-laid political plots, which are re-
vealed with the subtle and ingenious skill that marks the art of Balzac. . . . The
story is a deep-laid political conspiracy of the secret service of the ministry of
the police. Talleyrand, M'lle de Cinq-Cygne, the Princess de Cadigan, Louis
XVI H, as well as Napoleon, figure as characters of this thrilling historic ro-
niance. An absorbing love-story is also told, in which State intrigue plays an
important part. The character-drawing is faithful to history, and the story illu-
minates French life in the early years of the century as if a calcium light were
thrown on the scene.
It IS a romance of remarkable power^ and one of the most deeply fascinating
of all the novels of the ''Comedie Humnine."
Sold by all bnoksellers. Mailed., post-paid., on 7'eceipt of
price by the Publishers,
ROBERTS BROTHERS, Boston.
BALZAC IN ENGLISH.
Fame and Sorrow,
TRANSLATED BY KATHARINE PRESCOTT WORMELEY.
i2mo. Half Russia. Uniform with our edition of Balzac's
Works. Price, $1.50. In addition to this remarkable story,
the volume contains the following, namely : " Colonel Chabert,"
" The Atheist's Mass," " La Grande Breteche," " The Purse," and
" La Grenadiere."
The force and passion of the stories of Balzac are unapproachable. He had
the art of putting into half a dozen pages all the fire and stress which many
writers, wlio are still great, cannot compass in a volume. The present volume is
an admirable collection, and presents well his power of handling the short story.
That the translation is excellent need hardly be said — Boston Courier.
The six stories, admirably translated by Miss Wormeley, afford good examples
of Balzac's work in what not a few critics have thought his chief specialty. It is
certain that no writer of many novels wrote so many short stories as he ; and it is
equally as certain that his short stories are, almost without an exception, models
of what such compositions ought to be. . . No modem author, however, of any
school whatever, has succeeded in producing short stories half so good as Balzac's
best. Balzac did not, indeed, attempt to display liis subtility and deftness by
writing short stories about nothing. Every one of his tales contains an episode,
not necessarily, but usually, a dramatic episode The first in the present collec-
tion, better known as " La Maison du Chat-qui-pelote," is really a short novel.
It has all the machinery, all the interest, all the detail of a regular story. The
difference is that it is compressed as Balzac only could compress; that here and
there important events, changes, etc., are indicated in a few powerful lines instead
of being elaborated; that the vital points are thrown into strong relief Take the
pathetic story of " Colonel Chabert " It begins with an elaboration of detail.
The description of the lawyer's office might seem to some too minute. But it is
the stage upon which tiie Colonel is to appear, and when he enters we see the
value of the preliminaries, for a picture is presented which the memory seizes and
holds. As the action progresses, detail is used more parsimoniously, because th«
mise-en-scene has already been completed, and because, also, the characters once
clearly described, the development of character and the working of passion can
be indicated with a few pregnant strokes. Notwithstanding this increasing
economy of space, the action takes on a swifter intensity, and the culmination 01
the tragedy leaves the reader breathless
In " The Atheist s Mass " we have quite a new kind of story This is rather
a psychological study than a narrative of action. Two widely distinguished char-
acters are thrown on the canvas here, — that of the great surgeon and that of the
humble patron; and one knows not which most to admire, the vigor of the
drawing, or the subtle and lucid psychical analysis. In both there is rare beauty of
soul, and perhaps, after all, the poor Auvergnat surpasses the eminent surgeon,
though this is a delicate and difficult question. But how complete the little story
is ; how much it tells ; with what skill, and in how delightful a manner ! Then
there is that tremendous haunting legend of " La Grande Breteche," a story which
has always been turned into more languages and twisted into more new forms than
almost any other of its kind extant. What author has equalled the continuing
horror of that unfaithful wife's agony, compelled to look on and assist at the slow
murder of her entrapped lover? . . Then the death of the husband and wife, —
the one by quick and fiercer dissipation, the other by simple refusal to live longer,
— and the abandonment of the accursed dwelling to solitude and decay, complete
a picture, which for vividness, emotional force, imaginative power, and compre-
hensiveness of effects, can be said to have few equals in its own class of fiction. —
Kansas City Journal.
Sold by all booksellers. Mailed, postpaid, on receipt of price, by
the publishers,
ROBERTS BROTHERS, Bo.ston.
BALZAC IN ENGLISH.
SONS OF THE SOIL.
Translated by Kathaiine Prescott Wormeley.
Many critics have regarded "Les Paysans," to which Miss Wormeley,
in her admirable translation, has given the title " Sons of the Soil," as one
of Balzac's strongest novels ; and it cannot fail to impress those who read
this English rendering of it. Fifty or sixty years ago Balzac made a pro-
found study of the effects produced by the Revolution upon the peasants
of the remote provinces of France, and he has here elaborated these obser-
vations in a powerful picture of one of those strange, disguised, but fero-
cious social wars which were at the time not only rendered possible, but
promoted by three potent influences, namely, the selfishness of tlie rich
landholders ; the land-hunger and stimulated greed of the peasants ; and
the calculated rapacity of middle-class capitalists, craftily using the hatreds
of the poor to forward their own plots. The first part of " Les Faysans "
(and the only part which w..s published during the author's life) appeared
under a title taken from an old and deeply significant proverb. Qui a terre
a guerre y — "Who has land has war."
It is the account of a guerilla war conducted by a whole country-sid^
against one great land-owner, — a war in which, moreover, the lawless
aggressions of the peasantry are prompted, supported, and directed by an
amazing alliance between the richest, most unscrupulous, and most power
ful of the neighboring provincial magnates, who, by controlling, through
family council, the local administration, ire in a position to paralyze resist
ance to their conspiracy. The working out of this deep plot affords th*,
author opportunity for .the introduction of a whole gallery of marvelloui
studies.
It is perhaps hardly necessary to say that this powerful and absorbing
story is lifted above the level of romance by the unequalled artistic genius
of the author, and that it is at times almost transformed into a profound
political study by the depth and acumen of his suggestions and comments.
Nor should it be requisite to point out analogies with territorial conditions
in more than one other country, which lend to " Les Paysans " a special
interest and significance, and are likely to prevent it from becoming obsolete
for a long time to come. Of the translation it only need be said that it is
as good as Miss Wonneley has accustomed us to expect, and that means
the best rendering of French into English that has ever been done. -^
New York Tribune.
Handsome 12mo volume, bound in half Russia. Price,
$1 50
ROBERTS BROTHERS, Publishers,
BOSTON, MASS.
BALZAC IN ENOLISH
LOUIS LAMBERT.
"As for Balzac," writes Oscar Wilde, "he was a most remarkable combination
of the artistic temperament with the scientific spirit." It is his artistic tempera-
ment which reveals itselt the most clearly in the novel before us. As we read
" Louis Lambert," we feel convinced that it is largely autobiographical. It is a
psychical study as delicate as Amiel's Journal, and nearly as spiritual. We follow
the life of the sensitive, poetical schoolboy, feeling that it is a true picture of Bal
zac's own youth. When the literary work on whicii the hero had written for years
in all his spare moments is destroyed, we do not need to be told by Mr. Parsons
that this is an episode in Balzac's own experience ; we are sure of this fact already;
and no writer could describe so sympatiietically the deep spiritual experiences of
an aspiring soul who had not at heart felt them keenly. No materialist could have
written " Louis Lambert." — Boston Transcript.
Of all of Balzac's works thus far translated by Miss Katharine Prescott Wormeley.
the last in the series, " Louis Lambert," is the most difficult of comprehension.
It is the second of the author's Philosophical Studies, "The Magic Skin" being
the first, and " Seraphita," shortly to be published, being the third and last. In
"Louis Lambert" Balzac has presented a study of a noble soul — a spirit of
exalted and lofty aspirations which chafes under the fetters of earthly existence,
and has no sympathy with the world of materialism. This pure-souled genius is
made the medium, moreovei, for the enunciation of the outlines of a system of
philosophy which goes to the very roots of Oriental occultism and mysticism as its
source, and which thus reveals the marvellous scope of Balzac's learning. The
scholarly introduction to the book by George Frederic Parsons, in addition to
throwing a great deal of valuable light upon other phases of the work, shows hov,
many of the most recent scientific theories are directly in line with the doctrines
broadly set forth by Balzac nearly sixty years ago. The book is one to be studied
rather than read ; and it is made intelligible by the extremely able introduction
and by Miss Wormeley's excellent translation. — The Book- Buyer-
" Louis Lambert," with the two other members of the Trilogy, " La Peau de
Chagrin" and "Seraphita," is a book which presents many difficulties to the
student. It deals with profound and unfamiliar subjects, and the meaning of the
author by no means lies on the surface. It is the study of a great, aspiring sou)
enshrined in a feeble body, the sword wearing out the scabbard, the spirit soaring
away from its prison-house of flesh to its more congenial home. It is in marked
contrast to the study of the destructive and debasing process which we see in the
" Peau de Chagrin." It stands midway between this study of the mean and base
and that noble presentation of the final evolution of a soul on the very borders of
Divinity which Balzac gives us in " Seraphita."
The reader not accustoined to such high ponderings needs a guide to place hmi
en rapport with the Seer. Such a guide and friend he finds in Mr. Parsons,
whose introduction of one hundred and fifty pages is by no means the least valu-
a'cle part of this volume. It is impossible to do more than sketch the analysis of
Balzac's philosophy and the demonstration so successfully attempted by Mr. Par-
sons of the exact correlation between many of Balzac's speculations and the
newest scientific theories. The introduction is so closely written that it defies
much condensation. It is so intrinsically valuable that it will thoroughly repay
careful and minute study. — From ""Light" a London Journal of Psychical and
Occtilt Research, March 9,1889.
— —
Oite handsome \imo volume^ uniform "with '■'■ Ptre Goriot,^^ '■^ The
Djtchesse de Langeais,"'' " Cesar Birotteau,^'' " Eugenie Grandet,'"
" Cousin Pirns,''' '' The Country Doctor.^'' " The Two Brothers,^' " Thf
Alkahest,"" "■ Modest e Mis:non," " The Magic Skin,'' ''Cousin Bette:^
Bound in half morocco, French Style. Price, ^1.50.
ROBERTS BROTHERS, Publishers,
Boston-
BALZAC IN KNOLISH
COUSIN BETTE.
TRANSLATED BY
KATHARINE PRESCOTT WORMELEY.
He [Balzac] does not make Vice the leading principle of life. The most terrible
punishment invariably awaits transsressors. . . Psychologically considered,
*' Cousin Bette " with the " Peau de Chagrin " and "The Alkahest" are the most
Eowerful of all Balzac's studies. The marvellous acquaintance this romance-writer
ad with all phases and conditions of French men and women has never been
more strongly accentuated. For a French romance presenting difificulties in
translation, Miss Wormeley's work is excellent. Its faithfulness is even remark-
able. We can hardly conceive that after this series is completed Balzac will
remain unknown or unappreciated by American readers. — New York Times.
Balzac aspired to paint French life, especially Parisian life, in all Us aspects, —
" the great modern monster with its every face," to use his own words ; and in no
one of his novels is his insight keener, his coloring bolder, or his disclosures of the
corruptionsof city life more painfully realistic, than in " Cousin Bette." . . . Not
one of the admirably rendered series shows more breadth, skill, and sympathy
■with every characteristic of the great French author than does this. And it is
quite a marvel of translation. — The A tnerican^ Philadelphia.
*T is true the book is not for babes, but he must have strange views of innocence
who would ignore the influence for good inherent in such a work. Ignorance con-
stitutes but a sorry shield against the onslaughts of temptation. It is well it wis-
dom can be so cheaply got as by the perusal of the book. — Americaft Hebrew.
It is an awful picture, but it is emphatically a work of genius. ... It cannot
be said tliat "Cousin Bette" is a book for those who like only optimistic presen-
tations of life. It is a study in morbid pathology ; an inquiry into the working of
passions and vices, the mischief actually caused by what in all human societies is
too patent and too constantly in evidence to be denied or ignored. . . He [Bal-
zac] must be judged by the scientific standard, and from that point of view there
can be no hesitation in declaring " Cousin Bette " a most powerful work. — New
York Tribune.
And there is much in the characters that is improper and fortunately counter to
our civilization; stiii the tone concerning these very things is a healthy one, and
Balzac's belief in purity and goodness, his faith in the better part of humanity, is
shown in the beautiful purity of Madame Hulot, and the lovely chastity of Hor-
tense. In "Cousin Bette," as in all Balzac's works, he manifests a familiarity
with the ethics of life which has gained for him the exalted position as tJie greatest
of French novelists. — St. Paul Dispatch.
One handsome i2mo volume, uniform with ^^ Pire Goriot," " The
Diichesse de Langeais,^^ " Cesar Birotieau,^^ " Eugenie Grandet,''^
"■Cousin Pons;' " The Country Doctor ;' " The Two Brothers;' " The
Alkahest;' " The Magic Skin;' and " Modeste Mignon." Bound in half
morocco, French Style. Price, Jpi.50.
ROBERTS BROTHERS, Publishers,
Boston.
BALZAC IN ENGLISH.
The Magic Skin.
(LA PEAU DE CHAGRIN.)
TRANSLATED BY
KATHARINE PRESCOTT WORMELEY.
"The Magic Skin" is a great novel, — great in its conception, great in its
e/ecution, and great in the impression it leaves upon the reader's mind. Those
who deny that Balzac is a moral teacher will retract their opinion after reading this
powerful allegory- It is a picturesque representation of the great moral truth that
m life we have to pay for every excess we enjoy. In the gradual shrinking of the
"Magic Skin" we see the inevitable law that by uncontrolled dissipation of body
or mind we use up our physical strength and exhaust our vitality. In that beauti-
ful, cold, fascinating character. Fedora, the writer shows us the glittering world of
fashion and frivolity which men pursue vainly and find to their cost only dust and
ashes. In the gentle, loving, and devoted Pauline, Balzac represents the lasting
and pure pleasures of domestic life. But in Raphael's short enjoyment of them
we see the workings of that inflexible law, " Whatever ye sow that shall ye also
reap." In the vivid, striking, realistic picture of Parisian life which Balzac pre-
sents to us in " Tiie Magic Skin," the writer had a conscious moral purpose. We
know of no more awful allegory in literature. — Boston Tratiscript.
The story is powerful and original ; but its readers will be most affected by its
marvellous knowledge of human nature, and the deep-cutting dissection of charac-
ter which makes the attempts of our own analytical novelists appear superficial
and experimental. Lite ni all classes of the Paris of Louis Philippe's time is por-
trayed in the strongest lights and shadows, and with continual flashes of wit,
satire, and sarcasm which spare neither politician, philosopher, priest, poet, jour-
nalist, artist, man ot the world, nor woman of the world. Through a maze of
heterogeneous personages Raphael, the hero, is carried, pursued by the relentless
Magic Skin, which drives him meicilessly to his doom. The vices of high society
are laid bare ; but there is also a beautiful exposition of purity in the humble life
of Pauline, who is the good angel of the story. In traiislating " La Peau de Cha-
grin" Miss Wormeley has done work that is at once skilful and discreet. It is a
man's book, virile though not vulgar, and exposing prominences in French social
views such as most writers veil in obscurities. Here all is frankly and honestly
shown, but by a man of genius, who had no more need of prudish hypocrisy than
Shakespeare.
Mr. Parsons's thoughtful preface is a fitting introduction to the most wonder-
ful of all Balzac's romances. It is not a whit too strong for Mr. Parsons tc write
that, saving Shakespeare, "no man could have been better fitted to examine men-
tal processes, to gauge their effects, to estimate their significance, and to define
their nature and scope ' than Balzac. If Balzac had been a German, and not a
Frenchman of the French, this book of his would be as much of an epoch-maker
as Goethe's " Faust." It may take years before the fuller appreciation of *' La
Peau de Chagrin " comes, but it is a study of life which will be studied in cen-
turies yet to come. — New York Times.
One handsome i2mo volume, uniform with ^^ P^re Goriot^'* " The
Duchesse de Langeais,^' ^'- Cesar Birotteau.''^ ^'■Eugenie Grandet,^*
'■'Cousin Pons,'' " The Country Doctor;' " The Two Brothers^' " The
Alkahest;'' and '■^ Modeste Mignon.'^ Bound in half morocco, French
style. Price, ^1.50.
ROBERTS BROTHERS, Publishers,
Boston.
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