GRAD 848 B2L tW '"`~.i.I ~:"Ti;~~ 2*; jt3, — t I,11 1, FII ' Y* I ~, Ir":s ' -y t - '^'^:/...x'!;.. wase "> '- ' * "i ir f r +,,,~' t ' -.' 4,,-, _. re tlCP < t r ~. '~ of- h;.~ *~ ''" '. -; ' -.,, i!." ^^ ^. '. ',, * *r. ^v 1"/ 1 'ss l,, F-*/ L i ^" v r,.,~p ~ u; | r,' y ar fi -.,, i, tov t i r _s S |~er. f r "~-, ' 1,. ~';:t ~ x~ '-f.. ~~ a;Z~~r'l r-,f i L.~ 3:s!. ':~ 1;14 "' rs - r'f `$ t: rg~'i L' ri~ri~,t'AC".Y '~ C"! k: - ;i;r "r q,~ "t v ~L,.=. ri.:r '"s-;" "r, "~:' ~-gt:, J'.~rc, 1 S.~ ~ ~ ~ ~~~AA * % UA ~,.a t t X, MI IVA~~~~~~ Al;~ it~c % -~i ~~~R; irf ~~~i 2,Y ~ *.~a~s'L;,~~,n 3F7 1 El,K4~ V -~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~AVX-l l4 ~ti i:6rg i:~~~~vi4 54 I:. ';b~lu ~ ~ i ~c~2;::~~~ ~ Y-1 - '4,to: ~+:"~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ r;~~~~~~~wP rtr? ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~i '41~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~:"adi i;t".:~. ~i~ N"~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~l ~~~~~~~ 3* ~~~~'iCL ~ ~ ~ ' 3 ~~~~~~~, ~ ~ ~ ~ ~. I t: A tl ~_n - dA, VI,:: -7 7777-, jot Al V"' 41, 1, Sierra,, Al Y Brief, 2 N' VII _v,.. > _ t o t ' 8 > r ' * + t s S r ';,t' 9. t _ W ] + X. i, * X i- -! f _ e e f - r b n; s 9 r s _ z M 1 td I > 6 _ f 9 ) i E a s 4 3 _ - ' t I _ > ' ' t BQ \ 9 _ t *,,. I - I * I R. %-'-t r * X _,7 w a O_ > 0 o A N A; 9 * t s L R f X t v * 8 - _ ) 4 dyS, _ > $> S r t + ' t k z ' S _ s z * X * s s s _ a I tfr,,, 1, jX >.t, - t >'. tr > -.,,< E t g e r., * - <sJr '* * -, X e as, ',. ' >!,.,. {<, R ', I t.,, A, i?, t \, 't1 ' s S r r ) s * < s s aw /w+; i * k s s S ' ' * ^ ' Nv < - e o * '; 4 X 45, * _ wt? *<Xs, s t2 s_ < \ st 2 * +. r- ' ', e \ < r ' * e \ Y + 1 * A-X q, t.; _! - ', s, > A _ R * w < N ti A g * Iss<; > s st^^^^ ^ ^.;^^: * X*^ ^ r) A I > re pS; S ni X + t ^ n I't y r > b ~ t;r?( < r! ] t g t v 2 V 1r. q^, **^ r:1,;.-, * ' g _ J t b _ < *;i v bS P I = t '"^2? 4_4k> e > * ' /:; r. ~ - X ' ^l ^^e.^ ^';^.- ' '^ |v 5c. * - ^ ^ ^ C^V 2 5 ^i**;' ' ^ '^ - ^ - -*. J _ s t j sm' >- '" - '>t>=t < a,_+4 j t, r 4, >, + f.i* ^S"t Vtj,~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ w? ~ ~~~ ~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ - * ~ ~ ~:^;^^^^ ^-:> <- -, - ',. ' ' ' _ - ~- -, ',' r '24 * - ' e; ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~W C>,6_vj r sfe__t t pt e,_K- HONORE DE BALZAC LETTERS TO MADAME HANSKA BALZAC'S WORKS. Tranislated by Miss K. P. WORMELEY. PkRE GORIOT. LAST INCARNATION OF VAUTRIN. RISE Ak4D FALL OF CE~SAR I3IROTTEAU. EUGiENIE GRANDET. COUSIN PONS. THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. THlE TWO I3ROTII1ER.S. THE ALKAHEST (La Recherche de l'Absolu), MODESTE MIGNON. THE MAGIC SKIN (Lja Peau de Chagrin). COUSIN BETTE. LOUIS LAMBEUIT. BUREAUCRACY (Les ELmploy6s). SERAPHIT A. SONS OF THE SOIL (Les Paysaris). FAME AND SORROW (Chat-qui-pelote). THE LILY OF T1lE VALLEY. URSULA. AN HISTORICAL MYSTERY. ALBERT SAVARUS. B3ALZAC: A MEMHOIR. PIERRETTE. THE CHOUANS. LOST ILLUSiONES. A GREAT MNANT OF' THE P-ROVIIVCES IN PARIS. THE BROTHERHOOD OF CONSOLATION. THE VILLAGE RECTOR. MEMOIBS OF TWO YOUNG MARRIED WOMEN. CATHERINE DE' MI/EDICI. LUCIEN DE RUBEMPRE.FERRAGUS, and DUCI-ESSE DE LANGEAIS. A START IN LIFE. THE MARRIAGE CONTRACT. BE9ATRIX. A DAUGHTER OF EVE. THE GALLERY OF ANTIQUITIES. GOBSE CK. THE LESSER BOURGEOISIE. JUANA. THE DEPUTY OF ARCIS. PERSONAL OPINIONS OF BALZAC. LETTERS TO MME. HANSKA. HARDY, PRATT & CO., Publishers, Boston. I~~~~ IJONORE DE BALZACG TRANSLATE.D BY KATHARINE PRESCOTT WORMELEY LE TT ER S TO BORN COUNTESS RZEWUSKA AFTERWARDS MADAME HLONORE' DE BALZAC 183 3-1846 HARDYI, PRATT AND COMPANY 3 SOMERSET STREET BOSTON 1900 Copjyriihzt, 1900, BY IHARDY, PRATT AND CO. A llI r-ilks reserved. JOHN WISON AND SONtCA r I U JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A. CONTENTS..-. PAGE vi... ll TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. LETT I. II. IIl. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. ERS: LETTERS DURING 1833. LETTERS DURING 1834. LETTERS DURING 1835. LETTERS DURING 1836..... LETTERS DURING 1837... LETTERS DURING 1838..... LETTERS DURING 1839, 1840, 1841 LETTERS DURING 1843, 1844, 1845 LETTERS DURING 184........ 1.. 105... 232.. 298... 383... 469... 528... 601... 693 APPENDIX............ 747 I.. ^ -. e:-, s X TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. IN 1876 MA. Calmann Levy published Balzac's Correspondence in the twenty-fourth volume of the Edition Definitive of his works. These letters are prefaced by a short memoir written by his sister Laure, Madame Surville, which she had already published in 1856, six years after her brother's death, under the title of I' Balzac, sa vie et ses (cefits, d'apres sa correspondance." In this Correspondence given in the Edition Definitive, the first letter addressed by Balzac to Madame Hanska is dated August 11, 1835, and to it is appended the following footnote: - I" At this period Balzac was, and had been for some time, in correspondence with the distinguished woman to whom he was later to give his name; but, unfortunately, a part of this correspondence was burned in Moscow in a fire which occurred at Madame Hanska's residence. It must, therefore, be remarked that in the letters of this series two or three gaps occur, all the more regrettable because those which escaped the fire present a keen interest." (Edl. D6ef, vol. xxiv., p. 217.) The present publication of Letters (of which this volume is a translation) bears upon its title-page the words: " H. de Balzac. GEuvres Posthumes. Lettres 'a l'Etrangere. 1833-142." *No explanation is given of how these letters were obtained, and no proof or assurance is offered of their authenticity. A foot-note appended to the first letter merely states as follows: - viii Traanslator's Prceface. "M. le Vicomte (le Spoelberch de Lovenjoul, in whose hands are the originals of these letters, has related the history of this correspondence in detail, under the title of ' Un Roman d'Anmour ' (Calmann Levy, publisher). Madame Ilanska, born Countess Evelina (Eve) Rzewuska, who was then twenty-six or twenty-eight years old, resided at the chateau of Wierzchownia, in VolhyIia. An enthusiastic reader of the ' Scenes de la Vie privee,' uneasy at the different turn which the mind of the author was taking in ' La Peat de Chagrin,' she addressed to Balzac - then thirty-three years old, to the care of the publisher Gosselin, a letter signed, ' 1'1Etranigre,' which was delivered to him February 28, 1832. Other letters followed; that of November 7 ended thus: ' A word from you in the " Quotidienne " will give me the assurance that you hlave received my letter, and that I can write to you without fear. Sign it: " To IE-hl. de B." ' This acknlowledgmnent of reception appeared in the ' Quotidietnne' of December 9. Thus was inaugurated the system of ' Petite correspondancv ' now practised in divers newspapers, and, at the same time, tllhis correspondence with her who was, seventeen years later, int 1850t, to become his wife." Balzac himself gives the date of his reception of l'Etrang1',re's first letter in a way thalit puts it beyond all controversy. In a letter to Madame Ianska, written January 1, 1846 (ld Dl)f., p. 586), he says:"One year more, dear, and I take it witli pleasmre, for these years, these thirteen years wh]ich will be consutmnated in February on the happy day, a thousand times blessed, when I received that adorable letter, starred witlh happiness and hope, seem to me links indestructible, eternal. The fourteenth will begin in two months." Thirteen years consammatted in February, 1846, the fourteenth year beq'inoinbij inl February, 18-16, make the date of the reception of that first letter February 28, 1833, not 1.832. This fact not only pwts an *end to tlle tale about the advertisement in tile 'l Quotidienne " [contained in tlle note to first pag'e of )resecnt volume, quoted above, all in pages 31 to 39 of " Roman d'Amour " 1. btt it falsifies Translator's Preface. ix the dates of the present volume. The first letter given, which is evidently not the first of Balzac's replies, is dated January, 1833, a month or more before the first letter of "l'IEtrangere" was written. Throughout the volume other dates can be shown to be false, proving arbitrary arrangement of some kind, and casting justifiable doubt on the authenticity of a certain number of these letters. "Un Roman d'Amour" is a book made up of conjectures, insinuations, hypotheses, and errors, in which one, and one only, fact is presented. That fact is a letter from Balzac to his sister, Madame Surville. This letter Madame Surville first published in 1856 in her memoir of her brother (pp. 139, 140), introducing it in the following words: " Being absent from Paris in the month of October of the same year [1833], I received from my brother the following letter: ""i Gone, without a word of warning [sans crier qare]. The poor toiler went to your house to make you share a little j6y, and found no sister! I torment you so often with my troubles that the least I can do is to write you this joy. You will not laug'h at me, you will believe me, you will! "I went yesterday to Gdrard's; he presented me to three Germnan families. I thought I was dreaming: three falnilies! - no less! - one from Vienna, another from Frankfort, the third Prussian, I don't know from where. " They confided to me that they had come faithfully for a month to G6rard's, in the hope of seeing me; and they let me know that beyond the frontier of France (dear, ungrateful country!) my reputation has begun. ' Persevere in your labours,' they added, 'and you will soon be at the head of literary Europe.' Of Europe! they said it, sister! Flattering families! - iow I could make certain friends roar with laughter if I told them that. lafjoi! these were kind Germans, and I let myself believe they thought what they said, and, to tell the truth, I could have listened to them all night. Praise is so good for us artists, and that of the good Germans restored my cour X 'tr(alslator's Preftace. age; I departed quite gaily [tout guilleret] from G6rard's, and I am going to fire three guns on the public and on envious folk, to wit: IEug6nie Grandet,' 'Les Avellntures d'une idee heureuse,' which you know about, and my ' Pr6tre catholique,' one of my finest subjects. "The affair of the 'Itudes de Mceurs" is well under way; thirty thousand francs of author's righits in the reprints will stop up large holes. That slice of my debts paid, I shall go and seek my reward at Geneva. The horizon seems really brightening. "I have resumed my life of toil. I go to bed at six, directly after dinner. The animal digests and sleeps till midnight. Auguste makes me a cup of coffee, with which the mind goes at one flash [tout d'uze traite] till midday. I rush to the printingoffice to carry my copy and get my proofs, which gives exercise to the animal, who dreams as he goes. ' One can put a good deal of black on white in twelve hours, little sister, and after a month of such life there 's no small work accomplished. Poor pen! it must be mnade of diamond not to be worn out by such toil! To lift its master to reputation, accord(ling to the prolphecy of the Germans, to pay his debts to all, and then to give him, some day, rest upon a mountain, that is its task! "What the devil are you doing so late at A.....? Tell me about it, and say with ime that the Germans are very worthy people. Fraternal handlshalke to MAonsieur Canal. [Poigne'e (le maiz fraternelle 't Ill. Canal]; tell him that 'Les Aventures d'lune id6ce heureuse ' are on the ways. "I send you my proofs of the 'MIdecin de Campagne' to read." When, twenty years later, Balzac's Correspondence appearecl in the Edition Definitive (Calmann Levy, 1876) Madame Surville's little memoir was mtade the Introduction to the volume. On page lv (Introduction) the above letter is given. On page 176 the letter is again given (in its place in the Correspondence), and it is there identically the same as the letter given above, down. to the words: "AWhat the devil are you doing so late at MI....?" after which, the followitng additions are given- -- -Translator's Preface. i "However, you are free, and this is not a reproach, it is curiosity; between brother and sister that is pardonable. "1Well, adieu. If you have a heart you will reply to me. A fraternal handshake to M. Canal; tell him that the 'Aventures d'une idde' are 011 the ways, and that he can soon read them. "Addio! Addio! Correct 'le M6decin' well; poinitout to me all the passages which may seem to you bad; and put the great pots into the little pots; that is to say, if a thing can be said in one line instead of two, try to mnake the sentence." Three points are here to be observed and borne in mind, namely:1. These discrepancies are additions in one version, and omissions in the other; they are not changes in the phraseology. '2. B3alzae's playful nickname for Madame Surville's husband, who was government engineer of bridges, canals, and highways, is given in both versions. 3. The first point shows conclusively that the letter given in the Correspondence is not a mere copy from that in Madame Surville's memoir, but is taken from the original letter, inasmuch as the version of 1876, thougTh identical to a certain point with that of 1856, gives addition s to it. Twenty years later, in 1896, forty years after its first publication by the person who received it, the same letter appears in "1Un Roman d'Amour," introduced by the following words (pp. 76, 77, 78): "Happily, a unique document, and exceptionally precious in relation to this first interview, that at Neuifehitel [with Madame Hanska], is in our hands. It is precise, and fixes, from Balzac's own pen, his immediate impressions of Madame Hanska and the five days he spent near her. This document consists of an autograph letter, almost entirely unpublished, addressed to his sister, Madame* Surville; thiis letter is certainly the most important which, until now, has been brought to light on the opening of that celebrated passion. We shall x.i I1 Trandator's Pof ael~tfi~e. quote it here. In it will be found many other unknown details of the most extreme interest, which confirm what we have already said as to the role which thle feminine element always played in the life of the master... Here is the complete text [texte co?)mplet] of this letter, certainly written very rapidly, for we find several words onmitted, and more than one obscurity. To make the meaning clearer we have made, according to our custom in such cases, some additions [adjonctions], placed, as usual, between brackets." 1 [PARIS] Saturday, 12 [October, 1833]. MIY. DEAR SISTEll, - You understand that I could not speak to you before Eugenie, but I had all my journey to relate to you. I have found down there all that can flatter the thousand vanities of that animal called man, of whom the poet is certainly the vainest species. But what am I saying? vanity! No, there is nothing of all that. I am happy, very happy in. thoughts, in all honor as yet. Alas! a damned husband never left us for one second during five days. lie kept between tlhe petticoat of his wife and mly waistcoat. [Neufehlltel is] a little town where a woman, an illustrious foreigner, cannot take a step without being seen. I was, as it were, in an oven. Constraint does not suit me. The essential thing, is tllat we are twenty-seven years old, beautiful to admirationl; that we possess the handsomest black hair in the world, the soft, deliciously delicate skin of brunettes, thlat we have a love of a little hand, a heart of twenty-seven, naive; [in short, she is] a true iMadame de Lignolles, imprudent to tlhe point of flinging herself upon miy neck before all the world. I don't speak to you of colossal wealth. What is that before a masterpiece of beauty, whom I can only compare to the Princess Belle-Joeluse, but infinitely better? [She possesses] a lingering eye [(Eil trainant] which, when it meets, becomes of voluptuous splendor. I was intoxicated withl love. I don't know whom to tell this to; certainly it is not [possible] either to lher, the great lady, the terrible marquise, who, suspecting the journey, comes down from her pride, and in. 1 One of these (adjonctions " is the signature! - TR. Translator's Preface. xiii timates an order that I shall go to her at the Duc de F.'s [FitzJames], [nor] is it [possible to tell it either] to her, poor, simple, delicious bourgeoise, who is like Blanche d'Azay. I am a father, -that 's another secret I had to tell you, - and at the head of a pretty little person, the most naive creature that ever was, fallen like a flower from heaven, who comes to me secretly, exacts no correspondence, and says: " Love me a year; I will love you all my life." It is not [either] to her, the most treasured, who has more jealousy for me than a mother has for the milk she gives her child. She does not like L'EJtranyere, precisely because L'Etrangere appears to be the very thing for me. And, finally, it is not to her who wants her daily ration of love, and who, though voluptuous as a thousand cats, is neither graceful nor womanly. It is to you, my good sister, the former companion of my miseries and tears, that I wish to tell my joy, that it may die in the depths of your memory. Alas, I can't play the fop with any one, unless [apropos of] Madame de Castries, whom celebrity does not frighten. I do not wish to cause the slightest harm by my indiscretions. Therefore, burn my letter. As it will be long before I see you, - for I shall go, no doubt, to Normandy and Angouleme, and return to see her at Geneva, - I had to write you this line to tell you I am happy at last. I am [joyous] as a child. Morn Dieu! how beautiful the Val de Travers is, how ravishing the lake of Bienne! It was there, as you may imagine, that we sent the husband to attend to the breakfast; but we were in sight, and then, in the shadow of a tall oak, the first furtive kiss of love was given. Then, as our husband is approaching the sixties, I swore to wait, and she to keep her hand, her heart for me. Is n't it a pretty thing to have torn a husband - who looks to me like a tower- from the Ukraine, to come eighteen hundred miles to meet a lover who has come only four hundred, the monster!1 I'm joking; but knowing my affairs and my occupation 1 Monsieur IHanski hired the house in Neufchatel early in the spring of 1833 and took his family there in May. Balzac was not invited, or, at any rate, did not go there till September 25th. xiv Translator's Preface. here, my four hundred count as much as the eighteen hundred of my fiancee. She is really very well. She intends to be seriously ill at Geneva, which require [will require the care of] M. Dupuytren to soften the Russian ambassador and obtain a permit to come to Paris, for which she longs; where there is, for a woman, liberty on the mountain. However, I've enchanted the husband; and I shall try next year to get three months to myself. I shall go and see the Ukraine, and we have promised ourselves a magnificent and splendid journey in the Crimea; which is, you know, a land where tourists do not go, a thousand times more beautiful than Switzerland or Italy. It is the Italy of Asia. But what labor between now and then! Pay our debts! Increase our reputation! Yesterday I went to Gerard's. Three German families - one Prussian, one from Frankfort, one from Vienna-were officially presented to me. They came faithfully to G6rard's for a month past to see me and tell me that nothing was talked of but me in their country [chez eux]; that amazing fame began for me on the frontier of France, and that I had only to persevere for a year or two to be at the head of literary Europe, and replace Byron, Walter Scott, Goethe, Hoffmann! AMa foi! as they were good Germans I let myself believe [all] that. It restored to rme some courage, and I am going to fire a triple shot on the public and on the envious. During this fortnight, at one flash [I shall] finish " Eugenie Grandet," and write the "Aventures d'une idee [heureuse]" and "Le Pretre catholique," one of my finest subjects. Then will come the fine third dizain, and after that I shall go and seek my reward at Geneva, after having paid a good slice of debts. There, sister. I have now resumed my winter life. I go to bed at six, with my dinner in my mouth, and I sleep till half-past twelve. At one o'clock Auguste brings me a cup of coffee, and I go at one flash, working from one in the morning till an hour after midday. At the end of twenty days, that makes a pretty amount of work! Adieu, dearest sister. If your husband has arrived, tell him the "Aventures d'une idee [heureuse] " are on the ways, and he will perhaps read them at Montglat, for I will send you the paper in which they appear if you stay till the end of the month. Translator's IPreface. xv The affair of the " Etudes de Moeurs" is going on well. Thirty-three thousand francs of author's rights will just stop all the big holes. I shall [then] only have to undertake the repayment to my mother, and after that, faith! I shall be at my ease. I[ hope to repay you the remaining thousand francs at the end of the month; but if my mother wants all her interests [at once] I shall be obliged to put you off [till] the first fortnight in November. Well, adieu, my dear sister. If you have any heart, you will answer me. What the devil are you doing at Montglat? However, you are free; this is not a reproach, it is curiosity. Between brother and sister it is pardonable. Much tenderness. You won't say again that I don't write to you. Apropos, the pain in my side continues; but I have such fear of leeches, cataplasms, and to be tied down in a way that I can't finish what I have undertaken, that I put everything off. If it gets too bad we will see about it, I and the doctor, or magnetism. Addio, addio. A thousand kind things. Correct carefully the "Mddecin [de Campagne]," or rather tell me all the places that seem to you bad, and put the great pots into the little pots; that is to say, if a thing can be said in one line instead of two, try to make the sentence. Adieu, sister. [HONOR~.] Now there are three points here to be noticed and studied: - 1. The letters all state the purpose for which they were written. The versions of 1856 and 1876 give the same purpose. That given in " Roman d'Amour" is totally different. 2. The " Roman d'Amour" letter claims to be the complete text [texte complet]. How comes it, therefore, to have such variations from the original letter published by the sister who received it, and republished authoritatively in the Edition Definitive? 3. These variations are not merely omissions or additions of passages; they are the total reconstruction of many, and very characteristic, sentences. Xvi VTranslattr's Prefacee. Some one must have rewritten the letter. Some one has garbled it. There can be no question about this; the fact is there. It is not necessary for the vindication of lBalzac's honour to inqu(ire who did it; but it is plain that it was done. It is therefore legitimate to supl)pose that thle hand which garbledc parts of the letter added the slanderous lainguage of the first part. Three years ago, ill 1896, when " Roman d'Amour" first appeared, I added to the new edition of my "Memoir of Balzac" an appendix entitled I' A Vindicattion of Balzac." It goes into more details connected with this slander than I canl suitably put into this Preface, and I respectfully ask mny readers to read it in the Memoir. Now, to me who have lived in Balzac's mind for the last fifteen years as closely, perhaps, as ally one now living, it is plain that thle same hand that garbled the letter of October, 1833, has b)een at workl on some of the letters in the present volume. The simple story of these letters is as follows: In February, 1833, Balzac received a letter, posted in Russia, from a lady who siglie(l herself " l'Etrangbere" [" Foreigner"]. This letter is not known to exist; nor is there any authentic knowle(ldge of its contents; but it began a correspondence between its writer and Balzac which ended in their marriage in 1850. It does not appear at what dlate Madame Hanska gave her name; it must have been quite early in the correspondence, although lie never knew it exactly until the day he met her in September, 1833, at Neufchatel. The first reply from Balzac which is given is the first letter in the present volume, misdated January, 1833, a month before l'Etrangere's first letter w-as written; but it is plainly not the first reply he had made to her. Eleven letters from B'alzac follow the first, ending Translator's Preface. xvii on the day (September 26, 1833) when he met Madame Hanska for the first time at Neufchatel. These twelve letters to an unknown woman are romantic; they are the letters of a poet, creating for himself an ideal love, and letting his imagination bear him along unchecked. From our colder point of view they seem, here and there, a little foolish, as addressed to a total stranger, but the impression conveyed of his own being, his nature, the troubles of his life and heart, is affecting and full of dignity. They are, moreover, the letters of a gentleman to a woman he respects. Owing to their false dates and to a forgery in the first letter (done undoubtedly to bring them into line with " Roman d'Amour"), they are open to suspicion; but Balzac's characteristics are in them, and I believe them to be, in spite of some interpolations, genuine. But from the time that he meets Madame Hanska at Neufchaltel, a date which corresponds precisely with the garbled letter in " Roman d'Amour," the tone of the correspondence changes. For six months (from October to March) it becomes out of keeping with the respect which the foregoing letters, and the letters of all the rest of his life show that he felt for her. More especially is this true of the letters of January, February, and March. They are not in Balzac's style of writing; they present ideas that were not his, expressed in a manner that was not his; they contradict the impression given by all the other letters of his life; they contradict the letters of romantic ideal love that precede them; they contradict what every friend who knew Balzac closely has said of him; they contradict the known facts of the history of himself and Madame Hanska; they are, moreover, disloyal to friendship in a manner that Balzac's whole conduct in life, as evidenced in his correspondence, shows to have been impossible. To bring the question home to ourselves - which of us, b xviii Trl, nslator's Pr(f ace. after reflection and comparison, can suppose that the paltry, immature, contemptibly vulgar stuff of the letters here desi(gnated as spurious ever came from tlhe )train of tlie mianl who thought a(nd wrote the " Comedie Ilumaine "? There is sucl a tiling as true li('rary. jfd(lqiCent,-as unerring' as tlhe science that sees a mammoth in a bone. To that judgmlnent, if to no otiler, this question may be left. The letters are here in this volume, and the reader can' judge them for himself. In my op)inion they have been garbled in various places; expressions, passages, and many whole letters have been interpolated, with the vulgarity of the hand thlat garbled the letter in " Roman d'Amnour," for the purpose of supporting the slander suggested in that book. This is, necessarily, opinion and judgment only; buit a very remarkable circumstance appears in this volume, which should be studied and judged by readers thoroughly informed about Balzac, his nature, liis character, and his writings. September 16, 18,34, Balzac writes to Monsieur Ilanski, asking him to exllain to Madame Ilanska how he came to write to her two love-letters; these letters are not given. lie asks her pardon, lie is grieved, he is mortified (and justly so); but tlie letter is characteristic of a man who was honest and brave; the defence rings true. Monsieur Ilanski must have thought so, for he accepted the commission and so performed it that Balzac's next letter to Madame IIanska thanks her for her pardon, and is written in a tone of boyish glee which was eminently characteristic of him, and could not have been counterfeited. From this time there is not a trace of embarrassment in his letters; he does not feel himself withheld from expressing his ardent but respectful feelings for Madame Hanska; he assures her, again and again, of her influ Translator's Preface. xix ence upon his life, and he sends friendly messages to Monsieur HIanski, which are returned in an evidently kind and cordial way. To the translation of the "I Lettres 'a l'Etrangere " I have added that of all the letters to Madame Hanska during the rest of Balzac's life which are contained in the volume of Correspondence in the Edition Definitive. The "Lettres a l'Etranglre" -those, I mean, that are genuine -ought, if published at all, to have been shortened. They were written to give vent to the emotions of a heart and soul under violent pressure; perhaps no letters exist that ever came so hot from the inner being; they lay bare a soul that little dreamed of this exposure, for the man who wrote them never read them over. For this reason, this lack of editing, the reader will surely find them too monotonous in their one long cry; and yet, without them, the world would not have known a tragedy too great for tears, nor the true history of a hero. I should not have consented to translate these letters unless I had been allowed by my publishers to preface them with these remarks, and give my name and what weight my long, close intercourse with Balzac may possess in his just defence. KATIARINE P. WORMELEY. THE SXTER, THORN MOUNTAIN. LETTERS. I LETTERS DURING 1833. To MADAME HANSIA. PARIS, January, 1833. MADAME,- I entreat you to completely separate the author from the man, and to believe in the sincerity of the sentiments which I have vaguely expressed in the correspondence you have obliged me to hold with you. In spite of the perpetual cau.tion which some friends give me against certain letters like those which I have had the honour to receive from you, I have been keenly touched by a tone that levity cannot counterfeit. If you will deign to excuse the folly of a young heart and a wholly virgin imagination, I will own that you have been to me the object of the sweetest dreams; in spite of my hard work I have found myself more than once galloping through space to hover above the unknown country where you, also unknown, live alone of your race. I have taken pleasure in comprehending you among the remains almost always unfortunate of a dispersed people, a people scattered thinly over the earth, exiled perhaps from heaven, but of whom each being has language and sentiments to him peculiar and unlike those of other men, - delicacy, choiceness of soul, chasteness of feeling, 2 2Honor' de Balzac. [1833 tenderness of lheart, purer, sweeter, gentler than in the best of other created beings. There is something saintly in even their enthusiasms, and calm in their ardour. These poor exiles have all, in their voices, their words, their ideas, something, I know not what, which distinguishes them from others, whicl serves to bind them to one another in spite of distance, lands, and language; a word, a phrase, tle very sentiment exhaled in a look are like a rallying call which they obey; and, compIatriots of a hidden land whose charms are reproduced in their memories, they recognize and( love one another in the name of that country toward wh ich they stretch their arms. Poesy, music, and religion are their three divinities, their favourite loves; and all tlhese passions awake in their hearts sensations thIat are equally powerful. I have clothed you withl all these ideas. I have held out to you my hand, fraternally, from afar, without conceit, without affectation, but with a confidence that is almost domestic, with sincerity; and could you have seen my glance you would have recognized within it both the gratitude of a lover and the reliogions of the heart, - the pure tenderness that binds the son to a mother, the brother to a sister, the respect of a young man for woman, and the delightful hopes of a long and fervent friendship. 'T was an episode wholly romantic; but who will dare to blame the romantic? It is only frigid souls who cannot conceive all there is of vast in the emotions to which the unknown gives full scope. The less we are restrained by reality, the hliioler is the fli-ht of the soul. I have therefore let myself gently float upon my reveries, and they are ravishing. So, if a star darts from your candle, if your ear should catch a distant muriur, if you see figures in the fire, if somethino sparkles or speaks beside you, near you, believe that my spirit is wandering among your panels. Amid the battle I am fighting, amid mny heavy toil, my 1833] Letters to Madame Hanska. 3 endless studies, in this agitated Paris, where politics and literature absorb some sixteen or eighteen hours of the twenty-four, to me, an unfortunate man, widely different from the author that people imagine, come charming hours which I owe to you. So, in order to thank you, I dedicated to you the fourth volume of the " Scenes de la Vie privee," putting your seal at the head of the last " Scene," which I was writing at the moment when I received your first letter. But a person who is a mother for me, and whose caprices and even jealousy I am bound to respect, exacted that this silent testimony of secret sentiments should be suppressed. I have the sincerity to avow to you both the dedication and its destruction, because I believe you have a soul sufficiently lofty not to desire a homage which would cause grief to a person as noble and grand as she whose child I am, for she preserved me in the midst of griefs and shipwreck where in my youth I nearly perished. I live by the heart only, and slhe made me live! I have saved the only copy of that dedication for which I was blamed as if it were a horrible coquetry; keep it, madame, as a souvenir and by way of thanks. When you read the book say to yourself that in concluding it and revising it I thought of you and of the compositions which you have preferred to all the others. Perhaps what I am doing is wrong; but the purity of my intentions must absolve me.' Lay tlhe things that shock you in my works, madame, to the account of that necessity which forces us to strike powerfully a blase public. Having undertaken, rashly.no doubt, to represent the whole of literature by the whole of my works; wishing to erect a monument more durable from the mass and the amassing of materials than 1 This publication of the " Scenes de la Vie privee " took place in May, 1832, nine months I)efore Mmne. Hanska's first letter reached Balzac. The above passage must therefore have been forged and interpolated here; probably to bring this letter into line with a tale in " Roman d'Amour" (pp. 55-59), which the same dates prove to be false. - TR. 4 Jiowre' de BBZalzac. [1833 from the beauty of the edifice, I am obliged to represent everything, that I may not be accused of want of power. But if you knew me personally, if my solitary life, my (lays of study, 1privation, and toil were told to you, you would lay aside somne of your accusations and perceive more tlhan one antithiesis between the man an(l his writings. Certainly there are some works in which I like to be myself; )but you ean guess them; they are those in which the heart speaks out. My fate is to paint the happl)l)iness that others feel; to desire it in perfection, but never to meet it. None }but those whlo suffer can lpaint j)oy, b1ecausel we express better tlhat which we conceive tllan that we haNve experienced. See to what this confidlence hias (Irawnl me! But, tlhinkilno of all tile countries tlhat lie bletween us, I dare not )e l)rief. Besides, events are s(o gloomy around my friends and myself! Civilization is threatened; arts, sciences, and pr1g)ress aire threatened. I myself, the organ of a vanquishled party representing all noble and religious i(leas, I am already tlhe object of lively lhatred. The more that is hope(d from my voice, tlhe more it is feared. And( under these circumstances, whlen a man is thirty years old l an(i lias not worn out his life or his heart, witlh wIhat passion lie grasps a friendly word, a tender speech!... Plerhaps you will never receive anything from me again, and tlhe friend(ship you have created may be like a flower perishing un1known in tlhe depths of a woo)d by a stroke of lightning. Know, at least, tlhat it was true, and sincere; you are, in a young and stainless heart, what every woman must desire to be - resl)eeted and adored. Have you not shled a perfume on my hours? Do I not owe to you one of those encouragements which make us accept hard toil, the drop of water in the desert? If events respect nme, and1 in spite of excursions to which my life as poet and artist econdemn mne, you can, 18~3] Letters to liadame Hanska. 5 madame, address your letters "Rue Cassini, No. 1, near the Observatory" - unless indeed I have had the misfortune to displease you by this candid expression of the feelings I have for you. Accept, madame, my respectful homage. PARIS, end of January, 1833. Pardon me the delay of my answer. I returned to Paris only in December last, and I found your letter in Paris awaiting me. But once here, I was sharply seized by crushing toil and violent sorrows.1 I must be silent as to the sorrows and the toil. None but God and myself will ever know the dreadful energy a heart requires to be full of tears repressed, and yet sutlice for literary labours. To spend one's soul in melancholy, and yet to occupy it ever with fictitious joys and sorrows! To write cold dramas, and keep within us a drama that burns both heart and brain! But let us leave all this. I am alone; I am now shut up at home for a long time, possibly a year. I have already endured these voluntary incarcerations in the name of science and of poverty; to-day, troubles are my jailers. I have more than once turned my thought to you. But I must still be silent; these are follies. I have one regret; it is to have boasted to you of t" Louis Lambert," the saddest of all abortions. I have just employed nearly three months in remaking that book, and it is now appearing in a little 18mo volume, of which there is a special copy for you.; it will await your orders and shall be given, with the Chenier, to the person who calls for them; or they shall be sent wherever you write to me to forward them. This work is still incomplete, though it bears this time tlhe pompous title of "i Histoire Intellectuelle de Louis Lambert." When this edition is exhausted, I will publish another "Louis Lambert" more complete. 1 This letter is inconsistent with the preceding one, also dated January, 1833. A system of arbitrary dating is t!hus shown. -TR. 6 Honorc dcb, alz(tac. [ 18:;3 I tell you naively all that you want to know about me. I am still waiting for you to speak to me with equal confildence. You are afraid of ridicule? Anlld of whose? That of a poor child, victim yesterday and victim to-morrow of his feminine bashfullness, his shyness, his beliefs. You have asked me with (istrust to give an explanation of my two handwritings; but I have as many handwritings as there are days in the year, without bein, on that account the least in the world versatile. This mobility coumes from an imaginationll whSich can conceive all. and yet remaini virgin, like glass which is soiled by none of its retlectiolls. The glass is in my blrain. But lny heart, my heart is known but to one woman in the world as yet, - thle et ioeoc ci scliper (ldect, (dictom of the de(lication of I Louis Lambert." Ties eternal and ties broken! Do not blame nme. You ask inme how we can:. love, live, and lose each other while still lovinit. That is a mystery of life of which you know nothinlg as yet, and I hope you never may know it. In tlhat sad destiny no blame can be attach]ed except to f1ate; there are two unfortunates, but they are two irrel)roachable unfortunates. There is no fault to absolve because there is no cause to blame. I cannot add another word. I am very curious to know if 1' La Fenmine abandonlme,"" "1 La Grenaldibre," tlle " L-ttrc ' Nodier " (in which there are enormous tvy)ographlical errors), thle ^ Voyage a Java,"7 and ' Les AsIaranias " have p)leatse( you.. Somne dlays Iafter receiving' this letter you will read " Une Fille d'Eve," who will be the type of the " La Femume abandonnece," taken between fifteen and twenty years of age. At this moment I am filnishing a work thalt is quite evanglelical, and whicl seems to me the '" Imitation of,Jesus Christ" poetized. It Ibears an epigraphi) which will tell the disposition of mind I was in when writing the book: 'b (coutedcd he6rts, silcnce (tand shade. One must have suffered to un(lerstand(l that line to its full extent; and one must also lhave suffered as much as I have (lone to give birth to it in a day of mourni!ng. 1833] Letters to lIadreame Hanska. 7 I have flung myself into work, as Empedocles into the crater, to stay there., "La Bataille " will come after " Le Medecin de campagne "(the book I have just told you of); and is there not something to shudder at when I tell you that " La Bataille " is an impossible book? In it I undertake to initiate the reader into all the horrors and all the beauties of a battle-field; my battle is Essling, Essling with all its consequences. This book requires that a man, in cold blood, seated in his chair, shall see the country, the lay of the land, the masses of men, the strategic events, the Danube, the bridges; shall behold the details and the whole of the struggle, hear the artillery, pay attention to all the movements on the chess-board; see all, and feel, in each articulation of the great body, Napoleon - whom I shall not show, or shall only allow to be seen, in the evening, crossing the Danube in a boat! Not a woman's head; cannon, horses, two armies, uniforms. On the first page the cannon roars, tand never ceases until the last. You read through smoke, and, the book closed, you have seen it all intuitively; you remember the battle as if you had been present at it. It is now three months that I have been measuring swords with that work, that ode in two volumes, which persons on all sides tell me is impossible! I work eighteen hours a day. I have perceived the faults of style which disfigure " La Peau dce Chagrin." I corrected them to make it irreproachable; but after two months' labour, the volume being reprinted, I discover another hundred faults. Such are the sorrows of a poet. It is the same thing with "Les Chouans." I have rewritten that book entirely; but the second edition, which is coming out, has still many spots upon it. On all sides they shout to me that I do not know how to write; and that is cruel when I have already told myself so, and have consecrated my days to new works, using 8 8IoJor6c de Balzac. [1833 my nights to perfect the old ones. Like thle bears, I am now licking the " Scenes de la Vie priv6ee" and the "Physiologie du Mariage; " after which I shall revise the "Etudes Philosophiques." As all my passions, all my beliefs are defeated, as my dreams are dispersed, I am forced to create myself passions, and I choose that of art. I live in my studies. I wish to do better. 1 weigh my phrases and my words as a miser weilghs his bits of gold. AWhat love I thus waste! What happiness is flunlg to the winds! IMy laborious youth, my long studies will not have the sole reward I desired for them. Ever since I have breathed and known what a pure breath coming from pure lips was, I have dlesired the love of a young and pretty woman; yet all has fled me! A few years more and youth will be a memory! I am 'eliible to the Chamber under the new law which all. -- u- o be men at thirty years of age, and certainly "* t i'.',\ vers the recollections of youth will bring me no ys. \ It[ then, what hope that I could obtain at forty,tat which I have missed at twenty? Shle who is averse to rme, being young, will she be less reluctant then? But you cannot understand these moans, - you, young, solitary, living a country life, far from our Parisian world which excites the passions so violently, and where all is so great and so petty. I oight still to keep these lamentations in the depths of my heart.... You have asked my friendship for a youth; I thought of you yesterday in fulfilling a promise of the same kind and devoting myself to a youlg man whom I hope to embark upon a fine and noble life. You are right; there is a moment in the life of young men when a friendly heart can be very precious. In the park of Versailles is a statue of " Achilles between Vice and Virtue," which seems to me a great work, and I have always thought, when looking at it, of that critical moment in human life. Yes, a young man needs a courageous voice to draw him to the 1833] Letters to Madame Hanska. 9 life of manhood while allowing him to gather the flowers of passion that bloom along the wayside. You will not laugh at me, you, who have written to me so noble a page and lines so melancholy, in which I have believed. You are one of those ideal figures to whom I give the right to come at times and nebulously pose amid my flowers, who smile to me between two camellias, waving aside a rosy heather, and to whom I speak. You fear the dissipations of the winter for me? Alas! all that I know of the impressions I can produce, comes to me in a few letters from kind souls which set me glowing. I never leave my study, filled with books; I am alone, and I listen and wish to listen to no one. I have such pain in uprooting from my heart my hopes! They must be torn out, one by one, root by root, like flax. To renounce Woman! - my sole terrestrial religion! You wish to know if I ever met Fedora; if she is true. A woman of cold Russia, the Princess Bagration, is supposed in Paris to be the model of her. I have reached the seventieth woman who has the coolness to recognize herself in that character. They are all of ripe age. Even Madame Recamier is Willing to fedorize herself. Not a word of all that is true. I made Fedora out of two women whom I have known without ever being intimate with them. Observation sufficed me, and a few confidences. There are also some kind souls who will have it that I have courted the handsomest of Parisian courtesans and have hid, like Raphael, behind her curtains. These are calumnies. I have met a Fedora; but that one I shall not paint; besides, the " La Peau de chagrin " was published before I knew her. I must bid you adieu, and what an adieu! This letter may be a month on its way; you will hold it in your hands, but I may never see you, - you whom I caress as an illusion, who are in my dreams like a hope, and who 10 Hfonor? de Balzac. [1833 have so graciously embodied my reveries. You do not know what it is to people the solitude of a poet with a gentle figure, the form of which attracts by the very vagueness which the indefiinte lends it. A solitary, ardent heart takes eagerly to a chimera when it is real! IIow many times I have travelled the road that separates us! what delighlltful romances! and what postal charges (o I not spend at my fireside! Adieu, then; I have given you a whole night, a night which belonged to my legitimate wife, thle " Revue de Paris," that crabbed spouse. Consequently the " Th6oric de la Demarche," which I owed to her must be postl)oned till the month of March, and no one will know why; you and I alone are in thle secret. The article was there before me - a science to elucidate; it was arduous, I was afraid of it. Your letter slipped into my memory, and suddenly I put my feet to the embers, forgot myself in my ann-chair, - and adieu 'i La Denarche; " behold me galloping, towards Poland, and re-reading your letters (I have but three) - and now I answer them. I defy you to read two monthls hence thle " Thlorie (le la enmarche " without smiling at every sentence; because beneath those senseless foolish phrases there are a thousand thoughlts of you. Adieu. I have so )ittle time that vou must absolve me. There are but three persons whose letters I answer. Tlhis sounds a little like French conceit, and yet it is really most delicate in the way of modesty. AMore than that, I meant to tell you that you are almost alone in my heart, grand(parents excepted. Adieu. If my rose-tree were not out of bloom I would send( you a petal. If you were less fairy-like, less capricious, less mysterious, I would say ' write to me often." P. S. The black seal wis an accident. I was not,at horme, and the friend with whom I was staying at Angoulemne was in mourning. 1833] Letters to Madame Itanska. 11 PARIS, February 24, 1833. Certainly there is some good genius between us; I dare not say otherwise, for how else can one explain that you should have sent me the "Imitation of Jesus Christ" just when I was working night and day at a book in which I have tried to dramatize the spirit of that work by conforming it to the desires of the civilization of our epoch. How is it that you had the thought to send it to me when I had that of putting its meditative poesy into action, so that across wide space the saintly volume, accompanied by an escort of gentle thoughts, should have come to me as I was casting myself into the delightful fields of a religious idea; coming too, at a moment when, weary and discouraged, I despaired of being able to accomplish this magnificent work of charity; beautiful in its results-if only my efforts should not prove in vain. Oh! give me the right to send you in a month or two my " MAdecin de campagne " with the Chenier and the new " Louis Lambert," in which I will write the last corrections. My book will not appear till the first of March. I do not choose to send you that ignoble edition. A few weeks after its appearance I shall have still another ready, and I can then offer you something more worthy of you. The same line of thought presented itself to me in all of them, - poesy, religion, intellect, those three great principles will be united in these three books, and their pilogrimage toward you will be fulfilled; all my thoughlts are assembled in them, and if vou will draw from that source there will be for you, in me, something inexhaustible. Now I know that my book will please you. You send me the Christ upon the cross, and I, T have made him bearing his cross. There lies the idea of the book: resignation and love; faith in the future and the shledding of tle fragrance of benefits around us. What joy for a man to have at last been able to (ldo a work in whlich 12 1loJlor de Balzac. [1833 lie can be himself, in which he may pour out his soul without fear of ridicule, because in serving the passions of thle mob he hlas conquere(l the right, dearly bought, of being heard in a dlay of grave thoughlt. HIave you read,Juana"? Tell nie if she pleases you. You h'ave awakened many diverse curiosities in me; you are capable of a delightful co(quetry which it is impossible to blame. Buit you do not knlow how d(lngerous it is to a lively imagination andl a heart misunderstood, a heart full of rejected tenderness, to behold thus nebulously a young and beantitul woman. In spite of these dangers, I yield myself willingly to hopes of tlle heart. My grief is to be able to speak to you of yourself as only a hope, a drealn of heaven and of all tllat is beautiful. I can therefore tell you only of myself; but I abandon myself with you to my most secret thoughts, to my despairs, to my hopes. You are a second conscience; less reproachful perhaps and more kindly than that which rises so imperiously within me at evil momenits. \Well, then! I will speak of myself, since it must be so. I lihave met with one of those immense sorrows which only artists know. After three montlhs' labour I re-made " Louis Laml-bert." Yesterday, a friend, one of those friends who never deceive, who tell you the truth. came, scalpel in hand, and we studied my work together. IHe is a log(ical man, of severe taste, incapable of doing anything himself, but a most profound grammarian, a sterni professor, and lie showed me a thousand faults. That evening, alone, I wept with despair in tlihat species of rage which seizes the heart when we recognize our faults after toilingo so long. Well, I shall set to work again, and( in a month or two I will bring forth a corrected L' ouis Lambert." Wait for that. Let me send you, when it is ready, a new and fine e(lition of thle four volumes of the 'Philosophic'al tales. I am preparinlg it. La Peau de chagrin," alread ly ( orrectel, is to be again 18331 Letters to MAtdame Hansca. 13 corrected. If all is not then made perfect, at least it will be less ugly. Always labour! AMy life is passed in a monk's cellbut a pretty cell, at any rate. I seldom go out; I have many personal annoyances, like all men who live by the altar instead of being able to worship it. Iow many things I do which I would fain renounce! But the time of my deliverance is not far off; and then I shall be able to slowly accomplish my work. How impatient I am to finish "Le Medecin de campagne," that I may know what you think of it - for you will read it no doubt before you receive your own copy. It is the history of a man faithful to a despised love, to a woman who did not love him, who broke his heart by coquetry; but that story is only an episode. Instead of killing himself, the man casts off his life like a garment, takes another existence, and in place of making himself a monk, lie becomes the sister of mercy of a poor catiton, which he civilizes. At this moment I am in the paroxysm of composition, and I can only speak well of it. When it is finished you will receive the despairs of a man who sees only its faults. If you knew with what force a solitary soul whom no one wants springs toward a true affection! I love you, unknown woman, and this fantastic thing is only the natural effect of a life that is empty and unhappy, which I have filled with ideas only, diminishing its misfortunes by chimerical pleasures. If this present adventure ought to happen to any one it should to me. I am like a prisoner who, in the depths of his dungeon, hears the sweet voice of a woman. He puts all his soul into a faint yet powerful perception of that voice, and after his long hours of revery, of hopes, after voyages of imagination, the woman, beautiful and young, kills him- so complete would be the happiness. You will think this folly; it is the truth, and far below the truth, because the heart, 14 4IIonoI' c le Bad.[za' [1 S3: the imagination, the romance of the passions of which nmy works give an idea are very far below thie heart, the imagination, the romance of tile manl. And I can say this without conceit, because all those qualities are to ine misfortunes. After all, no onle attaches himself with greater love to tie poesy of this sentiment at once so chimerical and so true. It is a sort of religion, highler than earth, less high than heaven. I like to often turn my eyes toward these unklnown skies, inl an unknown land, and gatiher some new stren-gthi )y thilnkin that there may be sure rewards for me, whenl I (do well. RIelmlber, therefore, that there is here, between a Carmelite convent and the Place where the executions take place, a poor being whose joy you are,- an1 innocent joy acconling to social laws, but a very criminal one if mleasured by thle weinlit of affection. I tlake too mlch, I assure you, and you would l not ratify my dreamy conquests if it were plssil)le to tell you my drealms, dreams which I know to l)e impossible, but which please me so much. To go where no one in tlie world knows whvere I am, -to go into your country, to p)ass before you unknown, to see you, an(l return here to write and tell you," You are thus and so!" low many tii;nes lhave I enovyed this deliglhtful fancy -I, attacledl by a myritlad lilliputian bonds to Paris, I, whose ind(leendelee is forever beillg lostpolne(l, I, whlo cannot travel except in thought! It is yours, tlhat thouglht; but, in mercy and in tlhe name of that affection whtich I will not characterize beca:use it makes me too happy, tell lme that you write to no) one il France but me. Thills is not distrust nor jealousy; although both sentiments prove love, I think that the suspicions they imply are always dishionotorimg'. No, the motive is a sentimenlt of celestial perfection which ougolt to be in you and which I inwardly feel there. I know it, but I would fain b)e sure. Adieu; pitiless editors, newspapers, etc., are here; 1833] Letters to Madame Hanska. 15 time fails me for all I have to do; there is but a single thing for which I can always find time. Will you be kind, charitable, gracious, excellent? You surely know some person who can make a sepia sketch. Send me a faithful copy of the room where you write, where you think, where you are yoa - for, you know well, there are moments when we are more ourselves, when the mask is no longer on us. I am very bold, very indiscreet; but this desire will tell you many things, and, after all, I swear it is very innocent. In the month of May two young Frenchmen who are going to Russia can leave with the person you may indicate, in any town you indicate, the parcel containing Andre Chenier, my poor " Louis Lambert" and your copy of "Le Medecin de campagne." Write me promptly on this subject. They are two young men who are not inquiring; they will do it as a matter of business. Objects of art are not exposed to the brutalities of the custom-house and you will permit a poor artist to send you a few specimens of art. They are only precious from the species of perfection that artists who love each other give to their work for a brother's sake. At any rate, allow Paris the right to be proud of her worship of art. You will enjoy the gift because none but you and I in the world will know that this book, this copy is the solitary one of its kind. The seal I had engraved upon it is lost. It came to me defaced by rubbing against other letters. You will be very generous to send me an impression inside of your reply. All this shows that I am occupied with you, and you will not refuse to increase my pleasures; they are so rare! PARIS, end of March; 1833. I have told you something of my life; I have not told you all; but you will have seen enough to understand 16I Honore de Balzac. [1833 that I have no ti-me to do evil, no leisure to let myself go to happiness. Gifted with excessive sensibility, having lived much in solitude, the constant ill-fortune of my life has been the element of what is called so improperly tatleit. I am provided with a great power of observation, because I have beeni cast among all sorts of professions, involuntarily. Then, when I went into thie upper regioms of society, I sufftered at all points of my soul which suffering can touch; there are none but souls that are miisunderstood, and the poor, who can really observe, because everything bruises them, and observation results from suffering. Memory only registers thoroughly that which is pain. In this sense it recalls great joy, for pleasure comes very near to being pain. Thus society inl all its phases from top to bottom, legislations, religions, histories, the present times, all have been observed and analyzed by me. My one passion, always disappointed, at least inl thle developient I gave to it, has made ine observe women, study thein, knlow them, and cherish them, without other recompense than that of being understood at a distalce by great and noble hearts. I have written my desires, my dreams. But the farther I go, the more I rebel aoainst my fate. At thirty-four years of age, after having constantly worked fourteen and fifteen hours a day, I have already white hairs without ever being loved by a young and pretty woman; that is sad. My imagination, virile as it is, having never been prostituted or jaded, is an enemy for me; it is always in keeping with a young and pure heart, violent with repressed desires, so that the slightest sentiment cast into my solitude makes ravages. I love you already too much without ever having seen you. There are certain phrases in your letters which make my heart beat. If you knew witll what ardour I spring toward that which I have so long desired! of what devotion I feel myself capable! what happiness it would bo 1833] Letters to lIadcame Halnska. 17 to me to subordinate my life for a single day! to remain without seeing a living soul for a year, for a single hour! All that woman can dream of that is most delicate, most romantic, finds in my heart, not an echo but, an incredible simultaneousness of thought. Forgive me this pride of misery, this naivete of suffering. You have asked me the baptismal name of the dilecta [Mime. de Berny]. In spite of my complete and blind faith, in spite of my sentiment for you, I cannot tell it to you; I have never told it. Would you have faith in me if I told it? No. You ask me to send you a plan of the place I live in. Listen: in one of the forthcoming numbers of Regnier's "Album" (I will go and see him on the subject) he shall put in my house for you, oh! solely for you! It is a sacrifice; it is distasteful to inme to be put en evidence. How little those who accuse me of vanity know me! I have never desired to see a journalist, for I should blush to solicit an article. For the last eight months I have resisted the entreaties of Schnetz and Scheffer, author of " Faust" who wish extremely to make my portrait. Yesterday I said in jest to Gerard, who spoke to me of the same thing, that I was not a sufficiently fine fish to be put in oils. You will receive herewith a little sketch made by an artist of my study. But I am rather disturbed in sending it to you because I dare not believe in all that your request offers me of joy and happiness. To live in a heart is so glorious a life! To be able to name you secretly to myself in evil hours, when I suffer, when I am betrayed, misunderstood, calumniated! To be able to retire to you!;.. This is a hope that goes too far beyond me; it is the adoration of God by monks, the Ave Maria written in the cell of a Chartreux, - an inscription which once made me stand at the GrandeChartreuse, beneath a vault, for ten minutes. Oh! love me! All that you desire of what is noble, true, pure, 18 tonore de dBalz-ac. L18:33 will be in a heart that has borne many a blow, but is not blasted! That gentleman was very unjust. 1 (irink nothing- but coffee. I have never known what drunkenness was, exceplt from a cigar which Eug'ene Sue made me smoke against my will, and it was that which enable(1d me to paint thle drunkenness for which you blalme me, in the '' Voylage a Java." EugeLne Sue is a kind and amiable young man, a braggart of vices, ill despair at beineo named Sue, livingr ill luxury to make himself a great seigneur, but for all that, though a little worn-out, worth more than his works, I dare not speak to you of Nodier, lest I should destroy your illusions. His artistic caprices stain that purity of honour which is the chastity of men. lut when one knows him, one forgives him his disorderly life, his vices, his lack of conscience for his home. Ile is a true child of nature after the fashion of La Fontaine. I have jtst returned( from Madame de (irardill's (D)elphine Gay"). She has the small-pox. 11er celebrated beauty is now in danger. Thllis distresses me for Emile, her llusband, and for her. She had been vaccinated; present science declares that one ought to be vaccinated every twenty years. I have returned home to write to you. under the empire of a violent annoyance. Out of low envy the editor of the I' IRevue de Paris " postpones for a week my thiird number of tlie Hlistoire des Treize." Fifteen days' interval will kill tlie interest in it, and I had worked day and nighlt to avoid any delay. For this last affair, which is the drop of water in too full a cup, I slhall probably cease all collaboration inl tlie "' Revue de Paris." I am so disgusted by the tricky enmity which broods there for me that I shall retire from it; and if I retire, it will be forever. To a certain degree rmy will is cast in bronze, and nothing can make me change it. In reading the "Histoire " in the March number, you will never suspect tile base and unworthy annoyances which have been in 1833] Letters to Mlldame Hanska. 19 stigated aoainst me in the inner courts of that review. They bargain for nme as if I were a fancy article; sometimes they play me monkey tricks [malices de negre]; sometimes insults upon me are anonymously put into the Album of the Revue; at other times they fall at my feet, basely. When I' Juana" appeared, they inserted a notice that made me pass for a madman. But why should I tell you these miserable things? The joke is that they represent me as b)eing unpunctual; promising, and not keeping my promises. Two years ago, Sue quarrelled with a bad courtesan, celebrated for her beauty (she is the original of Vernet's Judith). I lowered myself to reconcile them, and the consequence is the woman is given to me. M. de Fitz-James, the Duc de Duras, and the old court, all went to her house to tallk, as on neutral ground, much as people walk ii the alley of the Tuileries to meet one another; and I am expectedc to be niore strait-laced than those gentlemen! In short, by some fatal chance I can't take a step that is not interpreted as evil. What a punishment is celebrity! Bult, indeed, to publish one's thoughts, is it not prostituting them? If I had been rich and happy they should all have been kept for my love. Two years,ago, among a few friends, I used to tell stories in the evening, after midnight. I have given that tiup. There was danoger of my passing for an camuser; and I should have lost consideration. At every step there is a pitfall. So now I have retired into silence and solitude. I needed the great deception with which all Paris is now busy to fling mnyself into this other extremity. There is still a Metternich in this adventure; but this time it is the son, who died in Florence. I have already told you of this cruel affair, and I had no right to tell you. Though separated from that person out of delicacy, all is not over yet. I suffer through her; but I do not judge her. Only, I think that if you loved some one, and )20 flllonoie cdt Btalazw 1. 11833 if you had daily drawn that p1erson towards you into heaven, and you became free, you would not leave him alone at the bottom of an icy abyss after having warmnned hin with the lire of your soul. 1BLt forget all tlhat; 1 have spoken to you as to my own conlsciousnless. 1)o not betray a soul tlhat takes refuge in yours. You have much courage! you have a g.treat and lofty soul; (lo not tremble l)efore any oneC, or you will be unhappy; you will meet il life with circulmstalnces that will make you grieve thiat you did not kn(ow how to obtain all the power which you ought to have had and might have had. What I tell you now is the fruit of the experience of a woman advanced in years and purely religious. llut, above all, nlo useless iIl)rU(eilce. I)o nlot )pronounlce my name; let mie }) torn in pieces; I (1o not eare for such criticisme, provided 1 (cal live iln two or three hearts which I value more thait the wlhole world beside. I prcfer one of your letters to tile fame of Lord Byron bestowed by un ivertsal ap probatio 1. My vocation on1 this earth is to love, even witliout hope; provided, nevertheless, I am a little loved also. Jules Sandeau is a young man. (eorge Sand is a woman. I was interLsted in both, because I thlouglt it sublime in a woman to leave everythinig to follow a 1)oor youn111 man whom si) e loved. This woman, wlose lmamnle is IMine. Dudevant, i)roves to have a great talent. It was necessary to save Sandeau from tile conscription; they wrote a book between them; tile book is goo(l. I liked tlhese two lovers, lodging at the top of a house on the quai Saint-Michel, proud and hllapp)y. Madame i)udevant lhad her children with her. Note tlhat point. Falne arrived, and cast trouble into tlle dove-cote. 3Madame I)udevant asserted that she ought to leave it on account of her children. They separated; and this separation is, as I believe, founded on a new affection which George Sand, or Madame Dudevant, has taken for the most malignant 1833] Letters to Mada'me Hanska. 21 of our contemporaries, H. de L. [Henri (le Latouche], one of my former friends, a most seductive man, but odiously bad. If I had no other proof than Madame Dudevant's estrangement from me, who received her fraternally with Jules Sandeau, it would be enough. She now fires epigrams against her former host, so that yesterday I found Sandeau in despair. This is how it is with the author of '' Valentine " and '' Indiana," about whom you ask me. There is no one, artist or literary person, whom I do not know in Paris. and for the last ten years I have known many things, and things so sad to know tlhat disgust of these people has seized my heart. They have made me understand Rousseau, they cannot pardon me for knowing them; they pardon neither my avoidance of them nor my frankness~ But there are some impartial persons who are beginning to speak truth. My name is Honore, and I wish to be faithful to my name. What mud all thlis is! and, as you write me, man is a perverse animal. I do not complain, for heaven has given me three hearts: la dilecta [Madame de Berny], the lady of Augouleme [Mine. Carraud] and a friend [Auguste Borget] who is at this moment inaking a sketch of my study for you, without knowing for whom it is; and these three hearts, besides my sister and you, -you who can now do so much for my life, my soul, my heart, my mind, you who can save the future from a past given over to slffering, -are my only riches. You will have the right to say that Balzac is diffuse, not quoting from Voltaire, but of your own knowledge. At this moment of writing, you must have read Juana," and have, perhaps, given her a tear. In the last chapter there are sentences in which we can well understand each other: "' melancholies not understood even by those who have caused them," etc., etc. Do you not think that 1 have said too much good of 22 Ilonore, Ie Balz(. myself and too much evil of otlers? Po nlot suppose, llhowever, that all are gangre'icd If II.., n arried for love an.d haviing beautiful cehillrci:- is in the armns of an infamous courltesaln, thelre is in P ris Monsieur Alonteil, the author of a line work [*' Iisoire des Fr'lancais (des dlivers etIts niux cinq d(1riiers 1 si'cl sj ';" wi, o is lixvi l') onl blread and 1 ilk, refusing' a a pension which lie tjlinls ouglot not to be given to liiin. 1'h)ere a'e fine and noble (laracters, rret but tllere are es()in. Sc'ibe is a mall of hlonour and co ur1Ie. I shouldt have. to 'make you a whole history of litera:ry men; it would( not be, to,)o beautiful. I entrea't you t:) *el me, withl tllhlt 'e te isi/, pretty style of yours, tlhow you )ass y,or life, iour by llor let me share it:slly. Dlescril to me tihe places you live ill, even to the colou'rs of the furnlit're. You ouglit to keep n jo-urnal and senud it tin me regularly. In spite of my occupations I will write you a lieA every d(lay. It is so sweet to confide all to a kind 'etd Jteutifll soul, as one (toes to God. To put a stop to some of your ilnis-ioTs, I slhall have a.q sketch m1ade of the Ideci {e caMI paiIe " aud you will find in it th1e featiures;, pertliaps '!a litle carieicatured, of thle author. This is to be a secret between y)ou anid me. I have been thinking how t) send I ( tIs IC py wiICII it is ready. I think I have foulid tile most tiural way, alnd I will tell it to you, 1unless vo'u invent a (eotter. Graint my requests for the detils of your life; so fihat whien lmy thoulgit turns t w:irs you it many meet you, see thatt work-framle, tie flo'ver i,l an d f(dlow you thlrolugl all your hours. If Y(ou1 llnew o ofen ) wearied thoughlt ineeds a, rel tpose thl't is; pfrtly ',ctive, Iho'v lbelelicent to me is the (gentle rvevry th:aJt bei s: ' SIie is thilere! ow she is lookilog 'it (sc i o( s a thi, n." And I - I can give to tlioutl'ht the fa cult:- to sp1riiti' throulhi spice xithi force 'enou1 lo 1, bois it. 1These are lmy oily pleasu "li's:litd ( con(it,il' w')ork. 1833] Letters to lMadame Hanska. 23 I have not room to explain to you here what I have undertaken to accomplish this year. Inl January next you can. judge if 1 have been able to leave my study much. And yet I would like to find two months in which to travel for rest. You ask me for information about Sache. Sach6 is the remains of a castle on the Indre, in one of the most delicious valleys of Touraine. The proprietor, a man of fifty-five, used to dandle me on his knee. He has a pious and intolerant wife, rather deformed and not clever. I go there for him; and besides, I am free there. They accept me throughout the region as a child; I have no value whatever, and I am happy to be there, like a monk in a monastery. I walk about meditating serious works. The sky is so pure, the oaks so fine, the calm so vast! A league away is the bealltiful chhteau d'Azay, built by Samblanqay, one of the finest architectural things that we possess. Farther on is Ussd, so famous from the novel of " Petit Jehan de Saintre." Sachel is six leagues from Tours. But not a woman! not a conversation possible! It is your Ukraine without your music and your literature. But tlie more a soul full of love is restricted physically, the more it rises toward the heavens. That is one of the secrets of cell and solitude. Be generous; tell me much of yourself, just as I tell you much of myself. It is a means of exchanging lives. But let there be no deceptions. I have trembled in writing to you, and have said to myself: " Will this be a fresh bitterness? Will the heavens open to me once more only to drive me out? " Well, adieu, you who are one of my secret consolations, you, towards whom my soul, my thoughts are flying. Do you know that you address a spirit wholly feminine, and that what you forbid me tempts me immensely? You forbid me to see you? What a sweet folly it would be to do so5! It is a crime which I would make you pardon by 24 Ilonorc de Balzac. [1833 the gift of my life; I would like to spend it in deserving that pardon. IBut fear nothing; necessity cuts my wings. I am fastened to my glebe as your serfs to the soil. But I hllave committed the crime a hlun(dred times in thought! You owe ime compensation. Adieu! I have coni(ile(l to you the secrets of my life; it is Ias if I told you that you Iave my soul. PARITs, May 29-June I, 183:13. I have to-day, May 29, received your last letter-journal, and I have mnade arrangements to answer it as you wish. In thle first place I halve finally discovered a paper thin en1ough1 to sern(l you a journal the weigllt of which shall not excite tle (listrust of all the governments through which it passes. Next, I resign myself, from attachment to your sovereign orders, to assume tllis fatigouing little han(lwritil,o' intende(ld for you specially. Have I understood you, my dear star? for there are fearful distances between us, and you shine, pure an(l brighlt, upon my life, like the fantastic star attributed to every human being by the astrologers of tlhe middle ages. AlWhere are you goingo? You tell me nothing about it. To have all thle requirements of a sentiment so grandl, so vast, and not to lhave its confidence, is not that very wrong? You owe me all your thoughts. I am jealous of themn. If I have been long without writing to you it is because I have awaited your answer to my letters, being ignorant as to whether you received them. Even now I (lo not know where to address tlhe letter I am becinning. Then, this is wllat has hapl)ened to me: from March to April I paid off my agreement with tlle " Revue de Paris" with a composition entitled, IIistoire des Treize," which kept me working day and nightlt; to this were joine(l vexations; I felt fatio'ued,:and I went to spend some time ill the South, at Angouleme; there I remained, 1833] Letters to iMadacme Hanska. 25 stretched on a sofa, much petted by a friend of my sister, of whom I think I have already told you; and I became sufficiently rested to resume my work. I found in my new dizain and in the "MAdecin de campagone" untold difficulties. These two works (still in press) absorb my nights and days; the time passes with frightful rapidity. My doctor [Dr. Nacquart], alarmed at my fatigue, ordered me to remain a month without doing anything, - neither reading, writing letters, nor writing of any kind; to be, as he expressed it, like Nebuchadnezzar in the form of a beast. This I did. During this inaction vainglory has had its way. MADAME [the Duchesse de Berry] has caused to be written to me the most touching things from the depths of her prison at Blaye. I have been her consolation; and " l'Histoire des Treize" had so interested her that she was on the point of writing to me to be told the end in advance, so much did it agitate her! And an odd thing! M. de Fitz-Jaines writes me that old Prince Metternich never laid the story down, and that he devours my works. But enough of all that. You will read Madame Jules, and when you reach her you will regret having told me to burn your letters. The "Histoire des Treize" [this refers only to one part, 'l Ferragus"] has had an extraordinary success in this careless and busy Paris. Forgive my scribbling; my heart and head are always too fast for the rest, and when I correspond with a person I love I often become illegible. I have just read and reread your long and delightful letter. How glad I am that you are making the journal I asked of you. Now that this is agreed upon between us I will confide to you all my thoughts and the events of my life, as you will yours to me. Your letter has done me great good. My poor artist [Auguste Borget] is one of my friends. At this moment he is roaming the shores of the Mediterranean, or you would have had by this time a 26 lonILol'I dc Ba(za'C. [ 1 s,)3 sketch of my chamber or my little salon. I cannot yet tell you his.lanm; but lie will perIhalps put it on a landlscape lie is to make in tile copy of the A MCdecin de canm)aglne" which is destinetl for you, but cannot be ready before next autuiLmn,. lIe is a great artist, still more a noble heart, a young man full of determinlation atld pure as a youlig girl. lie was not willing. to e'/itbit this year soIle inmagnilicent studies. lie wants to study two years longer before pl)learillng, and I praise tihe resolution. lie will be great at one stroke. Regnier, who is making the collecti)on of the dwellitlgs of celebrated p(leonils, was here yesbtera; my house will be (for you) in thle next numlber and, to inlislh up the (luarter, he will put in the O)servatoire, on the si(de where M. Arago lives. That is the side look upol; it is opl)posite to 1m10. I hope " Le iM\Ideeill de campagne " will al)pear within the next fortnight. Thlis is tlhe work tlhat I prefer. My two counsellors cannot thear fragments of it witlhout sheddinog tears. As for me, what care bestowed 11upon) it! - but what annoyances! The publisher wa.ited to summons inc to deliver the nmanuscript more rapidly I have only worked:at it eighlt months; yet to all the world this delay - )put it in complarison with tle work - will seem diabolical. You shall have an ordinary copl)y, in which I waint you to read the composition. D)o not u'>v it; wait, I entreat you, for the hand(y volume I intei(l for you, besides thle grand copy. You know how munch I care thlat you shall readl me in a copy thalt I htve cho.)sen. It is a gospel; it is Ia bo)ok to be read 'at all moments. I desire thiat the volume in itself shall not l>e indifferent to you; there will be a thought, a caress for you on every page. Before I can hear fromn you whlere to a(ddress my letters, munch tiuhe must elapse. I can therefore talk to you at len.gth. To-morrowv I will spelak of your last letter, which I have near me, very near me, so that it perfumes 1 s8] LcttcIs8 to lI(adaine Jlettska. 27 me. Oh! how a secret sentiment brightens life! how proud it renders it! If you knew what part you have in my thoughts! how many times during this month of idleness, under that beautiful blue sky of Angouleme, I have delightfully journeyed toward you, occupying my_ mind with you, uneasy about you, knowing you ill, receiving no answers, and giving myself up to a thousand fancies. I live much through you, perhatps too much: betrayed already by a person who had only curiosity, my hopes in you are not devoid of a sort of terror, a fear. Oh! I am minre of a child thaun you suppose. Yesterday I went to see Madame Recamier, whom I found ill, but wonderfully bright and kind. I had heard she did much good, and very nobly, in being silent and making no complaint of the ungrateful beings she has met. No doubt she saw upon my face a reflection of wlhat I thought of her, and, without explaining to herself this little sympathy, she was charmilng to me. In the evening' I went to see (for I have been only six (lays in Paris) Madamne Emile de Girardin, Delphine Gay, whom I found almost well of her small-pox. She will have no marks. There were bores there, so I came away, — one of them that enemy to all laughter, the bibliophile X... about whlom you ask me for news. Alas! I can tell you all in a word. He has married an actress, a low and obscure woman of bad morals, who, the week before marrying him, had sent to one of my classmates, S... the editor of the "' National," a bill of her debts, by waly of flinging him the handkerchief. The bibliophile had said much harm of this actress; he did not then know her. I-Ie went behind the scenes of the Oderon, fell in love with her, and she, in revenge, married him. The vengeance is complete; she is the most dreadful tyrant I ever knew. She has resumed her actress allurements, and rules him. There is no talent possible to him under such circumstances. lie calls himself a 28 llon(Arc, (b, Pulza". [1833 bibliophile and does not know wlhat bibliography is; No(lier and the amateurs laughl at him. 1le needs much money, and lie stays in literature for wiant of funds to be a banker or a merchant of fashions. Iletce his books, - l)ivorce," Vertu et Templrament," and all that lie does. lie is the culminating point of medioelrity. By one of those ehanees that seein oecult, I knew of his hehaving' horritily t'a poor wolliman whose sedtlctioll lie lhad undllertaken as if it were a matter of business. I have seen that wollman weepinll bitter tears at hlavingll belonged to a imant whom slhe did not esteem and who had 1no talent. Sa(lldeau has just gone to Italy; lie is in despair; I thought him crazy.... As for Janin, anotler alas'... Janin is a fat little manll who bites everybody. The pref ace to II Barnave is not by him, but by B1quet, on tile staff of the Journal des )Debats," a witty man, ill-condueted, whlo was hidin( with Janin to escape his creditors. hlejquet was a schoolmate of mine; lie catie to nme, already an old man from his excesses, to weep over his troublle. Jani~n had taken from lhim a poor singer who was all Beqjuet's joy. The Chanson (le 1Trima:ve " is by (le iI usset; the inf:imous chapter al- ont the (la:tuglters of Sejanus is by a young man nained Fl'ix Pyat. For merey's sake, leave me free to be silent about these tilings when they are too revolting. They run fromn ear to ear in the salons, and one must needs hear them. I have already told you about I..; well! married for love, having wife and children, lie fell in love with an actress named J..., wlho, among other proofs of tenderness, sent him a bill of seven thousand francs to her laundress, and [I... was forced to sign lnotes of hand to pay the love-letter. Fancy a great poet, for he is a poet, working to pay the washerwoman of Mademoiselle J...! Latouche is envious, spitef ul, and malicious; lie is a fount of venom; but lie is faithful to his political creed, honest, 1833] Letters to MJadame Hansca. 29 and conceals his private life. Scribe is very ill; he has worn himself out in writing. General rule: there are few artists or great men who have not had their frailties. It is difficult to have a power and not to abuse it. But then, some are calumniated. Here, except about the washerwoman's bill, a thing I have only heard said, all that I have told you are facts that I know personally. Adieu for to-day, my dear star; in future I will only tell you of things that are good or beautiful in our country, for you seem to me rather ill-disposed towards it. Do not see our warts; see the poor and luckless friends of Sandeau subscribing to give him the needful money to go to Italy; see the two Johannots, so united, so hard-working, living like the two Corneilles. There are good hearts still. Adieu; I shall re-read your pages to-night before I sleep, and to-morrow I will write you my (lay. This day I have corrected the fifteenth and sixteenth chapters of the " Mdcecin de campagne " and signed an agreement for the publication of the "' Scenes de la Vie Parisienne." I wish I knew what you were doing at the moments when my mind is occupied with you. During my absence a horse I was fond of died, and three beautiful unknown ladies came to see me. They must have thought me disdainful. I opened their letters on arriving. There was no address; all was mysterious as a bonne fortrne. But I am exclusive: I write to none but you, and chance has sent my answer to those inquisitive women. PARIS, July 19 - Angust 8, 1833. You have not been either forgotten or less loved; but you yourself have been a little forgetful. You have not written to me how long a time you were to stay in Vienna, so that I might know if my reply would reach you there. 30 0onoro v de Balzac. [1833 Then you have written the name of your correspondent so illegibly that I copy it with fear tlhat tlhere may be some mistake. That sai(d, I have written you 'several letters whlich I have burned for fear of (ispleasilg yon, alndl i will now sum up for you in very few words imy recent life. An odious lawsulit was instituted aainst me by a publisher, o p)o95o: of,c i(Mdeein de cai,mpagne." The work was finished to-day, July I19, and will he sold by a publisher appointed by thle court. As for lthat book, I have 1)uried therein since I last wrote to you more t tan sixty nlighots. You will read it, you, illy distlant angel, and yvo will see how much of heart and life hIas I ee, spent ill that work, with which I am not yet very content. My work has so a) lorl)ed nme that I could not grive you my thlough'ts; I am so wea*ry, and for inc life is suchl a desert The only sentiment app!are:.ntly true that (lawns in my real life is a thousand leagues away from me. l)oes it not need all th1e power of a poet's heart to find consolation there; to say to itself al(idl siuchl toil: Slhe will quiver withl joy in seeing tlhat hler iname lias occupied me, tlhat she lherself was precsue.t to my tloucglit, alnd thlat what I dwelt on as lovelii est and nolest in that youllo1ng) girl I lhave named for lher'? You will see in reading tle book that you were in my soul as a ligh'lt. I have nothing) to tell you about myself, because I have been working night and (l 1y without seeing any one. Nevertheless, a few unkntown ladies hlave rapped at my door and have written to me. lBut I have not a vulgar soul, and, as le,(i/cfot says, ' If I were young nnd pretty I shou1d come, and not write t1is." So I drop all that into the void. There is something of you in this feminine reserve. A crown of the nature of that to which I aspire is given in its entirety; it cannot l)e divided. Well, still some d(ays, some months of labour, and I shall have ended one of my tsLsks. I shall then take 1833] Letters to Madame Ilanska. 31 a brief repose and refresh my brain by a journey; friends have already proposed to me Germany, Austria, Moravia, Russia. Non so. I do not yet know what I shall do. You are so despotic in your orders that I am afraid to go your way; there would be a double danger there for me. Your letters delight me; they make me love you more and more; but this life, which turns incessantly toward you, is consumed in efforts and returns to me no richer. To love one another without personal knowledge is torture. August 1, 1833. Twelve days' interval without being able to resume my letter! Judge my life by that. It is a perpetual combat, without relaxing. The wretches! they don't know what they destroy of poesy. My lawsuit will be decided to-morrow. "L'Europe Litt'raire " has quoted the " Story of the Emperor " told by a soldier of the Imperial Guard to peasants in a barn (one of the chief things in the "Mdclecin de campagne"). Bah! And here are speculators who for the last week have stolen me, priinted me without my permission, and have sold over twenty thousand copies of that fragment! I could use the law with rigour, but that's unworthy of me. They neither give my name, nor that of the work; they murder me and say nothing; they rob me of my fame and my pittance, —me, a poor man! You will some day read that gigantic fragment, wJlich has made the most unfeeling weep, and which a hundred newspapers have reproduced. Friends tell me that from end to end of France there has risen a cry of admiration. What will it be for the whole work! I send herewith a scrap of a former letter which I had not entirely burned. Since the 19th of last month I have had nothing but troubles, anxieties, and toil. To finish this little letter, I Ilonor c de Balzac. [1833 have to take part of a nighllt, and I think it a gentle recreation. I leave in a week for the country so as to finish in peace the third diztaiu of the " Contes Drolatiques " and a great historical novel called t" Privilege." Always work! You can, I think, without blushing, allow yourself to read the third diz-aing. It is almost pure. I await, assuredly with anxiety, your letter relating to "Le Medecin de campagne." VWrite me quickly what you think of it; tell me your emotions. Mon Die!/ I would fain recount to you a thousand thoughts; but there is a pitiless somebody who hurries and commands me. IBe generous, write to me, do not scold me too much for a seeming silence; my heart speaks to you. If a spark flames up in your candle at night, consider the little gleam as a message of the thoughts of your friend. If your fire crackles, think of me who think often of you. Yes, dream true in saying to yourself that your words not only echo, but they remain in my memory; tlhat in the most obscure corner of Paris there is a being who puts you into all his dreams, who counts you for much in his sentiments, whom you animate at times, but who, at other times is sad and calls to you, as we hope for a chance that is well-nigh impossible. PATIS, August 8, 1833. I have received your letter from Switzerland, from Neufchlatel. Will you not be much dissatisfied with yourself when you know that you have given me great pain at a moment when I already had much? After all that I have said to you, was not my silence significant of misfortunes? I now inclose to you thle letters begun before I received this letter from Switzerland in which you give me your exact address. I will not explain to you thle troubles that overwhelm 1833] Letters to Madame Hanska. 33 me; they are such that I thought yesterday of quitting France. Besides, the lawsuit which troubles me so much is very difficult to explain even to the judges; you will feel therefore that I cannot tell you anything about it in a letter. Mon Dieu! if you have never thought that I might have untold troubles, your heart should have told you that I did not enter your soul to leave it as you suppose me to have done, and that I did not forget you. You do not know with what strength a man who has met with nothing but toil without reward, sorrows without joy, fastens to a heart in which for the first time he finds the consolations that he needs. The fragments of letters which I now send you have been under my hand for the last three months, but for three months past I have not had a day, an hour, to write to the persons I love best. But you are far away; you know nothing of my life of toil and anguish. At any rate, I pardon you the badnesseswhich reveal such force in your heart for him whom you love a little. Later, I will write you in detail; but to-day I can only send you these beginnings of letters, assuring you of my constant faith. I intend to plead my case myself, and I must study it. Nothing can better picture to you the agitated life which I lead than these fragments of letters. I have not the power or the faculty to give myself up for an hour to any connected subject outside of my writings and my business matters. When will this end? I do not know. But I am very weary of this perpetual struggle between men and things and me. I must bid you adieu. Write to me always, and have faith in me. During the hours of release that come to me I shall turn to you and tell you all there is of good and tender sentiments in me for you. Adieu; some day you will know how unhappy I was in writing you these few lines, and you will be surprised that I was able to write them. Adieu; love him who loves you. 3 34 HonlorJ de Balzae. [1833 PARIS, August 19, 1833. Whlat would I not pardon after reading your letter, my cherished anoel? But you are too beloved ever to be,guilty of a fault; you are a spoilt child; to you belorlng my most precious hours. See, I answer you alone. )Mon lDeu! (lo not be jealous of any one. I have not been to see Madame Thcamier or any one else. I do not love Mladame (le Girardini; and every time I go tlhere, which is rare, I l)rigo away with me an antipathy.1... It is ten monthls since I have seen Eugone Stue, and really I have no male friends in the true acceptation of the word. Do not read the " Echo dle la Jeune France." The second part of " 1-tfistoire des Treize" ought to be in it, but those men have acted so badly towards me that I have ceased to (10o what, out of extreme good-will to a college friend interested in the enterprise, I beganl by (loilg. You will find a grandi and beautiful story just begoun; the first chapter good, tile seconld 1)ad. They had tile impertinence to print my notes, without waiting for thle work I always undertake as it goes through the press, and I shall now not complete the history till I put it in the " Scenes dle la Vie Parisienne" which will appear this winter. I have only a moment in which to answer youn; I live by chance, and by fits and starts. Perdoatemni. Since I last wrote to you in such a hurry I have had more troubles than I ever had before in my life. My lawyers, my solicitors, everybody, implore me not to spend eiglht montlls of my life in the law-courts, and yesterday I signed a compromise allowing all questions in litig'ation to be sovereignly (decided by two arbitrators. That is how I now stand(. The affair will be decided by 1 This is not true. Thle antipathy, if any, was to Emilc de Girar(lin, and it put an end for a time to Balzac's visits to the house. See Ed. )rf., vol. xxiv., p. 198.- TR. 1833] Letters to Madame Hanska. 35 the end of the week, and I shall then know the extent of my losses and my obligations. Of the three copies I have had made of " Le Medecin de campagne " nothing exists that I can send you, unless it be the first volume. But here is what I shall do: I shall have duplicate proofs made of the second volume, and you shall read them ten days hence, before the rest of the world. I have already found many blemishes, therefore it is a copy of the second edition only that I wish to give you; which will prove to you my tenderness, for I don't know for whom else I would take the trouble to write myself the title for printing [le titre en regard de l'imnpression]. The extreme disorder which this lawsuit and the time taken in making this book has brought into my affairs, obliges me to take service once more in the newspapers. For the last week I have been very actively working on "L'Europe litteraire " in which I own a share. Thursday next the " Th:orie de la Demarche" will be finished. It is a long and very tiresome treatise. But by the end of the month there will be a t" Scene de la Vie de province," in the style of " Les Celibataires," called I' Eugenie Grandet," which will be better. Take i" L'Europe litteraire " for three months. You have not told me whether you have read " Juana" in the " Revue de Paris," nor whether you have found the end of " Ferragus." I would like to know if I ought to send you those two things. As for the dizains of the "' Contes Drolatiques," do not read them. The third you might r:ad. The first two belong, like those which follow the third, to a special literature. I know women of exquisite taste and lofty devotion who do read them; but in truth I never reckoned on such-rare suffrages. It is a work that cannot be judged until completed, and ten years hence. It is a literary monument built for a few connoisseurs. If you do not like La Fontaine's Tales, nor those of Boccaccio, and if you are not an adorer of Ilonor' de Balzac. [1833 Ariosto, let the " Contes Drolatiques " alone; although they will be my finest ineed of fame in the future. 1 tell you this once for all, not to return to it. I send to you, to the address of IIeriette Borel,j by to-morrow's carrier, a unique " Louis Lambert " on Chinese paper, which I have had printed for you, believing my work perfect. But I have tle grief to tell you that there is now a new manuscript for the future edition of the Etud(les Philosophiques." You will also find in the package the first volume of " Le Ml6decin de campagne," and I will send you the second as soon as there is a copy. I hope to make you wait not more than eiglit or ten days for it. Euclina is in the second volume. If you receive these volumes safely I will send you the Clhenier I have here for you. Now that what I re.rard as business is ended, let us speak of ourselves — Ourselves! Who told you about the little AMetternich? As to the services I have rendered Eugene Sue, I (lo not nnderstanld. But, I entreat, (lo not listen to either calumny or gossip; I am the butt of evil tongues. Yesterday ole of my friends heard a fool relatting that I hlad two talismans in my house, in whliclh I believed; two drinking-glasses; on one of which depended my life, on thle other my taleint. You cannot imagine what nonsense is t )ld about me, caluinnies, crazy ineriminations! There is but one thing true - my solitary life, increasinlg toil, and sorrows. No, you do not know how cruel and bitter it is to a loving man to ever (esire happiness and never meet it. Woman has been my dream; yet I have stretched my arms to none but illusions. I have conceived of the 1 Mile. IIenrictte 'orel was governess in the Ilanski family. Slie was a native of Nenfchfltel, and( M. Illanski emploed her to select and engage a furnished house titere for ilin;self and family, to which they went in May, 183.3. Shie was tlhe Lirtte " wito took thle veil in Pnrlis (December, 1845); of which ceremony Balzac gives a vivid account in one of thle following letters. - TR. 1833] Letters to MIadame EHanska. greatest sacrifices. I have even dreamed of one sole day of perfect happiness in a year; of a woman who would have been as a fairy to me. With that I could have been content and faithful. And here I am, advancing in life, thirty-four years old, withering myself with toil that is more and more exacting, having lost already my finest years and gained nothing real. You, you, my dear star, you fear -- you, young and beautiful - to see me; you overwhelm me with unjust suspicions. Those who suffer never betray; they are the betrayed. Benjamin Coonstant has made, as I think, the arraignment of mein of the world and intriguers; but there are noble exceptions. When you have read the Confession in the " Medecin de campagne" you will change your opinion, and you will understand that he who, for the first time, revealed his heart in that book ought not to be classed among' the cold men who calculate everything. 0 my unknown love, do not distrust me, do not think evil of me. I am a child, that is the whole of it - a child, with more levity than you suppose, but pure as a child and loving as a child. Stay in Switzerland or near France. In two months I must have rest. Well, you shall hear, perhaps without terror, a " Conte Drolatique" from the lips of the author. Oh! yes, let me find near you the rest I need after this twelveionth of labour. I can take a name that is not known, beneath which I will hide myself. It will be a secret between you and me. Everybotly would suspect M. de Balzac, but who knows M. d'Eintragues? Nobody.' 1 If Balzac ever wrote this paragraph (which I believe to be an interpt)latioln made to fit the theory in "lloman d'Amour ") he fell ludicrously short of hlis design; for he wrote letters to friends about this journey, two from Nenfchbitel durinLg the five days he stayed there (pp. 181-183, vol. xxiv., (1l. Ddf.); he stopped half way to see manufacturers and transact business with them in his own name; he took with olonore' (le Balizac. [ 833 Mon Dieu! what you wish, I wish. We have the same dlesires, the same anxieties, the same alp)prehensions, the same pride. I, too, cannot conceive of love otherwise than as eternal, apl)lying that word to thle duratioln of life. I do not comprehend that persons [on] should quit each other, and, to me, one woman is all women. 1 would l)reak my pen to-i-morrow if you desired it; to-morrow no other woman should hear my voice. I should ask exception for my dilecta, who is a mother to me. She is nearly fifty-eight years old, and you could not be jealous of her -you, so young. Oh! take, accept my sentiments and keep them as a treasure! Dispose of my 'dreams, realize themi? I do not think that Gol would be severe to one who presents herself before him followed by an a(dorable corthg(e of beautiful hours, hal)ppiness, and delightful life given by her to a faithful beiing. I tell you all my thoughlts. As for me, I dread to see you, because I shall not realize your preconceived ideas; and yet I wish to see you. Truly, dear, unknown soul who animate mny life, who bid my sorrows flee, who revive my courage during g(rievous hours, this hope caresses me and gives me hleart. You are the all in all of my prodligious labour. If I wish to be something, if I work, if I turn pl)ale through laborious nights, it is, I swear to you, because I live in your emotions, I try to gutess them in advance; and for this I am desperate to know if you have finished " Ferragus; " for the letter of Madame Jules is a page full of tears, and in writing it I thooughlit much of you; offering to you there the imagre of the love tlhat is in my heart, tile love that I desire, and which, in me, has been constantly unrecognized. Why? I love too well, no doubt. I have a horror of littlenesses, and I believe in what is noble, him to Nenifchitel his artist-friend, Anguste Borget; and lhe made tihe acquaintance, not of \ia(lame Haiska only, but of Monsieur Ilallski, who remained his friend through life and his occasional correspondent.- TR. 1833] Letters to IMadame HIanska. 39 without distrust. I have written in your " Louis Lambert" a saying of Saint Paul, in Latin: Una fides; one only faith, a single love. Mon Dieu! I love you well; know that. Tell me where you will be in October. In October I shall have a fortnight to myself. Choose a beautiful place; let it be all of heaven to me. Adieu, you who despotically fill my heart; adieu. I will write to you once every week at least. You, whose letters do me so much good, be charitable; cast, in profusion, the balm of your words into a heart that is athirst for them. Be sure, dear, that my thought goes out to you daily; that my courage comes from you; that one hard word is a wound, a mourning. Be good and great; you will never find (and here I would fain be on my knees before you that you might see my soul in a look) a heart more delicately faithful, nor more vast, more exclusive. Adieu, then, since it must be. I have written to you while my solicitor has been reading to me his conclusions, for the case is to be judged the day after to-morrow, and I must spend the night in writing a summary of my affair. Adieu; in five or six days you will have a volume that has cost much labour and many nights. Be indulgent to the faults that remain in spite of my care; and, my adored angel, forget not to cast a few flowers of your soul to him who guards them as his noblest wealth; write to me often. As soon as the judgment is rendered I will write to you; it will be on Thursday. Well, adieu. Take all the tender regards that I place here. I would fain envelop you in my soul. PARIS, end of Augnst, 1833. My dear, pure love, in a few days I shall be at Neufchatel. I had already decided to go there in September; 40 Ilonorc de Balzac. [1833 but here comes a most delightful pretext. I must go on the 20th or 25th of August to Besan;on, perhaps earlier, and then, you understand, I can be in the twinkling of ail eye at Neufchltel. I will inform you of my departure by a simple little line. I have given to speculators a great secret of fortune, which will result in books, blackene(l paper, - salable literature, in short.' The only man who can manufacture outr paper lives in the environs of lBesan/on. I shall go there with my printer. Ahli! yes, 1 have had money troubles; but if you knew with what rapidity eight (lays' labour can appease them In ten days I can earn a hundred louis at least. But this last trouble has made me think seriously of no longer being a bird on a branch, thoughtless of seed, fearingo nought but rain, and singing in lile weather. So now, at one stroke, I shall be rich-for one needs gold to satisfy one's fancies. You see I have receive(l your letter in which you complain of life, of your life, which I would fain render happy. Oh! my beloved angel, now you are reading, I hope, the second volume of "Le MeIdecin (le camp)age; " you will see one name written with joy on every page. I liked so much to occupy myself with you, to speak to you. l)o not be sad, my good angel; I strive to envelop you in my thought. I would like to make you a rampart against all pain. Live in me, dear, noble heart, to make me better, and I, I will live in you to be happy. Yes, I will go to Geneva after seeing you at Neufchittel; I will go and work there for a fortnight. Ohl! my dear and beloved Evelina, a thousand thanks for this gift of love. You do not know with what fidelity I love you, unknown - not unknown of the soul - and with what happiness I dream of you. Oh! each year, to have so sweet a pilgrimage to make! Were it only for one look 1 This was one of his amusing visions of making a fortune.- TR. 1833] Letters to llladame Hanska. 41 1 would go to seek it with boundless happiness! Why be displeased about a woman fifty-eight years old, who is a mother to me, who folds me in her heart and protects me from stings? Do not be jealous of her; she would be so glad of our happiness. She is an angel, sublime. There are angels of earth and angels of heaven; she is of heaven. I have the contempt for money that you profess; but money is a necessity; and that is why I am putting such ardour into the vast and extraordinary enterprise which will burst forth in January. You will like the result. To it I shall owe the pleasure of being able to travel rapidly and to go oftener toward you. Unga fides; yes, my beloved angel, one sole love and all for you. It is very late for a young man whose hairs are whiteniung; but his heart is ardent; he is as you wish him to be, naive, childlike, confiding. I go to you without fear; yes, I will drive away the shyness which has kept me so young, and stretch to you a hand old in friendship, a brow, a soul that is full of you. Let us be joyous, my adored treasure; all my life is in you. For you I would suffer everything! You have made me so happy that I think no longer of my lawsuit. The loss is reckoned up. I have done like le distrait of La Bruyere - established myself well in my ditch. For three thousand eight hundred francs flung to that man, I shall have liberty on a mountain. I will bring you your Chenier, and will read it to you in the nook of a rock before your lake. Oh, happiness! What a likeness between us! both of us mismanaged by our mothers. How that misfortune 'developed sensitiveness. Why do you speak of a " cherished lamb"? Are you not my dear Star, an angel towards whom I strive to mount? I have still three pages on which to talk with you, but 42 4Honorc de Balzac. [1833 here comes business, lawyers, conferences. A bientot. A thousand tendernesses of the soul. You speak to me of a faithless woman; but there is no infidelity where there was no love. PARIS, September 9, 1833. Winter is already here, my dear soul, and already I have resumed my winter station in the corner of that little gallery you know of. I have left the cool, green salon from which I saw the dome of the Invalides over twenty acres of leafage. It was in this corner that I received and read your first letter, so that now I love it better than before. Returning to it, I think of you more specially, you, my cherished thought; and I cannot resist speaking a little word to you, conversi)ng one fraction of an hour with you. How could it be that I should nctt love you, you, the first woman who came across tlhe spaces to warm a heart that despaired of love. I had done all to draw to me an angel from on high; fame was only a pharos to me, nothing more. Then you divined all, - the soul, the heart, the man. And yesterday, re-reading your letter, I saw that you alone had the instinct to feel all that is my life. You ask me how 1 can find time to write to you. Well, my dear Eve (let me abridge your name, it will tell you better that you are all the sex to me, the only woman in the world, like the first woman to the first man), -well, you alone have asked yourself if a poor artist to whom time lacks, does not make sacrifices tlhat are immense in thintking of and writing to her he loves. Here, no one thinks of that; they take my hours without scruple. But now I would fain consecrate my whole life to you, think only of you, and write for you only. With what joy, if I were free of cares, would I fling all palms, all fame, a:id my finest works like grains of incense on the altar of love. To love, Eve, - that is my life! 18331 Letters to Madame Hanska. 43 I should long ago have wished to ask you for your portrait if there were not some insult, I know not what, in the request. I do not want it until after I have seen you. To-day, my flower of heaven, I send you a lock of my hair; it is still black, but I hasten it to defy time. I am letting my hair grow, and people ask why. Why? Because I want enough to make you chains and bracelets! Forgive me, my dearest, but I love you as a child loves, with all the joys, all the superstitions, all the illusions of its first love. Cherished angel, how often I have said to myself: " Oh! if I were loved by a woman of twenty-seven, how happy I should be; I could love her all my life without fearing the separations that age decrees." And you, my idol, you are forever the realization of that ambition of love.. Dear, I hope to start on the 18th for Besancon. It depends on imperative business. I would have broken that off if it did not concern my mother and many very serious interests. I should be thought a lunatic, and I have already trouble enough to pass for a man of sense. If you will take " L'Europe litteraire " from the 15th of August you will find the whole of the " Theorie de la Dmarche " and a '" Conte Drolatique " called " PerseSverance d'amour," which you can read without fear. It will give yon an idea of the first two dizains. You have now read " Le Medecin de campagne." Alas! my critical friends and I have already found more than two hundred faults in the first volume! I thirst for the second edition, that I may bring the book to its perfection. Have you laid down the book at the moment when Benassis utters the adored name? I am working -now at t" Eugenie Grandet," a composition whichl will appear in I' L'Europe litteraire " when I am travelling. I must bid you adieu. Do not be sad, my love; it is not allowable that you should be when you can live at all 44 Honor de Balzaxc. [1833 moments in a heart where you are sure of being as you are in your own, and where you will find more thoughts full of you than there are in yours. I have had a box made to hold and perfume letterpaper; and I have taken the liberty to have one like it made for you. It is so sweet to say, '" She will touch and open this little casket, now here." And then, I think it so prettv; besides, it is made of bois de Fra nce; and it can hold your Chenier, the poet of love, - the greatest of French poets, whose every line I would like to read to you on my knees. Adieu, treasure of joy, adieu. Why do you leave blank pagles in your letters? But leave them, leave them. I)o nothing forced. Those blanks I fill myself. I say to myself, " Ier arm passed here," and I kiss the blank! Adieu, my hopes. A bieitot. The mail-cart goes, they say, in thirty-six hours to Besanc.on. Well, a(lieu, my chelrished Eve, my eloquent and allgracious star. I)o you know that when T receive a letter from you a presentiment, I don't know what, has already announced it. So to-day, 9th, I am certain I shall get one to-morrow. Your lake -I see it; and sometimes my intuition is so strong that I am sure thlat when I really see you I shall say. " 'T is she!" - She, my love, is th(t!" Adieu; ('I b/eotot. PARNI, September 13, 1833. Your last letter, of tle 9fth, has caused me I cannot tell wllat keen pnaii; it lhas entered my heart to desolate it. It is now three hours that I have been sitting here plunoged in a world of p)niful thoughlts. WAhat crape you have fastened on the sweetest, most joyous lhopes which ever caressed my soul! What! that 1)book, which I now hate, lias given you weapons aogainst me? Do you not know with what inl)etuosity I spring to happiness? 'I was so lhappy! Yotu put (od between its! You will not have 1833] Letters to ZMadam e IIantskca. 45 my joys, you divide your heart: you say, "' There, I will ltve with him; here, I will live no more." You make me know all the agonies of jealousy against ideas, against reason Mfon Ditea, I would not say to you wicked sophisms; 1 hate corruption as much as violation; I would not owe a woman to seduction, nor even to the power of good. The sentiment which crowns me with joy, which delights me, is the free and pure sentiment which yields neither to the grace of evil nor to the attraction of good; an involuntary sentiment, roused by intuitive perception and justified by happiness. You gave me all that; I lived in a clear heaven, and now you have flung me into the sorrows of doubt. To love, my angel, is to have nothing in the heart but the person loved. If love is not that, it is nothing. As for me, I have no longer a thought that is not for you; my life is you. Griefs? -I have had none to speak of for several days. There are no longer griefs or pains to nce but those you give me; the rest are mere annoyances. I said to myself, " I am so lappy that I ought to pay for my happiness." Oh! my beloved, she who presents herself in heaven accompanied by a soul made happy by her can always enter there! I have known noble hearts, souls very pure, very delicate; but these women never hesitated to say that to love is the virtue of women. It is I who ought to be the good and the evil for you. Confess yourself? Good God! to whom, and for what? My angel, live in your sphere; consider the obligations of the world as a duty imposed upon your inward joys; live in two beings; in the unknown you, the most delightful, and the known you -two divisions of your time; the happy dreams of night, the harsh toils of day. If what I say to you here is evil, my God! it is without my knowledge. Do not put me among the Frenchmen whom people believe they have the right to accuse of levity, fatuity, and evil creeds about women. There is 46 Honzor( de Balzac. [1833 nothing of that in me. To betray love for a man or an idea is one and the same thinlg. Oh I I have suffered from this betrayal! A glacial cold has seized me at the mere apprehenlsion of new sorrows. I shall resist no 111more; I ami not stroing enough. I must be done with this life of tender sentiments, exalted feelings, halppiness dreamed of, constant, faithful love which you have roused for the first and the last time in all its plenitude. I have often risen to gather in the harvest, and have found nothing in the fields, or else I have brought back unfruetifying flowers. I am more sad than I have told you that I am, and from the nature of my character, my feelills go on increasing. I shall be the most unllhap)py man in the world until your answer comes; I can still receive it here before my departure for Besancon and conseq(uetly for Neufclritel. I leave Saturday, 21st; I shall be at Besancon 23rd, and on the 25th at NeufchAitel. My journey is delayed by the box I am taking to you. There ~are many thlings to do to it. I have sought for the cleverest workman in Paris for the secret drawer, and what I wisll to put into it requires time. WAith what joy I go about Paris, bestir myself, keep myself movi^ng for a thing that will be yours I It is a life apart, it is ineffable! The Chenier is impossible; we must wait for the new edition. You ask me what I am d(oino. M1oa Dieu! business; my writixigs are laid aside. Besides, how could I work knowing that Saturday evening I shlall be going' towards you? On(e must know how the sliglitest expectation makes me palpitate, to understand all thle plhysical evil that I endure from hope. God has surely given me iron membranes if I do not have an aneurism of the heart. Here all the newspapers attack "Le MJdccin de campagne." Every one rushes to give his own stab. What saddened and angered Lord Byron makes me laugh. I 1833] Letters to Madame lHanska. 47 wish to govern the intellectual life of Europe; only two years more of patience and labour, and I will walk upon the heads of those who strive to tie my hands, retard my flight! Persecution, injustice give me an iron courage. I am without strength against kind feelings. You alone can wound me. Eve, I am at your feet; I deliver to you my life and my heart. Kill me at a blow, but do not make me suffer. I love you with all the forces of my soul; do not destroy such glorious hopes. Thank you a thousand times for the view; how good and merciful you are! The site resembles that of the left bank of the Loire. The Grenadiere is a short distance away from that steeple. There is a complete resemlnblance. Your drawing is before my eyes until there is no need of a drawing. A bientot. In future my letters will be always poste restante; there is more security for you in that way. PARIS, September 18, 1833. DEAR, BELOVED ANGEL, - I have a conviction that in coming to Neufchatel I shall do mnore than all those heroes of love of whom you speak to me; and I have the advantage over them of not talking about it. But that folly pleases me. I cannot leave till the 22nd; but the mail-cart, the quickest vehicle, more rapid than a post-chaise, will take me in forty hours to Besan9on. The 25th, in the morning, I shall be at Neufchatel, and I shall remain there until your departure. Unhappily, I do not know if your house is Andrea or Andree. Write me a line, poste restante, at Besanuon on this subject. A thousand heart-feelings, a thousand flowers of love. Dear, loved one, in two years 1 shall be able to travel a 48 48 I~~~lonor6' de Baizac.[13 [1833 thousand leagYues, and pass through the dangers of Ara-,bian Tales to seek a look; but that will be nothing extraordinary in comparison with the injpossibilities of all kiiuls that my present journey presents. It is not thle off ering to Godl of a whole life; no, it is the cup of water which counts in love and inl religion for more than battles. But what Pleasures ini this madness! I-ow I am rewAarded by kno~wilg proudly how much I love you I start Sunday, 22nd, at six inl tme. evening. I should like to stay three dlays at -Neufehiitel. D~o jiot leave till the 29th. Adieu, cherished flower. Wh-fat thoughts, solcly filled with you, throughout tile hours of this journey I I wvill be yours only. 1 have never so truly lived, so hoped! NEUFI01iATE:L, TFhurisday, September 26, 18883. Mon Diev / I have mnade too ral)id a journey, and I started fatigued. Rut all that is nothing inow. A goodi ni~ht has repaired all. t was four nights without going to bed. I shall gYo to the Promenade of time faubourgY from one O'clock till four. I shall remain (luringo that- time looking at the lake, which I have never seen. Write me a little line to say if I can write to you in all security here, poste r-estante, for I amn afraid of causinig you the slightest displeasure; and grive me, I bgof you, your exact name [et dlonnez-mroi, j0ar qrace, ex~acefaemnit rotre noln] A thousand tendernesses. There has not been, from Paris here, a moment of time which has not been full of you, and I heave looked at the VTal dle Travers with- you in my mind. It is deligrhtfuil, that valley. Abiento't. 1833] Letters to lad(ame Hanska. 49 PARIS, October 6, 1833.1 My dearest love, here I am, very much fatigued, in Paris. It is the 6th of October, but it has been impossible to write to you sooner. A wild crowd of people were all the way along the road, and in the towns through which we passed the diligence refused from ten to fifteen travellers. The mail-cart was engaged for six days, so that my friend in Besangon could not get, me a place. I therefore did the journey on the imperial of a diligence, in company with six Swiss of the canton de Vaud, who treated me corporeally like cattle they were taking to market, which singularly aided the packages in bruising me. I put myself into a bath on arriving and found your dear letter. 0 my soul! do you know the pleasure it gave me? will you ever know it? No, for I should have to tell you how much I love you, and one does not paint that which is immense. Do you know, my dearest Eva, that I rose at five in the morning on the day of my departure and stood on the " Cret" for half an hour hoping- what? I do not know. You did not come; I saw no movement in your house, no carriage at the door. I suspected then, what you now tell me, that you stayed a day longer, and a thousand pangs of regret glided into my soul. My angel, a thousand times thanked, as you will be when I can thank you as I would for what you send me. Bad one! how ill you judge me! If I asked you for nothing it was that I am too ambitious. I wanted enough 1 Here the tone of the letters changes, as tol( in the preface to this translation; and, as if to show its connection with the tale of the " Roman d'Amour," parts of the garbled letter in that book are given here in a foot-note in the French volume. From this time until March 11 all the letters (except twelve little notes written in Geneva) use the tutoiement. As it is impossible to put that form into readable English, the extreme familiarity of the tone of these letters is not given in the translation. - TR. 4 50 0Honors de Balzac. [1833 to make a chain to keep your portrait always up)Onl me, but I would not despoil that noble, idolized head. I was like Buridan's ass between his two treasures, equally avaricious and gree(ly. I have just sent for my jeweller; hle will tell nme how muth lnore is needed, and since the sacrifice is begun, youl shall colml)lete it, imy allngel. So, if you d(lo have your portrait taken, have it done in miniature; there is, I thillk, a very good l)ainter in Genieva; and have it mnounted(l in a very flat lme(dallion. I shall write you openly by the parcel I am going to send. My dear wife of love, let Anna [her (laulghter] wear the little cross I shall have ma(de of her pebbles; I shall engrave on thle back, Adorremuts in etei.'tuni. That is a (lelicious womana's motto, and(l you will never see the cross without thinlking of him whllo says to you ceaselessly those (livine words fromn the vo ung girl's little talisman. Mly dlrling Eva, here then is a new life delighltfully begun for me. I have seen you, I have spoken to you; ourt l)ersons have made alliance like our souls, and I have found in you all the perfections that I love. Every one has his, and you have realized all mine. Ba(d one! did you not see in my eyes all that I desire(l. Be tranquil! all the desires that a woman who loves is jealous of inspiring, I have felt themi; and if I did not tell you with what ardour I wished thJat you mlight come some morniing it was because I was so stupidly lodged. But in Genleva, oh! my adored angel, I shall have more wits for our love than it takes for ten men to be witty. I have found here everything bad( beyondl my expectatia)ns. Tiose who ow-ed me money and gave me their word to pay it have not done so. Butt mly mother, whom I know to be embarrassed, ha's shown me sublime devotion. Btut, my dear flower of love, I musAt repair the folly of my journey, a folly I would reinew to-morrow if you wrote me that you had twenty-four hours' liberty. So now I lnust work (lay and night. Fifteen days of happiness at 18.331 Letters to Mladame Hanska. 51 Geneva to earn; those are the words that I find engraved inside my forehead, and they give me the proudest courage I have ever had. I think there will come more blood to my heart, more ideas to my brain, more strength to my being from that thought. Therefore I do not doubt that I shall do finer things inspired by that desire. During the next month, therefore, excessive toil,- all to see you. You are in all my thoughts, in all the lines I write, in all the moments of my life, in all my being, in my hair that is growing for you. After to-morrow, Monday, you will receive my letters only once a week; I shall post them punctually on Sundays; they will contain the lines I write to you every evening; for every evening before I go to bed, to sleep in your heart, I shall say to you my little prayer of love and tell you what I have been doing during the day. I rob you to enrich you. Henceforth there is nothing but you and work, work and you; sleep in peace, my jealous one. Besides, you will soon know that I am as exclusive as a woman, that I love as a woman, and that I dream all delicacies. Yes, my adored flower, I have all the fears of jealousy about you; and behold, I have come to know that guardian of the heart, jealousy, of which I was ignorant because I was loved in a manner that gave no fears. La dilecta lived in her chamber, and you, everybody can see you. I shall only be happy when you are in Paris or at Wierzschownia. My celestial love, find an impenetrable place for my letters. Oh! I entreat you, let no harm come to you. Let HIenriette be their faithful guardian, and make her take all the precautions that the genius of woman dictates in such a case. I begin to-morrow, without delay, on "Privilege," for I must work. I am frightened about it. I do not wish to start for Geneva until I have returned Nodier's dinner, 52 IIonor de Balzac. [1833 and I cannot help making it splendid. Thus I have to work as much for the necessary superfluities of luxury as for the superfluous necessity of my existence. To-morrow, Monday, I begin a journal of my life, which will only stop during thle happlly days when my fortunate star permits me to see you. The gaps will show my hap)piness. May there be many of them! AIoit Dieu!.how proud I am to be still of an age to appreciate all the treasures that there are in you, so that I can love you as a young mania full of beliefs, a man who has a hand up1)on the future. Oh, my mysterious love! let it be forever like a flower buried beneath the snow, a flower unseen. Eva, clear and only woman whom the world contaitns for me, and whlo fills the world, forgive me all the little wiles [rase..;] I shall employ to hide the secret of our hearts. Moo DicJ '! hoNw beautiful I thllught you, Sunday, in your pretty violet gown. Ohl! how you touched me in all my fancies! Why do you ask inme so often to tell you what I would fain express only in my looks? All such thoughts lose muchl in words. I would communicate them, soul to soul, by tile flame of a glance only. Now, mny wife, my adored one, remember that whatever I write you, pressed by time, happy or unhappy, there is in my soul an immense love; that you fill my heart and my life, and that although I may not always express this love well, nothilng can alter it; that it will ever flower, more beautiful, fresher, more graceful, because it is a true love, and a true love must ever increase. It is a beautiful flower, of manly years, planted in the heart, which spreads its branches and its palms, doubling, each season its clusters and its perfuime; and you, my lear life, tell me, repeat to me, that nothing shall gall its bark or bruise its tender foliage, that it shall grow in our two hearts, beloved, free, treasured as a life within our lives a single life! Oh! I love you! and what balm 1833] Letters to Madame Hanskca. that l:)ve sheds all about me; I feel no sorrows more. You are my strength; you see it. Well, adieu, my cherished Eva, I must bid you adieu - no, not adieu, a, revoir, and soon, - at Geneva on the 5th of November. If you are coming to Paris tell me so quickly. After all, I have told you nothing of what I wished to say: how true and loving I thought you; how you answered to all the fibres of my heart, and even to my caprices. f0fon Dieu! often I was so absorbed, in spite of the general chatter I had to make, that I forgot to answer when you asked me if they did not bind books well in Saint-Petersburg. Well, cI bientot. Work will make the time that separates us short. What beauteous days were those at Neufchfltel! We will make pilgrimages there some day. Oh, angel! now that I have seen you I can re-see you in thought. Well, a thousand kisses full of my soul. Would I could enclose them. The sweetest of all, I dream of it still. PARIS, October 13, 1833. My dearest love, it is now nearly three days since I have written to you, and this would be bad indeed if you were not my beloved wife. But work has been so enthralling, the difficulties are so great! Poor angel, I prefer to tell yot-the sweetness of which my soul is full for you than to recount to you my tribulations. As for my life it is unshakably fixed, as I have told you.already, I believe. Going to bed at six after my dinner, rising at midnighllt, here I am, bending over the table that you know of, seated in this arm-chair that you can see, beside the fireplace which has warmed me for six years, and so working until midday. Then come rendezvous for business, the details of existence which must be attended to; often at four o'clock, a bath; five o'clock, dinner. And 544 4Ionore' de ]BalIza.c [I833 then I begin over again intrepidly, swimming in work, living inl that white dressing-gown with the silk sash that you must know about. There are some authors who filch my time, taking from me anl hour or two; but more often obligations and anxieties are fixtures; returns uncertain. I am now in the mnidst of concluding an agreeienut which will echo through our world of envy, jealousy, and silliness; it will jaundice the yellow bile of those who have thle audacity to want to walk in my shadow. A firm of rather res)ectable publishers lbuy the edition of tihe "Etudes de Mceurs au XIX' Si"cle" for twenty-seven thousand francs; twelve volumes 8vo, including the third e(lition of the "Sce'es de la Vie privce," the first of tile " Scnes dce la Vie de l)rovince," an(l the first of tile "Scenes de la Vie Parisienne." Besides which, tlhe printer, who owes me a thousand e'cts, pays them in the operation. This will give me ten thlousand ec&s. That's enough to make all idlers, barkers, and the qesis dle lettres roar! Here I am, barring what I owe to lmy mother, free of debt, and( free in seven mionths to go where I please! If our great affair succee(ls I shall be riclh; I can do what I wish for my mothler, and hlave a )illow, a bit of bread, and a white handkerchllief for my old days. Alas! my beloved, to secure that treaty I have had to assume engagements, trot about, go out in the morning at ninc o'clock after working all niolght. Nevertheless, I shall not be without anxiety as to the payments, for one always hlas to grant credit to publishers. My vigils, my work, all that tilere is most sacred in the world may be compromised. This publlisher is a woman, a widow [Madame Charles Bechet]. I hlave never seen her, and don't know her. I shall not send off this letter until th~ signatures are appended on both sid(les, so that my missive may carry you good news aboutt my interests; but tilere are two other negotiations pelldig whichll are not 1833] Letters to Madame tlanska. 55 less important, too long to explain to you, so that I shall only tell you results. The "Aventures d'une idee heureuse" are one-quarter done, and I am well in the mood to finish them; "Eugenie Grandet," one of my most finished works, is half done. I am very content with it. " LEugnie Grandet" is like nothing that I ever (lid before. To invent "Eugenie Grandet" after Madame Jules-without vanity, that shows talent. Did I tell you that our paper cannot be made at Angouleme? I received this answer yesterday from my friend in Angoullme. I am going there in a few days. I am obliged to rush to Saintes, the capital of Saintonge, to study the faubourg where Bernard de Palissy lived; he is the hero, of the " Souffrances d'un Inventeur" ["David Sechard "], which I shall write very quickly at Angouleme, on my return from Saintes. Saintes is twelve leagues from Angoulmrne, farther on among the hills. I will bring you your eotignac [quince marmalade] from Orleans myself. I have already got your peaches from Tours. I am waiting till my jeweller allows me to write to you openly, but Fossin is a king, a power, and when one wants things properly done one must kiss that devil's spur that men call patience. I don't say that I received with great pleasure the letter in which you are no longer grieved, and in which you tell me the story of that monster of an Englishman. That's what husbands are; a lover wouldl have wrung his neck. A duel? TMay the avenging God make him meet some inn servant-girl who will render him diseased and cause him a thousand ills! Considering the nature of the gentleman, my wish will, I hope, be accomplished. At least there is love in your letter, my dear love. The other was so gloomy. A3on Dieu! how can you give way for a moment to doubt, or have a fear? A propos, friends have been here to tell me that the rumour is all about that 56 Ionlore' de Balzac. [1833 I have been to Switzerland in search of a woman who positively came from Odessa. But happily other people say that I followed Madame de Castries, and others again that I have been to Besanlon on a commercial enterprise. The author of the invention of the rendezvous is, I think, (Gosselin, the publisher, who. sent me a letter from Russia five months ago. And finally, others say that I never left Paris at all, but was put in Sainlte Pelagie [prison], wiiere t/ey,saav w. i~i i' JL ';. My dear, idolized one, adieu! Nevertheless, I ought to tell you the thoughlts on which I gallop for the last three days, the good little quarters of anll hour which I give myself when I have done a certain number of pages. I rebehold thle Val (le Travers, I recommence my five days, and they fill the fifteen minutes with all their joys; thle least little incidents come back to me. Sometimes a view of that fine forehead, then a word, or, better still, a flame lighted by Sev.... Oh! (larling, you are adorably loving, but how stupid you are to have fears. No, no, my cherished Eva, I am not one of those who punish a woman for her love. Oh! I would I could remain half a day at your knees, my head on your knees, telling you my thoughts lazily, with delight, saying nothing sometimes, but kissing your gown. JMon Die! how sweet would be the (lay when I could play at liberty with you, as a child with its mother. 0 my beloaved Eva, day of my days, light of my nights, my hol)e, my adored, my all-beloved, my sole darling, when can I see you? Is it an illusion? Have I seen you? Iave I seen you enough to say that I have seen you? Mon Dieu! how I love your rather broad accent, your mouth of kindness, of voluptuousness - permit me to say it to you, my angel of love! I work night and day to go and see you for a fortnight in December. I shall cross tlme Jura covered with snow, but I shall think of the snowy shoulders of my love, mny i833J Letters to Maldame Hanska. 57 well-beloved. Ah! to breathe your hair, to hold your hand, to strain you in my arms! that's where my courage comes from. I have friends here who are stupefied at the fierce will I am displaying at this moment. All! they don't know my darling [Ima mie], my soft darling, her, whose Ilere sight robs pain of its stings I! Yes, Parisina and her lover must have died without feeling the axe, as they thought of one another! A kiss, my angel of earth, a kiss tasted slowly. Adieu. The nightingale has sung too longl; I am allured to write to you, and Eugenie Grandet scolds. Saturday, 12, midday. The protocols are exchanged, our reflections made, tomorrow the signature. But to-morrow all may be changed. I have scarcely done anything to I' Eugenie Grandet" and the "Aventures d'une idee." There are moments when the imagination jolts and will not go on. And then, "L'Europe litteraire " has not come. I am too proud to set foot there because they have behaved so ill to me. So, since my return I am without money. I wait. They ought to have come yesterday to explain matters; they did not. They ought to come to-day. At this moment the price of " Eugglenie Grandet" is a great sum for me. So here I am, rebeginning my trade of anguish. Never shall I cease to resemble Raphael in his garret; I still have a year before me to enjoy my last poverty, to have noble, hidden prides. 1 am a little fatigued; but the pain in my side has yielded to quiet sitting in my arm-chair, to that constant tranquillity of the body which makes a monk of me. For the time being, my fancies are calmed; when there is famine in the house I don't think of my desires. My silver chafing-dishes are melted up. I don't mind that. No more dinners in October. But I enjoy so much in thought the things I have not, and these desires make 58 8Jonorei de lBa1tz. [3. L1833 them so precious when I do p)ossess thel. It is now two years that, month by monoitll, I counted on a balance for my dishes, but they vanish. 1 lhave a crowd of little pleasures in that way. They mlike lme love the little nest where I live; it is what makes me love you - a perpetltal desire. Those who call nme ill-iiatured, satirical, (dece)tive, don't know the innocence of my life, my life of a bird, gathering its nest twig by twig and playing with a straw before it uses it. 0 dear confidant of may most secret thoughts, dear, precious coniscience, will you some day know, you, the companion of love, llow you are loved, - you, who, comil:ng, on faithful wing, toward your mate, did not reject him after seeing him. Hlow I feared that I might not please you! Tell me again that you liked thle main, after liki:ng llis mind and heart -since the mind and heart have pleased you, I could not doubt it. My idol, my Eva, welcomeid, beloved, if you only knlew how -all that you said and did laid hold upon me, oh! no, you would have no doubts, no dish)onouringo fears. I)o not speak to me as you did, saying, '" You will not love a woman who comes to you, who, who, who '" you know what I mean. Angel, the ang'els are often forced to come down from heaven; we cannot go up to them. Besides, it is tley who lift us on their wvhite win'(s to their sphere, where we love and where pleasures are tloughlits. Adieu, you, my treasure, my happiness, vou, to whlom all my desires tly, you, who make me adore solitude because it is full of yolu. Adieu, till to-morrow. At mnidday my people are comning for tile agreeme;t. This letter will wait to carry you good or bad news, but it will carry you so much love that you will be joyous. Sunday, 13, nine o'clock. My cherished love, my Eva, the business is completed! They will all burst with envy. My " Etudes do Moeurs 1833] Letters to Madame Hanska. 59 au XIX' Sicle " has been bought for twenty-seven thousand francs. The publisher will make that ring. Since Chateaubriand's twenty-five volumes were bought for two hundred thousand francs for ten years there has not been such a sale. They take a year to sell.... Ah! here comes your letter. I read it. My divine love, how stupid you are! Madame de S...!-I have quarrelled with her, have I, so that I never say a word to her; I will not even bow to her daughter? Alas! I have met her, Madame de S..., at Madame d'Abrantes' this winter. She came up to me and said: " She is not here " (meaning Madame de Castries); "have you been so severe as you were at Aix?" I said, pointing to her lover, former lover of Mme. d'A., a Portuguese count, " But he is here." The duchess burst out laughing. Oh! my celestial angel, Madame de S...-if you could see her you would Know how atrocious the calumny is.... Your Polish women saw too much of Madame de C...to pay attention to Madame de S... who was paying court to her. But I was at Aix with Madame de C... and we were dining together. As for the marquise, faith, the portrait you draw of her makes me die of laughing. There is something in it, but changed now. Fresh, yes; without heart, yes, at least I think so. She will always be sacred to me; but in the chatter of your Polish women there was just enough truth to make the slander pass. My idolized love, no more doubts; never, do you understand? I love but you and can love none but you. Eva is your symbolic name. Better than that; I have never loved in the past as I feel that I love you. To you, all my life of love may belong. Adieu, my breath. I would I could communicate to these pages the virtue of talismans, that you might feel my soul enveloping you. Adieu, my beloved. I kiss this 60 6tolnore de Balza1c. 11833 payge; I add a leaf of my last rose, a petal of my last jaslline. You are ill Illy thouLght as the very base of intellect, the substance of all things. "u Eu'nic Grailldet " is enchanting. You shall soon have it ill (Ioneva. Well, adliet, you whoml I would fain see, feel, press, a(lieu. (Call I not filndl a way to press you? What imlpotent wishles inmagination has! MTy dear ligllt, I kiss you with an ardo(ur, an embrace of life, an effusion of thle soul, without example in my life. My angel, I don't answer about the cry I gave apropos of Mad(lame de C... atnd the son M... dyilg for his mother-in-law. To-miorrow for all that. You must have laughedl at my pretell(lede savagery. Do not put jl)ole retat ate any longoer. IPnARIS, Sun(lda, October 20, 1833. What! my love; fears, torrneits? You have received, I hope, the first two letters tlhat I wrote you after my return. What slhall 1 do not to give you the slightest trouble, to make you clear skies? What! could you not have reckoned on a day's delay, an lhour of weariness. Mon Die,,! 3Mon Dieu! / what shall I lo? I write to you every day; if you wantt to receive a letter every tllird (lay instead of every eightl d(lay, say so, speak, or(ler. I will (lo all not to let a single evil thought come iito) your heart. If you knew the harm your letter has done me. You do not know me yet. All that is bad. But I palrdon the little grief your letter has caused me, because it is one way of telling me you love me. I have good news to tell you. I think that the " Etudes de Ma(urs" will be a settled business by Tuesday next, and that I shall have as debtor one of the most solid firms of publishers in the market. That is somiething. Forgive me, my Eva of love, if I talk to you of my 1833] Letters to Mlfadame Hanska. 61 mercantile affairs; but it is my tranquillity; it will no doubt enable me to go to Geneva. Alas! I may not go till December, because I cannot leave till I have finished the first part of these " Etudes." Adieu; I must return to " Eugenie Grandet," who is going on well. I have still all Monday and a part of Tuesday. Adieu, my angel of light; adieu, dear treasure; do not ill-treat me. I have a heart as sensitive as that of a woman can be, and I love you better or worse, for I rest without fear on your dear heart, and kiss your two eyes - all! Adieu; d (teletain. PARIS, Wednesday, October 23, 1833. To you, my love, to you a thousand tendernesses. Yesterday I was running about all day and was so tired that I permitted myself to sleep the night through, so that I made my idol only a mental prayer. I went to sleep in thy dear thought just as, if married, I should have fallen asleep in the arms of my beloved. Mon Die I! I am frightened to see how my life belongs to you;, with what rapidity it turns to your heart. Your arteries beat as much for me as for yourself. Adored darling, what good your letters (1do me! I believe in you, don't you see, as I believe in my respiration. I. am like a child in this happiness, like a savant, like a fool who takes care of tulips. I weep with rage at not being near you. I assemble all my ideas to develop this love, and I am here, watching ceaselessly that it shall grow without harm. Does not that partake of the child, the savant, and the botanist? Thus, my angel, commit no follies. No, don't quit your tether, poor little goat. Your lover will come when you cry. But you make me shudder. Don't deceive yourself, my dear Eve; they do not return to Mademoiselle Henriette Borel a letter so carefully folded and sealed without looking at it. There are clever dis 62 Honore de Balzac. [1833 simulations. Now, I entreat you, take a carriage that you may never get wet in going to the post. Besides, it is always cold in the rue du Rhone. Go every Wednesday, becaase the letters posted here on Sunday arrive on Wednesday. I will never, whatever may be the urgency, post letters for you on any day but Sunday. Burn the envelopes. Let Henriette scold the post-ofiice man who delivered her letter, which was poste restant'i; but scold him laughing, for officials are rancorous. They would be capable of saying some Wednesday there were no letters, and then delivering them in a way to cause trouble. 0 my angel, misfortunes only come through letters. I beg you, on my knees, find a place,.a lair, a mine to hide the treasures of our love. Do it, so that you can have no uneasiness. Now, the Countess Poto;ka, is she not that beautiful Greek, beloved by P..., married to a doctor, married to General de W..., and then to Count L... P...? If she is, don't confide to her a single thing about your love, my poor lamb without mistrust. If she has proofs, then own to her; but such an avowal must not be made until you cannot do otherwise, and then, m-ake a merit of a forced confession. You must judge of the opportunity; but when I am in Geneva, you understand that people who run two ideas and who suppose evil when it does not exist, will know well how to divine when true. Now, when I read your letters I am in Geneva, I see all. Mon Dieu! what grace and prettiness in your letters! Eh! my angel of love, I shall be in Geneva precisely when you choose. But calculate that it takes your letter four days to reach me, and four days for me to arrive; that makes eight days. My cherished angel, do not share my troubles more than you must in knowing them; heaven has given me all the courage necessary to support them. I would not have a single one of my thoughts hidden from you, and I tell you 1833].Letters to Madcame Hanska. 63 all. But do not give yourself a fever about them. Yes, the sending of the newspapers was an indignity. Tell me who was capable of such a joke There will be a duel between him and me. Whoever wounds you is my head enemy; but an enemy Arab fashion, with an oath of vengeance. My dear happiness, there is not a voice here in my favour; all are hostile. I must resign myself. They treat me, it is true, like a man of genius; and that gives pride. I must redouble cares and courage -to mount this last step. I am preparing fine subjects of hatred for them. I work with unexampled obstinacy. I can only write the ostensible letter to you next week, for I wish the package to be full. So much the better if I am blamed; the recollection will be all the more precious. My darling, you can very well say that you saw me at Neufchf'ltel, for that can no more be concealed than the nose upon one's face. It will be known; it should therefore be told, soul of my soul.1 You see I answer all you vwite to me, but hap-hazard. I am in haste to finish what I call the business of our love, to talk to you of love. 1 This sentence alone woul(l show the falseness of these letters. On pp. 182, 183, vol. xxiv., t(1. I)df., are two letters of Balzac written froIn Neufch~htel; one to Charles de Bernard, the other to Mme. Carraud. In the latter he says: " I have just accomInanied the great Borget to the frontier of the sovereign states of this town.... I conclude here [Paris] this letter, begun at Neufchf.tel. Just think that, at the moment when I had ensconced myself by my fire to answer you at length and reply to your last good letter, they came for me to go and see views [sites]; and that lasted till my departure." A man who goes about sight-seeing with a family party would not have written the sentence in the text. The writer of it himself makes a slip, and forgets that he has said in the " Roman d' Amour" letter that on one of these excursions (to the Lake of Bienne) the husband was sent to order breakfast while they gave themselves a first kiss. Murder will out in small ways. -TR. 64 Honore de Balzac. [1833 What! you have read the " Contes Drolatiques " without the permission of your husband of love? Inquisitive one! 0 my angdel, it needs a heart as pure as yours to read and enjoy " Le Pech6 veniel." That's a diamond of naivete. But, dearest, you have been very audacious. I am afraid you will love me less. One must know our national literature so well, the grand, majestic literature of the seventeenth century, so sparkling with genius, so free in deportment, so lively in words which, in those lays, were not yet dishonoured, that I am afraid for myself. I repeat to you, if there is something of me that will live, it is those Contes. The man who writes a hundred of them can never die. Re-read the epilogue of the second dizain and ju(ldge. Above all, regard these books as careless arabesques traced with love. What do you think of the " Succube"? My dear beloved, that tale cost me six months of torture. I was ill of it. I think your criticisms without foundation. The trial of the supposed p)oisoners of the Dauphin was held at Moulin's, by Chancellor Paget, before the captivity of Francois I.; I hlave not the time to verify it. Catherine de' Medici was I)auphine in 1536, I think. Yes, the battle of Pavia was in 1525; you are right. I think you are right as to the Connetable; it was Due Fran;ois de Montmorency who married the Duchesse de Farnese. But all that is contested. I will verify it very carefully, and will correct it in the second edition. Thank you, my love; enlighten me, and for all the faults you find, as many tender thanks. Nevertheless, in these Contes there must be incorrectnesses; that's the usaqge; but there must not be lies. Enough said, my beloved love, my darling Eva. Here is nearly half a night employed on you, in writing to you. 3lfon Dieu, return it to me in caresses! I must, angel, resume my collar of misery; but it shall not be until I have put here for you all the flowers of my heart, a thousand tendernesses, a thousand caresses, all the 1833] Letters to Madame Hanska. 65 prayers of a poor solitary who lives between his thoughts and his love. Adieu, my cherished beauty; one kiss upon those beautiful red lips, so fresh, so kind, a kiss which goes far, which clasps you. I will not say adieu. Oh! when shall I have your dear portrait? If, by chance you have it mounted, let it be between two plaques of enamel so that the whole may not be thicker than a five-franc piece, for I want to have it always on my heart. It will be my talisman; I shall feel it there; I shall draw strength and courage from it. From it will dart the rays of that glory I wish so great, so broad, so radiant to wrap you in its light. Come, I must leave you; always with regret. But once at liberty and without annoyances, what sweet pilgrimages! But my thought goes faster, and every night it glides about your heart, your head, it covers you. Adieu, then. A deomain. To-morrow I must go to the Duchesse d'Abrantes; I will tell you why when I get back. Thursday, 24. This morning, my cherished love, I have failed in an attempt which might have been fortunate. I went to offer to a capitalist, who receives the indemnities agreed upon between us for the works promised and not written, a certain number of copies of the "Etudes de Mceurs." I proposed to him five thousand francs a terme for three thousand echus. He refused everything, even my signature and a note, saying that my fortune was in my talent and I might die. The scene was one of the basest I ever knew. Gobseck was nothing to him; I endured, all red, the contact with an iron soul. Some day, I will describe it. I went to the duchess that she might undertake a negotiation of the same kind with the man who had the lawsuit with me, her publisher, who cut my throat. Will she succeed? I am in the agonies of expectation, and yet 5 66 Honore de Balzac. [1833 I must have the serenity, the calmness, that are necessary for my enormous work. My angel, I cannot go to Geneva until the first part of the " Etudes (le Molurs" appears published, and the second is well under way. That done, I shall have fifteen days to myself, twenty perhaps; all will depend on the more or less -money that I shall have, for I have an important payment to make the end of December. I am satisfied with my publisher; he is active, does not play the gentleman, takes up my enterprise as a fortune, and considers it eminently profitable. We must have a success, a great success. "Eugenie Grandet" is a fine work. I have nearly all my ideas for the parts that remain to do in these twelve volumes. My life is now well regulated: rise at midnight after going to bed at six o'clock; a bath every third day, fourteen hours of work, two for walking. I bury myself in my ideas and from time to time your dear head appears like a beam of sunlight. Oh, my dear Eva, I have but you in this world; my life is concentrated in your dear heart. All the ties of human sentiment bind me to it. I think, breathe, work by you, for you. What a noble life: love and thought! But what a misfortune to be in the embarrassments of poverty to the last moment! How dearly nature sells us happiness! I must go through another six months of toil, privation, struggle, to be completely happy. But how many things may happen in six months! My beautiful hidden life consoles me for all. You would shudder if I told you all my agonies, which, like Napoleon on a battlefield, I forget. On sitting down at my little table, well, I laugh, I am tranquil. That little table, it belongs to my darling, my Eve, my wife. I have had it these ten years; it has seen all my miseries, wiped away all my tears, known all my projects, heard all my thoughts; my arm has nearly worn it out by dint of rubbing it as I write. 1833] Letters to M2adame Hanska. 67 Mon Dieu! my jeweller is in the country; I have confidence in him only. Anna's cross will be delayed. That annoys me more than my own troubles at the end of the month. Your quince marmalade is on its way to Paris. My dear treasure, I have no news to give you; I go nowhere, and see no one. You will find nothing but yourself in my letters, an inexhaustible love. Be prudent, my dear diamond. Oh! tell me that you will love me always, because, don't you see, Eva, I love you for all my life. I am happy in having the consciousness of my love, in being in a thing immense, in living in the limited eternity that we can give to a feeling, but which is an eternity to us. Oh! let me take you in thought in my arms, clasp you, hold your head upon my heart and kiss your forehead innocently. My cherished one, here, from afar, I can express to you my love. I feel that I can love you always, find myself each day in the heart of a love stronger than that of the day before, and say to you daily words more sweet. You please me daily more and more; daily you lodge better in my heart; never betray a love so great. I have but you in the world; you will know in Geneva only all that there is in those words. For the moment I will tell you that Madame de C[astries] writes me that we are not to see each other again; she had taken offence at a letter, and I at many other things. Be assured that there is no love in all this. Mon Dieu! how everything withdraws itself from me? How deep my solitude is becoming! Persecution is beginning for me in literature! The last obligations to pay off keep me at home in continual gigantic toil. Ah! how my soul springs from this person to join your soul, my dear country of love. I paused here to think of you; I abandoned myself to revery; tears came into my eyes, tears of happiness. I cannot express to you my thoughts. I send you a kiss full of love. Divine my soul! 68 Ifonzore de Balzac. [ 1833 Saturday, 26. Yesterday, my beloved treasure, I ran about on business, pressing bubilnezs; at night I had to correct the volumes which go to press Monlday. No answer from the duchess. Oh! she will not succeed. I am too hapl)py in the noble regions of the soul and thought to be also lihappy in the petty interests of life. I have many letters to write; my work carrie's nme away, and I get behindhand. iow powerful is the (lomillionl of thought! I sleep in peace on a rotten plank. That alone expresses my situation. So much money to pay, and to (ldo it tile pen with which I write to you - Oil! no, I have two, my love; yours is for your letters only; it lasts, usuaily, six months. I have correcte(d ' La Femnlle aibalonnllre" 'Le MIessage," and " Les C'ii)ataires.'" Tltt has taken me twenty-six hlours since 'Thursday. Ole lhas to attend to the newspalpers. To manaTe the French publllic is not a slight affair. To mnke it favora le to a work in twelve volumes is an enterprise, a canmpai,"gn. What contemnpt one pours on men in making tIhem move and seeing them squabble. Some are bought. My publisher tells me there is,a tariff of consciences among the feuilletonists. Shall I receive in my house a single one of these fellows? I d rather (lie unknown! To-morrow I resume my malUiscril)t work. I want to finish either "' Eug(nie G(ran:et " or ' Les Aventures d'une id(e heureuse." It is five o'clock; I am going to dinner, my only meal, then to bed and to sleep. I fall asleep always in thoughlts of you. seeking a sweet moment of NeufehAtel, carrvying myself back to it, and so, quitting the visible world, bearing away one of your smiles or listening to your worls. Did I tell you that persons from Berlin, Vienna, and Hamburg hlad complimented me on my successes in Germany, where, said these g(racious )eople, nothing was talked of but your Honored? This was at Gerard's. But 1833] Letters to Ictadlame lansla. 69 I must have told you this. I wish the whole earth woul(l speak of me with a(hlniration, so that in laying it on your knees you might have the whole world for yourself. Adieu, for to-day, miy angel. To-morrow my caresses, my words all full of love andt clesires. I will write after receiving tlhe letter which will, no doubt, come to-morrow. l)ear, celestial dlay! Would I coul(l invent words and caresses for you alone. I put a kiss here. Sunday, 27. What! mny dear love, no letters? Such grief not to know what you think! 1Oh! send me two letters a week; let me receive one on Wedinesdays and( thIe other on Sun(lays. I hlave waited for the last courier, and can only write a few words. I)o not make nme suffer; be as punctual as possible. My life is in your hands: I have no answer to my negotiations. Adieu, my dear breath. This last page will bring you a thousand caresses, my heart, aind some anxieties. My cherished one, you speak of a cold, of your health. Oh, to be so far away! Ion Diet! all that is anguish in my life pales before the thought that you are ill. To-mnorrow, angel. To-morrow I shall get another letter. My head swims now. Adieu, my good genius, my dear wife; a thousand flowers of love are here for you. PARIS, Monday, October 28, 1833. I have your letter, my love. How mucht agony in one day's delay. J demraia; I will tell you then why I cannot answer to-day. Tuesday, 29. My cherished Eva, on Thursday I have four or five thousand francs to pay, and, speaking literally, I have not a sou. These are little battles to which I am accustomed. Since childhood I have never yet possessed two sons that I could regard as my own property. I have always tri 70 Iiouore de Balzac. [1833 umphed until to-day. So now I must rush about the world of money to make up my sum. I lose my time; I hang about town. One man is in the country; another hesitates; my securities seem doubtful to him. I have ten thousand francs in notes out, however; but by tomorrow night, last limit, I shall no doubt have fountd some. The two days I am losing are a horrible discount. I only tell you these things to let you know what my life is. It is a fight for money, a battle against the envious, perpetual struggles with my subjects, physicatl struggles, moral struggles, and if I failed to triumph a single time I should be exactly dead. Beloved angel, be a thousand(l tines blessed for your drop of water, for your offer; it is all for me and yet it is nothiing. You see wlhat a thousand francs would be when ten thousand a month are needed. If I could find nine I could find twelve. But I should have liked in reading that delicious letter of yours to have plunged lmy hand in the sea and drawn out all its pearls to strew them on your beautiful black hair. Anlgel of devotion and( love, all your dear, adored soul is in that letter. But what are all the pearls of the sea! I have shed two tears of joy, of gratitude, of voluptuous tenderness, which for you, for me, are worth more than all the riches of the wlhole world; is it not so, my Eva, my idol? Iii reading, this feel yourself l)ressedl by n arim tlhat is drunk with love and take tlhe kiss I send you ideally. You will find at thousand on. the rose-leaf which. will be in this letter. Let us drop this sad money; I will tell you, however, that thle two most important negotiations on which I counted for my liberation have failed. You hlave made me too lhapl)y; my luck of soul and l eanit is too imimense for matters of mere interest to succeed. I expiate my happin ess. Celestial povwersI wlhom (o you expect me to be writing to, I who have no time for anything? AMy love, be tran 1833] Letters to Madame Hanska. 71 quil; my heart can bloom only in the depths of your heart. Write to others! to others the perfume of my secret thoughts! Can you think it? No, no, to you, my life, my dearest moments. My noble and dear wife of the heart, be easy. You ask me for new assurances about your letters; ask me for no more. All precautions are taken that what you write me shall be like vows of love confided from heart to heart between two caresses. No trace! the cedar box is closed; no power can open it; and the person ordered to burn it if I (lie is a Jacquet, the original of Jacquet, who is named Jacquet, one of my friends, a poor clerk whose honesty is iron tempered like a blade of Orient. You see, my love, that I do not trust either tile dilecta or my sister. Do not speak to me of that any more. I understand the importance of your wish; I love you the more for it if possible, and as you are all my religion, an idolized God, your desires shall be accomplished with fanaticism. What are orders? Oh! no, don't go to Fribourg. I adore you as religious, but no confession, no Jesuits. Stay in Geneva. My jeweller does not return; it vexes me a little. My pa)ckage is delayed: but it is true that the " Caricature" is not yet bound and I wish you to receive all that I promised to send. Mon Dieu! your letter has refreshed tOn soul! You are very ravishing, my frolic angel, darling flower. Oh! tell me all. I would like more time to myself to tell you my life. But here I am, cauoht by twelve volumes to publish, like a galley-slave in his handcuffs. I have been to see Madame Delphine (lte Girardin this morning. I had to implore her to find a place for a poor man recommended to me by the lady of Angouleme. who terrified me by her silent missive. The sorrows of others kills me! Mine, I know how to bear. Madame Delphine promised me to do all she could with Emile de Girardin when he returns. 72 Honori dc1 LBldza c. [1833 Apropos, my love, I' L'Europe litt.raire " is insolvent; there is a meeting- to-morrow of all the shareholders to devise means. I slhall go at sevein o'clock, and as it is only a step from Madame l)elphine's I (line with her, and I shall finish the evening at G(rard's. So, 1 aim all upset for two days. 1Mo(reover, in the morningos I run about for monley. Alrea(ly tle ahundred louis of Ma(lemoiselle Eugtieilie (lrandet llave 'one off in smoke. I must bear it all patiently, as Monsieur ilanski's sheep let themselves he sheareld. Mly rich love, what can I tell you to sootLhe your heart? That my tenderness, the certainty of your affection, tlhe beautiful secret life you make me (dwarfs everything and I laugh at my troubles - there are no long'er an v troubles for me. Oh(l! I love you, my Eva! love you as you wishl to be loved, without limlit. I like to syv that to imyself; imagine therefore thle al)piness witlh which I repeat it. I have to say to you that I (1on't lke your reflected portrait, made from a copy. No, no. I have in my heart a (lear portrait tlat deligahts me. I will wait till you have had a portrait made that is a better likeness after nature. Poor treasure, o()! your slawl. I ami proud to think tlhat I alone in the world can comprehend( the pleasure you hlad ii giving it, ald that I have that of reading what you have written to me, -I whlo do these things so great and so little, so lmagnificent and so nztl.ing, which make a museum for the heart out of a straw! My beloved, my thloughts develop all the tissues of love, and I would like to display them to you, and make you a rich mantle of them. I would like you to walk upon my soul, and in my heart, so as to feel none of tlme mud of life. Adieu, for to-day, my saintly and beautiful creature, you the principle of my life and courage. You who love, who are beautiful, who have everything and have given Letters to 1Jxadame Hanska. 73 yourself to a poor youth. Ahl! my heart will be always young, fresh, and tender for you. In the immensity of (lays I see no storm possible that can come to us. I shall al-ways come to you with a soul full of love, a smile upon my li)s, and a soft word ready to caress you in the ear. My Eva, I love you. Thursday morning, 31. No more anxieties, all is arranged! Here are six thousand francs found, five thousand five hundred paid! There remains to the poor poet five hundred francs in a noble bank-bill. Joy is in the house. I ask if Paris is for sale. My love, you'll end by knowing a bachelor's life! Yesterday, all was doubtful. In two hours of time all was settled. I started to find my doctor, an old friend of my family, seeing that I had nothing to hope from bankers. A h! in thle course of tle way I met R... who took me by the hand and led me to his wife. They were (etting into a carriag'e. Caresses, offers of service, why did they never see me? why...? A thousand questions, and Madame R... began to make eyes at me as she did at Aix, where she tried to seize my portrait on the sly. Can't you see me, my love, in conference with a prince of money, -me, who could n't find four sous! Was anything ever more fantastic? A single word to say, and my twelve thousand francs of notes of hand went into thle gulf. I said nothing about it, and certainly he would not have taken a sou of discount. I laughed like one of the blest, as I left him, at the situation. I resume; seeing that I hnd nothing to hope from bankers, I reflected that I owed three hundred francs to my doctor; I went and paid them with one of my commercial notes, and he returned me seven hundred francs, less the discount. From there I went to my landlord, an old wheat-dealer in the Halle; I paid him my rent, and 74 Honore de Balzac. [1833 he returned me on my note, which he accepted, seven hundred more francs, less the discount. From there 1 went to my tailor, who at once took one of my thousandfranc notes and put it in his memorandum of discount [bordereau d 'escomp)te- cash account?] and returned me a thousand francs! Finding myself in the humour, I got into a cabriolet and went to see a friend, a double millionnaire, a friend of twenty years' standing. Ie liad just returned from Berlin. I found him; he turned to his desk and gave me two thousand francs, and took two of my notes from Madame Bechet without looking at them. Oh! oh! I came home, I sent for my wood merchant and my grocer to come and settle our accounts, and to each I paid, in bank-bills, five hundred francs! At four o'clock I was free, my payments for to-day prepared. Here I am, tranquil for a month. I resume my seat on my fragile seasaw and my imagination rocks me. Ecco, signora! My dear, faithful wife, did I not owe you this faithful picture of your Paris household? Yes, but there are five thousand francs of the twenty-seven thousand eaten up, and I have, before I can go to Geneva, ten thousand francs to pay: three thousand to my mother, one thousand to my sister, and six thousand in indemnities. "Yah! monsieur, where will you get all that? " In my inkbottle, dearly beloved Eva. I am dressed like a lord, I have dined with Madame Delphine, and, after being present at the death agony of " L'Europe littdrnire," I went joyously to Gerard's, where I complimented Grisi, whlom I had heard the night before in " La Gazza ladra" with Rossini, who, having met me Tuesday on the Boulevard, forced me to go to his operabox to talk un poco: and as on that Tuesday your poor Honor6 had dined with Madame d'A[brantes] who had to render him an account of the great negotiation (which missed fire) with Maine, he had, your poor youth, to 1833] Letters to Madame fHanska. 75 drown his sorrows in harmony. What a life, ma minette! What strange discordances, what contrasts! At Gerard's I heard the admirable Vigano. She refused to sing, snubbed everybody; I arrived, I asked her for an air; she sat down at the piano, sang, and delighted us. Thiers asked who I was; being told, he said, "' It is all plain, now." And the whole assembly of artists marvelled. The secret of it is that I was, last winter, full of admiration for Madame Vigano; I idolize her sirging; she knows that, and I am a Kreizler to her. I went to bed at two o'clock after returning on foot through the deserted, silent streets of the Luxembourg quarter, admiring the blue sky and the effects of moon and vapour on the Luxembourg, the Pantheon, Saint-Sulpice, the Val-deGrace, the Observatoire, and the boulevards, drowned in torrents of thought and carrying two thousand francs upon ine - though I had forgotten them; my valet found them. That night of love had plunged me in ecstasy; you were in the heavens! they spoke of love; I walked, listening whether from those stars your cherished voice would fall, sweet and harmonious, to my ears, and vibrate in my heart; and, my idol, my flower, my life, I embroidered a few arabesques on the evil stuff of my days of anguish and toil. To-day, Thursday, here I am back again in my study, correcting proofs, recovering from my trips into the material world, resuming my chimeras, my love; and in forty-eight hours the charms of midnight rising, going to bed at six in the evening, frugality, and bodily inaction will be resumed. We have had, for the last week, an actual summer; the finest weather ever created. Paris is superb. Love of my life, a thousand kisses are committed to the airs for you; a thousand thoughts of happiness are shed during my rushing about, and I know not what disdain 76 2HonIor1 dc Bl.zac. [1833 in seeing men. They have not, as I have, an immense lo)ve in their hearts, a throne before which I prostrate myself without servility, the figure of a madonna, a beautiful brow of love which I kiss at all hours, an Eve who gil(s all my dreams, who ligh'lts my life. Adieu, miy constant thought, a dnfct/in. I may not be so talkative; to-morrow comes toil. Friday. I have worked all.day at two proofs which have taken me twenty hours; then I must, I think, find sominething to complelte my seconl volume of "' Scelens (le la Vie de province " beeaute to mn: ke a fine book the printers so compress my man,,tcript that another Scene is wantedt of forty or fifty pages. Notlinlg to-day, t{ierefore, to her who ias all my hea t; lnotilinmg 1ut a tlhoufnsandl kisses, an( my (lear evening thoulmlhs wliten I -'o to sleep thinkingo of vou. To-in'orrow, pretty Eve. Saturday. Certainly, my love, you will not act comnedly. I have not spo)lkei to you (of that. I ]have just re-retad your last lel, r. It is a l)rostitutionl to ex t hit one's self in that way; to speak words of lo)v' Oh s! ac)redly mine! If I should tell 5You11 to w1aIt a loint my dc1eicy gm* S you would thlink mne worthy of:ai a,.,(oetl like yomitself. I loxe youi in ime. I wis!h to live far avway firom vou, like the flower in the seed, ind to let mly setmSin{ aiL is l ) fo you alone. T1 -d ay I ]have ilahorio)uily in veted thie " Cabinet des Antiqtue s;" you will readl tl:1,t so-nc a..t. I wr{)te seventeen,( of t!he fi-;it'/l/ft-; ()iace. I ain very tired. I am go,)ilng to (dress to diiec with my pu l!isheri, where I shall lmeet 16'Beramg'r. I hatll get Iane {te I lhave stell some business to settle. Mly clherislled love, as soon as tlhe first part appears andl the seconl is primnted I shall fly to G eneva and stay there n good three weeks. I shall go to thle HIttel de la 1833] Letters to lIadacc e Hfanska. Couronne, ill the gloomy chamber I occupie(d [in 1832]. I quiver twenty tihes a clay at the idea of seeing you. I meant to speak to you of Matdalne dle (C[astries], but I have not the time. Twenty-five ldays hence I will tell you by word of mouth. In two words, your llonlor6,, my Eva, grew angered by the col(ldness which silnllulate(d friendship. I said what I thought; the reply was that I ought not to see again a woman to whom I could say such cruel tihings. I asked a thousand pardlons for the g reat liberty," and we continue on a very cold footing. I have read Hoffmann throughl; hlie is beneath his reputation; there is something of it, but not lnuch. Ie writes well of music; he does not understand( love, or woman; he does not cause fear; it is impossible to cause it with physical things. One kiss and I go. Sunday. Up at eight o'clock; I came in last nihlt at eleven. Here are my hours upset for four days. Frig'Iltful loss! I awaqited the old gentleman on whose lwhl:lf I implored D)elphine. HIe (lid not come. It is eleven o'clock, - no letter from Geneva. What anxiety! ) may love, I entreat you, try to send(l rne letters onl reoular (lays; spare the sensilbility of a child's heart. You know how virgin my love is. Strong as my love is, it is delicate, oh! mny darling. I love you as you wish to be loved, solely. In my solitude a mere nothing troubles me. 3iy blood is stirred by a syllable. I have just come from miy garden; I have gathered one of the last violets in bloom there; as I walked I addressed to you a hymn of love; take it, on this violet; take the kisses placed upon thle rose-leaf. The rose is kisses, the violet is thoughlts. MSy work and you, that is tlie world to me. Beyond that, nothing. I avoid all that is not my Eva, mny thoughts. Dear flower of heaven, my fairy, you have touched all hlere with your wand; here, Ho nore dei Balz(ac. [1833 through you, all is beautiful. However embarrassed life may be, it is smooth, it is even. Above my head I see fine skies. Well, to-morrow, I shall have a letter. Adieu, my cherished soul 1 Thank you a thousand times for your kind letters; do not spare them. 1 would like to lbe always writing to you; but, poor unfortunate, I am obliged to think sometimes of the gold I draw from my inkstand. You are my heart; what can I give you? PARIS, Wednesday, November 6, 1833. The agoniiies you have gone through, my Eve, I have very cruelly felt, for your letter arrived only to-day. I cannot describe all the horrible chimeras which tortured me from time to time; for the delay of one of your letters puts everything in doubt between you and me; tlhe delay of one of mine does not imply so many evils to fear. As to the last page of youar letter, endeavour to forget it. I pardon it, alnd I suffer at your distress. To be unjust and ill-natured! You remind me of the man wlho thought his (dog mad and killed him, and then perceived that he was warning him not to lose his forgotten treasure. You speak of death. There is something more dreadful, and that is pain; and I have just endured one of which I will not speak to you. As to my relations with the person you speak of, I never had any that were very tender; I have none now. I answered a very uniml)ortaut letter, and, apropos of a sentence, I explained myself; that was all. There are relations of politeness due to women of a certain rank whom one hlas known; but a visit to Madame Recamier is not, I suppose, )el((tios, when one goes to see her once in three months. Monl Dicit! the man who seems to be justifying himself has just been stabbed to the heart. He smiles to you, my Eve, and this man docs not sleep - he, rather a sleepy man - more than five hours and a half. Ile works seven t833] Letters to, IEadame Hanska. 79 teen hours, to be able to stay a week in your sight; I sell years of my life to go and see you. This is not a reproach. But you may say to me, you, that perhaps I love the pages I write from necessity better than my love. 'But with you I am not proud, I am not humble. I am, I try to be, you. You have suffered; I suffer, - you wished to make me suffer. You will regret it. Try that it may not happen again; you will break the heart that loves you, as a child breaks a toy to look inside of it. Poor Eva! So we (ldo not know each other? Oh, yes, we do, don't we? MIon Dieu! to punish me for my confidence! for the joy that I feel more and more in solitude! I don't know where my mother is; it is two months that no one has any news of her. No letters from my brother. My sister is in the country, guarded by duennas fastened on her by her husband, and he is travelling. So I have no one to tell you about. The dilecta is with her son at Chaumont, with the devil. I am myself in a torrent of proofs, corrections, copies, works. And it is at the moment when I expected to plunge into all my joys that, after your first pages, I find the pompous praise of..., mon Dieu! and my accusation and condemnation, which will bleed long in a heart like mine. I am sad and melancholy, wounded, weeping, and awaiting the serenity that never comes full and complete. If you wished that, if you wished to pour upon my life as much pain as I have toil (impossible now), Eva, you have succeeded. As to anger, no; reproaches? what good are they? Either you are in despair at having pained me, or you are content to have done so. 1 do not doubt you. I would like to console you; but you have cruelly abused the distance that separates us, the poverty that prevents my taking a post-chaise, the engagements of honour which forbid me to leave Paris before the 25th or 26th of this month. You have been a woman; I thought you an 80 HonorI (ICde B,/Za (. [18:33 angel. I may love you the Ibetter for it; you bring yourself nearer to me. I will smile to you without ceasing. Ever since I knew tle Indian lnaxm111, " Never strike, even witll a fdower, a woman with a huindr(ed faults," I have mande that the rule of lily condulct. 1But it does 1not p)reveint me from feeling to tie lle:rt, lnire violently tia:111 those who kill their mist resses feel, insullts, anld suspiciollns of evil. 1, so exclusive, tailnted witi etilcommoness I mlade petty enough to be towered to veligeace l! What! that love so pure, you stail it with stsisicioli, with blame, with doubt! God himself cannot efface wlihat has been; he may oppose the future, but lnot the pa:st! I cannot write mnore; I rave; mv idleas are confused. After twelve hours of toil I wante:tcd a little rest, and today I must rest in suffering. OI(l! my only love, wlhat grief to look on what I write to yotn, t) weiogh ily words, and not say all that is witliout eva:sioni, beca.use I tiam witllout reproach. O()1 I siuffler. I hlave not at s)'tsiilg,' passion, bult a one sole love! Novemnber, 10, 1838. I posted a letter last ni'zlit. not Cxp)ecting to I)e able to write again; I siffered too 11muchl. SMy neuralgia attacked me. That is a secret between ine andll my doctor; he made me take sopne pills, and I aim lwetter this mnoriming. But, can I hlellp it? vyour letter Nuilrns imy heuirt. I will go to Geneva, I will pass my winter there. At least you shall not have tile righlit to emit susp)i:ions. ou slhall see my life of toil, andl you will pe)rceive tl.e barbarity there is in arming yourself witli my coinidence in opening my heart to you. I, who want to tlhink inl you! 1, who detach myself from everything to be more wholly yours! Deceive you! But, as you say yoirsel,4f, thVt would be too easy. Besides, is tlhat nmy character? Love is to me all confidence. I believe in you 'as in myself. What you 1883] Letters to 31rtMadame Ilanska. 81 say of that compatriot [Madame de Castries is meant] makes me suffer, but I do not doubt it. I shall not speak to you of the cause of your imprecation, "' Go to the feet of your marquise" [a ax ipieds de ta, marquise], except verbally.1 I have five important affairs to terminate, but I shall sacrifice all to be on the 25th in Geneva, at that inn of the Pre-l'Eveque. But we shall see each other very little. I must go to bed at six in the evening, to rise at midnight. But from midday till four o'clock every day I can be with you. For that I must do things here that seem impossible; 1 shall attempt them. If they cause me a thousand troubles I shall go to Geneva, and forget everythiing there to see but one thing, the one heart, the one woman by whom I live. I would give my life that that horrilble page had not been written. To reproach me for my very devotion! 1 This whole presentation of Madamle Iialiska justifies, and even demands, a few words here. Judging her by tlhe genuine letters in this volume,- which are, so far as I know, our only means of judging her at all at this distance of time, - she was a woman of principle, digniity, intelligence, and good-breeding; with a strong sense of duty, and( a certain deliberateness of nature, shown in the fact that it was eight years after M. Hanski's death before she consented to marry 'Balzac. Her love for him was plainly much less than his for her; but she was proud of his devotion, and always unwilling to lose it. Tlhat a woman of her position and character ever wrote to Balzac those words, " JT anx iecds de ta motrqu/se," is an impossibility. There are certain things that a woman of breeding' cannot do or say; though some who (lo not know what such women are do not perceive this. Writing a few weeks later tlan the above letter (from Geneva in January, 1834) to his intimate friend, Madame Carraud, Balzac bears the following little testimony to Madame llanska's feeling to his friend': "I hope you know what thle security of friendship is, and that you will not say to me again, ' Bear me in inemory,' when some one here [Madame IIanska] says to me, ' I am happy in knowing that you inspire such friends!ips; that jastifies mine for ynu.' " (Ed. Def. vol. xxiv, p. 192). This is the woman whose memory a few men are now endeavouring to sumirch. - TI. 6 82 Ionor, (le Ba( z H-ac' L1833 Do you believe that I would not leave all, and go with you to the depths of some retreat? You arm yourself with the phrase il which I sacrifice (the word meant nothing, there is no sacrilice) to you all! Why have you tflUlg suffering into what was so sweet? You have made me give to grief the time that belonged to the toil which facilitates my means of going to you sooner. 1 await, with an impl)atience beyond words, a letter, a line; you have completely upset me. No, you do not know the childlike heart, the poet's heart, that you have bruised. I am a man to suffer, then! Adieu. Did I tell you the story of tliat malLl who wrote drinking-songs in order to bury an adored mistress? To work witlh a heart in mourning is my fate till your next letter comes. You owe me your life for this fatal week. Oh! my angel, mine belong's to you. Break, strike, but love me still. I adore you as ever; but have mercy on the innocent. I do not know if you have formed an idea of what I have to do. I must finish withl the printing of four volumes before I can start, I must compound with five difficulties, pay eighllt thousand francs; and tlhe four volumes make one hllundred fetuiles, or one lhundred times sixteen pages, to be revised each three or four times, without counting the manuscripts. Well, I will lose sleep, I will risk all, but you will see me near you on the 26th at latest. To-morrow I shall write openly to Madame Hanska to announce my parcel. May I put here a kiss full of tears? Will it be taken with love? Make no more storms without cause in what is so pure. It is midday. That you may get this in time, I send it to the general post-office. 1833] Letteirs to I-s-adanme lansmkca. 83 PARIS, Thursday, November 12, 1833 It is six o'clock; I am going to bed(, much f. tigued l)y certain errands [courses] made for pressing affairs; for I have hope, at the cost of three thousand francs in money, of compromising on thle litlgious affair w-hich caLuses Me the most anxiety. On retunJriiig home I found your letter sent Friday, with that kind page which effaces all Imy pain. 0 my adored angel, as long as you dlo lnot fully know the bloom of sensitiveness which constant toil and almost perpetual seclusion have left in my heart, you will not understand the ravages that a word, a doubt, a suspicion can cause. In walking this morning through Paris I said to myself that commercially the mcst simple contract could not be broken without attainting probity; but have you not broken, without hearing me, a promise tilat bound us forever? This is the last time that I shall speak to you of that letter except when, in Geneva, I shall explain to you what gave rise tO it. Fear nothing; I have finished all my visits, and shall not go again to G6rard's. I refuse all invitations, I hibernate completely, and the woman most ambitious of love coulcd find nothing to blame in me. But alas! all thlat I h:ave lbeen al~e to d(lo has been to take one more hour fr)ln sleep. I mllst sleep five hours. AvMy doctor, whom I saw this morning, and -who knows me since I was ten years old (a friend of the house), is always fearful on seeing how I work. He threatens me with an inflammation of the integuments of my cerebrna nerves: -- " Yes, (doctor," I told him, " if I committe(d excess upon excess; but for three years I have been as chaste as a young girl, I never drink either wine or liquors, my food is weighed, and the return of my neuralgia comes less from work than from grief." 84 Ifono)r de Balzac. [1833 Ite shrugged his shoulders and said, looking at 11me - " Your talent costs dear 1 It is true; a man does n't have a flaming look like yours if he addicts himself to wo()lleln. There, my love, is a very authenti(c certilicate of my so)briet,. Thie doctor is alaritled at mly wA:ork. 'l"Eug1nie ( 'ralndet " makes a thick volt;mne. I keep tic manluseril)t for you. There are p)ages written ill tile mid.s-t of anguish. They belong to youl, as all of illn, d(oes. My dear love, listen; you mit.ust coniLe't yourself with having only a few scteicecs, a line p1erhal)s, per day, if you wish to see ine in Noveimber at i (encva. Aprol)os, write mne openly in reply to my oplen letter, to come to tlie inn on the Prn:-i'Ldv.(!e, aId give mne its name. I shall colle for a lmonth, and write "Privilg(e " there. I slhall have to brin- a wihole library. MIy love, '. bie:,ltct. Nevertheless, I have a thousand obstructions. The printers, and there arc three printingoflices busy with thiese four volumes, w ell, they do not g(et on. I. from midinighlit to middiavy, I conl)pose; that is to say, I am1 twelve hours in my arml-cln'ir writing,, improvisi,,tr. i! tle full meaning, of that terml Then, from midday to four 'cloek I correct my proofs. At five I (line, at half-past five I am in bed, and am wakened at midnig tlht. Thl11k you for your kind pe; you e; ave removed my sufferi(o'; ohl! my goo(d, my treasure, never (olubt me. Never a thought or a, word in contrad(liction of what I hlave sai(l to you with in toxicatiomn can trouble the words,and tlou()h'its tlhat are for you. Oh m:ike lnutilde rpl)arations to Madame P.. iulwer, the novelist, is not in Parliament; lie has a l)rother who is in Parliament, and the namne las led even our journalists into error..I made the same mistake that you did, but I:have verified thle matter carefully. 13ulwer is now in Paris, - the novelist, 1833] Letters to J3lzdame liHnska. 85 I mean. He came yesterday to the Observatoire, but I have not seen him yet. You make me like Grosclaude [all artist]. What I want is the picture he makes for you, and a copy equal to the orioinal. I shall put it before me in my study, and when I am in search of words, corrections, i shall see what you are looking at. There is a sublime scene (to my mind, and I am rewarded for having' it) in "' Eugdnie Grand et," who offers her fortune to her cousin. The cousin makes an answer; what I said to you on that subject was more g(raceful. But to mingle a single word that I have said to my Eve in what others will read! - ah! I would rather fling ^' Eugenie Grandet," into the fire. Oh, my love! I cannot find veils enough to veil it from every one. Oh! you will only know in ten years that I love you, and how well I love you. My dear gentille, when T take this paper and speak to you I let myself flow into pleasure; 1 could write to vou all night. I am obliged to mark a certain hour at my waking; when it rings I ought to stop, and it rang long ago. Till to-morrow. WAVednesday. After the 22nd, including the 22nd, do not post any more letters; I shall not receive them. Oil! I would like to intoxicate myself so as not to think during the journey. Three days to be saying to myself, " I am going to see her! " Ah! you know what that is, don't you? It is dying of impatience, of pleasure! I have just sent you the licensed letter, and I am now going to do up the parcel and arrange the box. I have returned thle remainder of thle pebbles; I had not thle right to lose what Anna picked up; and I would not compromlise Mademoiselle HIanska by keepingo them. Oh! let me laugh after weeping. T shall soon see you. 86 8tonore de -Bailzc. [1 S33 1 bring you the most sublime masterpiece of poesy, an epistle of Mladame Desbordes-Vallnore, the original of which I have; I reserve it for you. To-morrow, Thursday, I hope to be (lelivered of Ette6nie GraIlldet." The manuscript will be litlishel. I must immed(ately finish " Ne touellez pas it la hache." I do not know how it is that you can go and put yourself so often into the midist of that atmosphere of Genevese pedantry. But also I know there is nothing so agreeable as to be in tlhe li(ist of society with a great thought, oh my beautiful angel, my Eva, my treattures, of which the world is ignorant. Nothingi could be more false than what that traveller told youl about Madame C... You understand(, my love, that the ambitious manner in which I now present myself in society must engender a thoull;anl calumnies, a tho(usand absurd versions. To give you an examplle: I have a glass I value, a saucer, out of which my aunt, an angel of grace and goodness wlho die(l in the flower of her age, drank for the last time; andll my grandmother, who loved me, kept it on her fireplace for ten years. Well, my lawyer heard some mtan inl a literary reading-room say that my life was attached to a talisman, a glass, a saucer; and my talent also. There are things of love and pri(le and nobleness in certain lives which others would rather calumniate than comprehend. Latoueche has said a frightful thing of hatred to one of my friends. tie met him onl the quay; they spoke of me, - Latouche with immnense praises (in spite of our separation). " lVWhat pleases me about him," he said, " is that I begin to believe he will bury them all." Jlon Dieu! how I love your dear letters; not those in which you scold, but those in which you tell me minutely what happens to yon. Oil! tell me all': let me read in your soul as I would like to make you read( in mine. Tell me the praises that your adorable beauty receives, 1833] Letters to Madame Hans/ca. 87 and if any one looks at your hair, your pretty throat, your little hands, tell me his name. You are my most precious fame. We have, they say, stars in heaven; you, you are my star come down, -- the light in which - live, the light toward which I go. Htow is it that you speak to me of what I write. It is what I think and do not say that is beautiful, it is my love for you, its cortege of ideas, it is all that I fain would say to you, in your ear, with no more atmosphere between us. I do not like "Marie Tudor;" from the analyses in the newspapers, it seems to me nasty. I have no time to go and see the play. I have no time to live. I shall live only in Geneva. And what work I must do even there! There, as here, 1 shall have to go to bed at six o'clock and get up at midnight. But from midday to five o'clock, 0 love! what strength I shall get from your glances. What pleasure to read to you, chapter by chapter, the "Privilege" or other tales, my cherished love! Do not think that there is the least pride, the least false delicacy in my refusal of what you know of, the golden drop you have put angelically aside. Who knows if some day it might not stanch the blood of a wound? and from you alone in the world 1 could accept it. I know you would receive all from me. But no; reserve all for things that I might perhaps accept from you, in order to surround myself with you, and think of you in all things. My love is greater than my thought. Find here a thousand kisses and caresses of flame. I would like to clasp you in my soul. PARIS, Wednesday, November 13, 1833. MADA)ME, - I think that the house of HTanski will not refuse the slight souvenirs which the house of Balzac preserves of a gracious and most joyous hospitality. 1 88 8IIonort' die Balzac. [1833 have the honour to address you, lbure(t c5tLfnt at Geneva, a little case forwarded by tlie Messag', ries of the rue Notre1)ame-des-VictOires. You have no doubt been accusing the frivolity and carelessness of the " Frenchman" (forgetting, that I am a Gaul, nothing but a Gaul), and have never tliought of all the ditfficulties of Parisian life, which have, however, procured me th e ple'timure of busying myself long for you and Anna. The dela(y comes from the fact that I wanted to keep all my piroises. Permit me to have some vanity in my )ersistellce. Before tlhe sublline Fossin l deigned to leave tlhe diadems and crowns of princes to set tlle pe)bles picked up by your daughte'lt<r, i halt to entrea:t him, and be very humble, anid often le:ive my retreat, where I am busy in setting poor phrases. Beore 1 ct)uld gel tlie 1)est (cot0^/fc [(tuince marmala(le] from O(rlans, inasmuhel as vou want to be a cliilh again ajd taste it, there was need of correspondence. And foreseeing' that you w(ould find t'he marmalade below its repl)tation, 1 wtante l to add so(me of the clingstone l)eachaes of Touraile, tlhat you lmight feel, gastronomically, the air of my native reion. Forgive inme that Tourainean vanity. And finally, ill or.ler to sem(l you La Caricature " complete, I lhad to watit till its year was ended and tlien submit to thie d(elays )of thle binder, - that high power that oppresses my lib}rary. For your beautifil hair nothing wvsa; more easy, and you will indl wihat vou (deigniled to ask me for. 1 shall have the honour to brilng y),u llyself tile recipe for the wonderful preservative p)11malde, whichl youn ca make yourself in the depths of the Ukraine, amd so n<.t lose one of your beauteous black hairs. Rossini has lately wrilten me a note; I send it to you as an offering to Monsieur I[aliski, his p)assionate admirer. Yo-u see, madame, that I have not forgotten you, and that if my work allows I sh'all soon be in Geneva to tell you myself what sweet memories I preserve of our happy meeting. 1833] Letters to ilaidame JIaneska. 89 You admire Chenier; there is a new edition just published, more complete than the preceding ones. Do not buy it; arrange that I may read to you, myself, these various poems, and perhaps you will then attach more value to the volumes I shall select for you here. That sentence is not vain or impertinent; it is the expression of a hope with wholly youthful frankness. I hope to be in Geneva on the 25th; but, alas! for that I have to finish four volumes, and though I work eighteen hours out of the twenty-four, and have given up the music of the opera and all the joys of Paris to stay in my cell, I am afraid that the coalition of workmen of which we are now victims will make my efforts come to nought. I wish, as I have to make this journey, that I might find a little tranquillity in it, and remain away from that furnace called Paris for a fortnight, to be employed in some far niente. But I shall probably have to work more than I wish to. Give the most gracious expression of my sentiments and remembrances to Monsieur Hanski, kiss Mademoiselle Anna in my name, and accept for yourself my respectful homage. Will you believe me, and not lauglh at me if I tell you that, often, I see again your beautiful head in that landscape of the ile Sainte-Pierre, when, in the middle of my nights, weary with toil, I gaze into my fire without seeing it, and turn my mind to the most agreeable memories of my life? There are so few pure moments, free of all arriere-pensees, naive as our own childhood, in this life. Here, I see nothing but enmities about me. Who could doubt that I revert to scenes where nothing but good-will surrounded me? I do not forget either Mademoiselle Severine or Mademoiselle Borel. Adieu, madame; I place all my obeisances at your feet. 90 Honorc de ]Balzac. [1833 PARIS, Sunday, November 17, 1833. Thursday, Friday, and yesterday it was impossible for me to write to you. The case does not start till to-mlorrow, Monday, so that you will hardly get it before Thurs(lay or Friday. Tell me what you think of Anna's cross. We have been governed by the pebbles, which prevent anything pretty being made of them. The coligeac made everybody send me to the deuce. They wrote me from Orleans that I must wait till the fresh was made, which was better than the old, and that I should have it in four or five days. So, uot wishing it to fail you as announced, I rushed to all the dealers in eatables, who one and all told me they never sold two boxes of that marmalade a year, and so hlad given 1p) kleepling it. But at Corcelet's I found a last box; he told me there was no one but himl in Paris who kept that carlice, and( that he would have some fresh coti/g/ac soon. 1 took the box; and you will not have the fresh till mly arrival, cara. As for Rossini, I waint him to write me a nice letter, and lie has just invited nme to dine with his mistress, who happens to be that beautiful Juditll, tie former mistress of Horace Vernet and of EugT'ne Sue, you know. HIe has l)romised rme a note about music, etc. IHe is very obliging; we have chased each othler for two days. No o01ne has an idea with whlat tenacity onle must will a thling ill Paris to have it. The smaller a thing is, the less one obtains it. I have now obtailned an excellent concession from Gosselin. I shall not (ldo the ' Privil'e " at Geneva. I shall (1do two volumes of the " Contes Philosophiques" tlhere, which will not oblige me to inake researches; and this leaves me free to go and conme without the dreadful paraphernalia of a library. 1 am afraid I cannot leave here before the 26tlh, my poor angel. Money is a terrible thing! I must pay four thousand francs iindlemnities to get peace; and here I am forced to begin all over again 1833] Letters to ilMadame Hanska. 91 to raise money on publishers' notes, and I have ten thousand francs to pay the last of December, besides three thousand to my mother. It is enough to make one lose one's head. 'And when I think that to compose, to work, one needs great calmness, to forget all! If I have started on the 25th I shall be lucky. Of one hundredjfeuilles wanted to-day, Sunday, I have only eight of one volume and four of another printed, eleven set up of one and five of the other. I am expecting the fabricators this morning to inform them of my ultimatum. Why! in sixteen hours of work - and what work? - I do in one hour what the cleverest workmen in a printing-office cannot do in a day. I shall never succeed! In the judgment of all men of good sense, " Marie Tudor" is an infamy, and the worst thing there is as a play. Mobn Dieu! I re-read your letters with incredible pleasure. Aside from love, for which there is no expression, we are, in them, heart to heart; you have the most refined of minds, the most original, and, dearest, how you speak to all my natures! Soon I can tell you more in a look than in all my letters, which tell nothing. I put in a leaf of sweet-scented camellia; it is a rarity; I have cast many a look at it. For a week past, as I work I look at it; I seek the words I want, I think of you, who have the whiteness of that flower. 0 my love, I would I could hold you in my arms, at this moment when love gushes up in my heart, when I have a thousand desires, a thousand fancies, when I see you with the eyes of the soul only, but in which you are truly mine. This warmth of soul, of heart, of thought, will it wrap you round as you read these lines? I think of you when I hear music. Adoremus in ecternum^, iay Eva, - that is our motto, is it not? Adieu; a bientot. What pleasure I shall have in explaining to you the caricatures you cannot understand. 92) 9onre,'- (dCe alza(c. [1833 Do you want anythinr from Paris? Teil me. You caa still write tile day after you receive this letter. The camellia-leaf bears you my soul; I have held it b}etween my lips in writing this page, that miight fill it with tenderness. PAI' IS, Noveuntber 20, 1 83:3, five- in the morning. M[y (lear wi ife of love, fLtigute lhas come at last; I h1ave gathered the fruit of these constant nig'ht-watches and my colntiiial anxieties. I have m:tay griefs. In rereadin7g '" Les Celibataires " which 1 had re-corrected again and again, I flind deplorable faults after printing. Then, my lawsuits have not ended. 1 atwait to-day the result of a transaction which will eid everything between Maine and ine. I sentd him four tholusand francs, mmy last resources. Here I am, on1ce more as poor as Jobl), and yet tills week I m1ust find twelve huld:(lred franWcs to settle ailother litifgious affair. Ohl! how dearly is faile bought! how difftiult men make it to acquire her! No, there is no such tihing as a cheap gre~at man. I could not write to you yesterlda, or Mlond'ly; I was hurrying about. HIardly could l r1e-readl m11y l)roofs attentively. In the midIst of all this worry I made the words of a song for Rosini. I wa,) Sunday with Bra, the sculptor; there I saw tile most beautiful masterpicce that exists; and I do not except either the Olympian Jupiter, or thle Moses, or the Venus, or the Apollo. It is Mary, holding the infant Christ, adored by two ang-els. If I were rich I would have that execeuled in marble. There I conceived a most noble book; a little volume to which " Louis Lambert " should be the preface; a work entitled;' S,'raphita." Ssral)Iita will be two natures in one single being- like " Fragoletta," with this difference, that I slpp)ose this creatture fln an.gel arrived at the last transformnation, and breakingl through tle( enveloping' bonds to rise to heaven. This anmgel is loved 1833] Letters to MIadame Hanska. 93 by a man and by a woman, to whom he says, as he goes upward through the skies, that they have each loved the love that linked them, seeing it in him, an angel all purity; and he reveals to th1em their passion, he leaves them love, as he escapes our terrestrial miseries. If I can, I will write this noble work at Geneva, near to you. But the conception of this multi-toned S.raphita has wearied me; it has lashed me for two days. Yesterday I sent Rossini's autograph, extremely rare, to Monsieur Hallski, but the song for you. I am afraid I cannlot leave here before 27th; seventeen hours of toil do not suffice. In a few hours you will receive my last letter, which will calm your fears and your sweet repentance. I would now like to be tortured -if it did not make me suffer so much. Oh! your adorable letters! And you believe that I will not burn those sacred effusions of your heart! Oh! never speak of that again. To-day, 20th, I have still one hundred pages of " Eugenie Grandet " to write, "Ne touchez pas a la hache" to finish, and '" La Femme aux yeux rouges" to do, and I need at least ten days for all that. I shall arrive dead. But I can stay in Geneva as long as you do. This is how: if I am rich enough I will lose five hundred francs on each volume to have it put in type and corrected in Geneva; and I will send to Paris a single corrected proof, and they will reprint it under the eyes of a friend who will read the sheets. It is such a piece of folly that I shall do it. What do you say to it? Yesterday my arm-chair, the companion of my vigils, broke. It is the second I have had killed under me since the beginning of the battle that I fight. When people ask me where I am going, and why I leave Paris, I tell them I am going to Rome. Coffee has no longer any effect upon me. I must leave it off for some time that it may recover its virtues. My dearest Eva, I should like to find in that inn you 94 Jlonore de Balzac. [1833 speak of, a very quiet room whlere no noise could penetrate, for I have truly imuch work to do. I shall work only my twelve hours, from minlnight to midday, but those I must have. I cannot tell you how these delays of tlhe )riiter annoy me; I am ill of them. All thle day of Monday was oceupied by an old( man of sixty-five, a nman beloniingl to the first families of Franelhe-Comt(,, fa'llenl into poverty, for whom I was entreated by the lady ia AXngioulelne to find a situation. My heart is still wrung' at the silght of hinm. I took him to Emile de Girardin, wilo gave hiiin a place at a hundred franes a month. A man withl white hair wlho lives on brefad only, lie and his family, while 1, I live luxuriously, my o(lod! I did what 1 could. People call these good actions; God tlhinks of thl)se who compassionate the miseries of others. Just now God is crushl ino me a good deal. lBut it is true that you love me, and 1 worshlip you, and that enables me to bear all. I had to (line with Emile and his wife, and lose a (lay and a nighlt; what a sacrifice! Ten years henee to give away a hundred tllousand francs would be less. Adieu for to-dlay. I have rested myself for a moment on your heart, ohi, my (lear joy, my gentle liavell, my sole thought, my flower of heaven! Adieu, then. S'itumrtay, 23rd. From Thursday until to-day I have often thlouhlit of you, but to write has been impossille. I lhave a weight of a hundred thousand poui(dss on my sthoulders. Yes, my angel, I am quit of that publishler,t thle cost of four thousand francs. My lawyer, my not:ary, fand a p?'o~rentr da Roi have examined the receipt. All is end(ed between us; agreements destroyed; T owe him neither sou nor line. I have deposited thie document, preeious to me, with my notary. The next day IT completed, also at a cost of three 1833] Letters to Madame Hanslca. 95 thousand francs (making seven thousand in a week), my other transaction. But as I had not enough money I drew a note for five days, and by Wednesday, 27th, I must have twelve hundred francs! I have, besides, a little pi.ocillon to compound for, but that is only for money not yet due. I have still two other matters concerning my literary property to bring to an end before I can start. I am absolutely without a sou; but, at least, I am tranquil in mind. 1 shall always have to work immensely. Now in relation to the Mind manufactory, this is where I am: I have still twenty-five feutilles to do to finish ' Eugenie Grandet; " I have the proofs to revise. Then "Ne touchez pas a la hache " to finish, with the "I Femme aux yeux rouges " to do; also the proofs of two volumes to read. It is impossible for me to start till all that is done. I calculate ten days; this is now the 24th, for it is two o'clock in the morning. I cannot get off till the 4th, arrive the 7th, and stay till January 7th. Moreover, in order that I may stay, the "' Medecin de campagne" must be sold, I must write a Scene de la Vie de campagne " at Geneva, and the other '" Scenes de la Vie de canmpagne" must be published, during my absence, iu Paris. However, I want to start on the 4th at latest. Therefore, you can write to me till the 30th. After the 30th of this month do not write again. ]iMon Dieu! What time such business consumes!when I think of what I do, my manuscripts, my proofs, my corrections, my business affairs! I sleep tranquil, thinking that I have to pay two thousand four hundred francs of acceptances for six days, for which I have not a sou! I have lived like this for thirty-four years, and never has Providence forgotten me. And so, I have an incredible confidence. What has to be done is always done; and you can well believe that to pay seven thousand francs with 0 obliges one to sign notes. There's my situation, financial, scriptural, moral, of 96 It'iornl de Balzac. [1833 author, of correctio:s, of all in short that is not love, on Sunday, the 24th, at ialf-p:ast omle o'clock in the morning. I write you this just as I get to the eleventh Jfcillet of tlhe fifth chapter of "Eutlenie Grandet," entitled, lFamily G(riefs; " and between at proof of tlte eleventh sheet of tlhe book, tlhat is to say, at its 176th page. X lienu you have the manluscript of '- Eugeniie Grandet," you wiil knlow its history letter than lany on1e. For t.he last two dn1ys I have had some return of my cerebral neuralgia; but it wtas not much, and considering my toil and llmy worries, I ought to think myself lucky to have ol0ly that. Now, do not let us talk any more of thle material tliings of life, which, nevertheless, weigh so he-avily upon us. How you make me again desire riches! MIy cherished love, have you tasted your marnmal'ade? do you like the peachles? has Anna her cross? have you latlghed at the caricatures? I have received your open letter, and it has all the effect upon me of seeing you in full dress, in a gorand salon, among five hundlred persons. Oh! nmy pretty Eve!,I, Dieut! how I love you! J bieanto/. M1ore than ten days, and 1 shalt have done all I ought to ldo. I shall have prilited four volumes 8vo in a month. Oh! it is only love that can do suchi things. My love, oh, suffer from the delay, but (lo not scold me. How couild I know, when 1 l)ro)mised you to return, that I should sell the " ]Etudes dle MiXors " for thirty-six thous'and francs, and that I should hlave to negotiate 1pa),ymets for nine thousand francs of suits? I put myself at your darling knees, I kiss tiem, I caress theml; oh, I do in thought all the follies of earthl; I kiss you with intoxication, I hold you, I clasp you, I am happy as the angels iln the bosom of God. How nature made me for love! Is it for that that I am condemned to toil? Thlere are times when you are here for me, when I caress you and strew upon your dear per 1833] Letters to 1(1 dame Habnska. 97 son all the poesy of caresses. Oh! there is nobody but me, I believe, who finds at the tips of my fingers and on my lips such voluptuousness. My beloved, my dear love, my pearl, when shall I have you wholly mine without fear? If that trip to Fribourg of which you speak to me had taken place, - oh! say, - I think I should have drowned myself on the return. How careful I am of your Chenier; for, this time, I will read you Chenier. You slall know what love is in voice, in looks, in verses, in pages, in ideas. Oh! he is the man for lovers, women, angels. WArite II Seraphita " beside you; you wish it. You will annihilate her after having read it. I am very tired; my pen will hardly hold in my fingers; but as soon as it concerns you and our love I find strength. I have satisfied a little fancy this week; I gave myself, for my bedroom, the prettiest little chimney-piece sconces that I ever saw; and for my banquets, two candelabra. ATon Dieu! a folly is sweet to (ldo! But I meditate a greater, which will, at any rate, be useful. It is too long to write about. Angel of love, (ldo you perfume your hair? Oh, my beauty, my darling, my adored one, my dear, dear Eve, I am as impatient as a goat tethered to her stake- though you don't like that phrase. I would I were near you; you have become tyrannical, you are the idea of every moment. I think that every line written brings me nearer to you, like the turn of a wheel, and from that hope I gather infernal courage..... So the 10th, at latest, I shall see you. The 10th! I know that the immenlse amount of work I have to do will shorten the time a little. AIon Dieu, mon Dieu, God in whom I believe, he owes me some soft emotions at the sight of Geneva, for I left it disconsolate, cursing everything, abhorring womankind. With what joy I shall return to it, my celestial love, my 98 1-1-onore' de -Balzac. 1833] Eva! Take me with you to your Ukraine; let us go first to Italy. All that will be possible, when tlhe - Etudes (lde Mowurs " are once published. Simlay, 23rd, midday. So, then, at l'Auberge de l'Arc! I shall be there D),cember 7th or Sthl without fail. You see I have received your little note. After writing to you last night I was obliged to go to bed without working. I was ill. It is live days nllO since I have been out of my apartments; I am not very well just now, but I think it is only a nervous 111movelllellt caused by overwork. From our windows we shall see each other! - that is very dangerous. Well, 6 bie'ntot. I put in for you a kissed rose-leaf;f it carries my soul and the most celestial hlope a mall can have here below. Ohl! my love, you () (do not know yourself llow wholly you are mine. I uam very greedly. A(lieu, my beautiful life; there are only a few d(ays more. I imaugine we can travel to Italy and stay three or six months together. Adieu, angel, whom I shall soon see face to face. PARIS, December 4th, four in the rnornino. Myv adored angel, during these eight (lays I have made the efforts of a lion; but, in spite of sittingo up all nig(ht, I do not see that my two volumes can be finished before the 5th, and the two others I must leave to appelr during my absence. But on the 10tlh I get into a carriage, for, finished or not, neither my body nor my head, however powerful my monk's life makes them, can sustain this steam-enlgine labour. So, the 13th, I tlink, I shall be in Geneva. Nothing can now chang'e that (late. I shall have the manuscript of " Eug.enie Grandet "' bound, and send it ostensibly to you. 1833] Letters to Madame Hanska. 99 I have great need of rest, to be near you, - you, the angel; you, the thought of whom never fatigues; you, who are the repose, the happiness, the beautiful secret life of my life! It is now forty-eight hours that I have not been in bed. I have at this moment the keenest anxieties about money. I stripped myself of everything to win tranquillity, of which I have such need, and to be near you for a little while. But, relying on my publisher, yesterday, for my payments at the month's end, he betrays me in the midst of my torrent of work. Oh! decidedly, I will make myself a resource, I will have a sum in silver-ware which my poetic fancies will never touch, but which I can proudly carry to the pawnshop in case of misfortune. In that way one can live tranqail, and not have to endure the cold, pale look of one's childhood's friends, who arm themselves with their friendship to refuse us. On the 10th I start; I do not know at what hour one arrives, but, whatever be my fatigue, I shall go to see you immediately. I have worked steadily eighteen hours a day this week, and I could only sustain myself by baths, which relaxed the general irritation. What vexatious, what goings to and fro! I had ts give a great dinner this week, Friday, 29th. I discovered I had neither knives nor glasses. I don't like to have inelegant things about me. So I had to run in debt a little more; I tried to do a stroke of business with my silversmith. No. However, I will economize in Geneva by working and keeping quiet. How I paw, like a poor, impatient horse! The desire to see you makes me find things that, ordinarily, would not occur to me. I correct quicker. You not only give me courage to support the difficulties of life, but you give me talent, or at least, facility. One must love, my Eve, my dear one, to write the love of "Eugenie Grandet," a pure, immense, proud love. Oh! dear, dearest, my good, 100 H0onore c(e Balczac. [183." my divine Eve, what grief not to hlave been able to write you every evening what I have (olne, said, and thought! Soon, soon, in ten minutes, I can tell you more than in a thousand pages, in one look more thain in a hundred years, because I shall give you all my heart in that first look, 0 my delicate, beauteous forehead! I looked at that of Madame de Mirbel, the other day; it is something like yours. Slhe is a Pole, I think. PARIS, Sunday, D)ecember 1, 1833, eleven o'clock. My angel, I have just read your letter. Oh! I long to fall at your knees, my Eve, my dear wife! Never have a second of melancholy thought. Oil! you (1do not know me! As 1ong0 as I live I will be your (larling, I will respect in myself the heart you have chosen; I no longer belong to myself. There are no follies, no sacrifices; no, no, never! Oh! do not be thus, never talk to me of laudanumn. I flung aside the proofs of " Eug^nie Grandet" and sprang up as if to go to you. The end of your letter has made me pass over the pain of its beginning. My love, my dear love, I shall be near you in a few days; when you hold tllis paper full of love for you, to which I would like to communicate the beatings of my heart, there will be lullt a few (lays; I shall redouble my cares, my work, I shall rest down there:, Blesides, I slhall arrange to stay a long time. 0 nmy love! make your skies serene, for there is nothing in my being but affection, love, tenderness, and caresses for you. You ought to curse tlhat Gaudissart. The printer took a type which compressed the matter, and to make out the volume I hlad to improvise all that in, one '/nit, (larling, and make eighty pages of it, if you please. My pretty love, you will receive a line letter, ver'y polite, submissive, respectful, witl tlhe manuscript of "Eugelnie (G.randet," and you will iind in pencil on the 1833] Letters to Mlladame Hanska. 101 back of the first page of manuscript the precise day for which I have engaged my place in the diligence. Yes, I live in you, as you live in me. Never will God separate what he has put together so strongly. My life is your life. Do not frighten me thus again. Your sadness saddens me, your joy makes me joyous. I am in your heart; I listen to your voice at times. In short, I lave the eternal, imperishable, angelic love that I desired. You are the beginning and the end, my Eve,- do you understand? - the Eve! I am as exclusive as you can be. In short, Adoremus in ceteirncu is niy motto; do you hear me, darling? Well, it is getting late. I must send this to the general post-office, that you may get it Wednesday. My love, why make for yourself useless bitterness? What I said to you, I will repeat: " It would be too odd if that were she," was my thought when I saw you first on leaving the Hotel du Faucon [at Neufchatel]. Adieu; I have no flowers this time; but I send you an end of a cedar match I have been chewing while I write; 1 have given it a thousand kisses. lon Dieu! I don't know how I shall get over the time on the journey, in view of the palpitations of my heart in writing to you. You will receive only one more letter, that of Sunday next; after that I shall be on the way. 0 iny darling, to be near you, without anxieties; to have my time to myself, to be free to work well and read to you by (lay what I do at night! My angel, to have my kiss,the greatest reward for me under heaven! Your kiss! No, you will only know how I love you ten years from now, when you fully know my heart, that heart so great, that you fill. I can only say now, a bientot. Well, adieu, dear. Thanks for the talisman. I like it. I like to have a seal you have used. My love, do not laugh at my fancies. Ah? if you could see Bra's "Two Angels," and "I Mary with the child Jesus." I have in my 102 Ilonorc de Balzatc. [18833 heart for you all the adoration he found in his sublime genius to express angels. You are God to me, my dear idol. Adieu! PARIS, Sunday, December 8. My dearest, no, not a line for you in eig'ht days 1 But tears, effusions of the soul sent with fury across the hundred and fifty leagues that part us. If I get off Thursday next, 12th, I shall regard myself as a giant. No, I will not soil this paper full of love which you will hold, by pouring money troubles on it, however nobly conllided they be. The printers would not work; I am their sl'ave. The calculations of thle publisher, of the master-printers, and my own have been so cruelly frustrated by the workmen that my books announced as published yesterday will not appear till Thursday next. I am in a state of curious destitution, without friends from whom I can ask an obole, yet I must borrow the money for my journey on Tuesday or Wednesday, but I do not know where. I will tell you all about it. I have no time to write. I have been forty-eight hours this week without sleeping. Old l)ubois tol(l me yesterday I was marching to old age and death. But how can I llelp it? I have considered in othing but my pleasure, our pleasure, and I have sacrificed all - even you and myself- to that object. Alas, my dearest, I have not tIhe time to finish tlis letter. The publisher of " S6raphita" is here. lIe wants it by new year's day. Nevertheless, I shall be on Sunday near you. Adieu, my love; (t bientot, but that bn'leitf will not be till Sunday, 15th, for I hlave inquired, and the diligence starts only every other day, and takes three days and a half to get there. I lhave a world of things to tell you, but I can only send you my love, tlie sweetest andll most violent of loves, the most constant, the most persistent, 1833] Letters to llat(dame Hanska. 103 across space. 0 my beloved angel, do you speak to me again of our promise? Say nothing more to me about it. It is saintly and sacred like our mutual life. Adieu, my angel. I canlnot say to you '" Calm yourself," - I, who am so unhappy at these delays. You must suffer, for I suffer. GENEVA, December 25th, 1833. I shall tell you all in a moment, my beloved, my idolatry. I fell ill getting into the carriage, and then my valet fell ill. But we will not talk of that. In an instant I shall tell you more in a look than in a thousand pages. Do I love you! Why, I am near you! I would it had been a thousand times more difficult and that I should have suffered more. But here is one good month, perhaps two, won. Not one, but millions of caresses. I am so happy I can write no more. A tantot. Yes, my room is very good, and the ring is like you, my love, delicious and exquisite.1 1 At the end of this year, as this vitiated portion of the correspondence draws to a close, I shall venture to make a few comments on it. Very early in life Balzac formed for himself a theory of woman and of love. See Memoir, p. 261. When I wrote that Memoir I was not aware of the character of tlhese letters. I now see from certain of them (those from the tinie he received Mmne. Ilanska's first letter till lie met her at Neufchatel) that, lie kept that ideal before him up to his 34th year, making, apparently, various attempts to realize it, which failed (if we except one lifelong affection) until he met with M\me. 1lanska. No one, I think, can read those letters, without recognizing that they are the expression of an ideal hope, in a soul striving to escape from the awful (it was nothing less than awful) struggle between its genius and its circumstances into the calumer heaven for whuich all his life he had longed. They are imayinative, rash to folly, but they are in keeping with his nature, his headlong need of expansion, and thle elsewhere recorded desires of his spirit. That mind must be a worldly one, I think, that cannot see the truth about this man, clingoing, through the turmoil of his life and of his nature, to his star," and( dying of exhaustion at the last. But wlhat shall we think of the men who have not only shut their eyes to the purity of this 1014 ITOnWi, dc hBatl'a. [1833 story, the strollnest te,.titllony to whichti is i this ely yvollne., but have used1 it to cast tplJon this mant and tllis x\\oma tile glamlour of,. vodlltomisless " ElItoiu Ihas been told ill the I re fce to pr e: (I) deception; (2) the forgery of oile passage; (3) tile filsllcttiol of dates. C(olliiig tll,,se factIs wicil the litetl:,' illIx>i1,ilitx tlhat )alztac ever wrotl a. portiol of the letters just 'gix ei, 'e ee ' j ustiliei il }believinug that a ce1tain itnumlher of the letters tat lhere lullow are forgelies. I class tleo i '>o;l ows: - ii r'i ) Ba lzaise, xta\ i n ( leeva (fro 1)ee. 25 to Feb. 8) iineieen letters are ',ive; (all ta l im1iscrlilmlatecl ' ( eneva, a ary, 14';-I." Eleven of tliee atr frie-: il liCle notes, suchl as would iiaturally lass between fried(is it d(li- iiterelrse. T ihe tlallitil i t lotail Iiattters so lisloal that I plj1 e ili nit.I Applqeix a letrer fro)tm Balzac to his friend Aladalme (tirrastl, itilleit (al /e buma'c t/t, atnd leave tie readler to forn1 his own jldtmteilt. Next follow twelve1 le ters (fromt 1Fe,!. 1) t5, March 11, 1834) wxhicht I characterize as flillLfam ls forle(tries. IBitt, ti ei itefttioe ai is not far to seek' It i is I ', ill tlls vdliiuIe, —itl letters froi l'Ialazac tliat bare hlis so)Il ill tte tra-'ir' silt-le of hlis life'; letters thlat show the deep respcst of lit ieart aili -f his mind for tle wolliati whltot lie Itelti to lbe hIis star anti tle gltide of his spirit. -'1. 1834] Letters to 1Mdar;ze ]Hans:7a.. 105 II. LETTERS DURING 1834. GENEVA, January, 1834. MADAME,- I (lo not know if I had the honour to tell you yesterday that I might, perhaps, not have the pleasure of dining with you to-day. I shotuld be in despair if you could think I did not attach an extreme value to that favour by making you wait for me in vain. Your cousin has enigaged ime for Thursday next; I have accepted so as not to seem absurd in my seclusion. I hope you will see nothing '"Frencl " in tllis sentiment. I hope this continual rain has not ma(le you sad, and I beg youl to present my most distilgullished sentiments to M. Ilanski, and accept my most affectionate homage and obedience. DE BALZAC. GENEVA, VJanuary, 1834. AMADAM.E, - HIere is the first part of your cotig(/creian poems. But you will presently see a, mnal in despair. I do not like to bring you the Ch,;nier, and yet I hesitate to send it back. Of all that I ordered, niothingi, has been done. Binding execrably ugly, covering silly. One should be there one's self to 'have tilings done. If you accept it you must remember only the good intentions with which I took charge of your book; that is the only way to give it value. 1(6 lonore de Balzac. [1834 I have been into town; I made myself joyous; I thought I had found somethingl tlat would give you pleasure. I have (cdernfj(I myself. if you permit it, I will compensate my annoyance by coming to see you earlier. A thousand graceful homages. II)No 01iL I considered the cotiyt:ac so precious I would not delay your gastronomic joys. GENEVA, Jannary, 1834. MADAME, - Will you exchange colonial prodlucts? Here is a little of my coffee. My sister writes thlat I shall have more to-morrow; therefore, take tlhis. You shall have your Coffee-l)ot to-morrow. Will you give me a little tea for my breakfast? I want strictly a little. Have you passed a good night? Are you well? Have you had good (realms? I hope your health is good, so tlhat we can go aind take a walk [?nos mVro.iieicJ', bri)nnzcci']. The treasury?... To 'ih! To tIE MIA.JFSTY 1ZFCW;SKIlEXNE, 51IME. IIANSIKA. GENEVA, Janmary, 18.34. Very dear sovereigl, sacre d Majesty, sublime queen of Paulowska and circu mjaeent regions, autoi'crat of hearts, rose of Occident, star of tlhe North, etc., etc., etc., fairy of tlye.No/(s.' Your Grace wished for my coffee-pot, and I entreat your Serene Higllness to do me the honour to accept one that is prettier and mnore complete; and then to lell me, to fling me from your eminent tthrone a word full of happiness, amber, and flowers, to let me know if I am to be at Your sublime door in an hour, with a carriage, to go to Coppet. 1 Bromener and Oti/nllr.ies (ti<',,ds lindens), make fiun of her pronuniciatio,. - T'. 1834] Letters to Madame IIanskla. 107 I lay my homage at the feet of your Majesty, and entreat you to believe in the honesty of your humble moujik, HONORESKI. GENEVA, January, 1834. Never did an invalid less merit that name. He is ready to go to walk, to fetch his proofs, and when his business is finished, which will be in about a quarter of an hour, he will go and propose to Madame la doctrice to profit by this beautiful day to take an air-bath on the Cret of Geneva, along the iron railings; unless the laziness of the Hanski household concurs with that of the poor literary moujik who lays at your feet, madame, his strings of imaginary pearls, the treasure of his heroes, his fanciful Alhambra, where he has carved, everywhere, not the sacred name of God, but a human name that is sacred in other ways. But all this immense property may not be worth, in reality, the four games won yesterday. GENEVA, January, 1834. I have slept like a dormouse, I feel like a charm, I love you like a madcap, I hope that you are well, and I send you a thousand tendernesses. GENEVA, January, 1834. If I must come this evening, and dress myself because you have your charaders, permit me to come a little earlier. There is a dinner here; they are singing and making such a noise while I write that it is enough to drive the devil away. Ecco. I can calculate. Wednesday I shall be encandolle [dinner with M. de Candolle]. Thursday is taken. To-morrow I work without intermission, for I shall have proofs. So, out of five days, when one has but one in prospect, it is no flattery to add a few hours. Yes? Very good. Allow me to return your "Marquis" by a good "Marechale." 108 Honorc de Balzae. [1834 GENEVA, January, 1834. Willingyl/, but, you will bring me back to your house, will you not? - for I can't get accustomed to be two steps away from you, doing nothing, without better employing my time. If you go into tlhe town I will ask you to be so kind - No, I will go myself. GENEVA, January, 1834. MADAME, - To a man who considers happy moments as the miost profitable moments of existence, it is permitted to wish not to lose any part of the sums he amasses. It is only in the matter of joy that I wish to be Grandet. If I take this morning the time that you would give me, from three to ten o'clock, would you refuse me? No? G(ood. If you love me'? - yes - you will be visible at twelve or one o'clock. Forgive my avarice; I possess as yet nothing but the lhappiness which heaven bestows. Of tlhat I may be avaricious, since I have nothing else. To you, a thousand affectionate respects, and my obeisances to the llonouralle Maroechal of the Ukraine and noble circumjacent regions. GENEVA, January, 1834. I cannot come because I am more unwell than I expected to be, and going out might do me harm. If you would have the kindness to send me back a little orgeat you would do me a real service, for I don't know what to drink, and I have a consuming thirst. I have spent my day very sadly, trying to work, and finding myself incapable of it. So, I think I shall go to bed in a few hours. A thousand thanks, and present my respects to the Grand Marechal. 1834] Letters to Madame Hanska. 109 GENEVA, January, 1834. MADAME, - If it were not that I get impatient and suffer at losing so much time, both for that which gives me pleasure and also for my work, I should be this morning well, and like a man who has had a fever. I don't know whether I had better go out or keep my room; but I frankly own that here, alone, I worry horribly. A thousand thanks for your good care, and forgive me that, yesterday, I was more surprised than grateful at your visit, which touched me deeply after you had left. I don't know if you know that there are things that get stronger as they get older. A thousand thanks and grateful regards to M. Hanski. How stupid I am to have made you anxious for so slight a matter; but how happy I am to know that you have as much friendship for me as I for you. GENEVA, January, 1834. My love, this morning I am perfectly well. I was embarrassed yesterday because there were for you, under the things you moved about, two letters I send with this. Mon Dieu! my love, I am afraid that step of yours (your visit to my room) may be ill taken, and that you exposed the two letters. For other reasons, Mon Dieu! certainly, I wanted to see you here! I have such need to cure my cold that if I go out it cannot be till this evening. I am up; I could not stay in bed longer, I am too uncomfortable. I must talk or have something to do. Inaction kills me. Yesterday, I spent a horrible evening thinking of what I had to do. I am this morning like a man who has had a fever. A thousand tender caresses. Mon Dieu! how I suffer when I don't see you. I have a thousand things to tell you. 110 olonorc de Balzac. [1834 GENEVA, January, 1834. What have I done that last evening should end thus, my dear, beloved Eve? Do you forget that you are my last hope in life? 1 don't speak of love, or human sentiments, you are more than all that to me. Why do you trample under your feet all the hopes of our life in a word? You doubt one who loves you freely with delights; to whom to feel you is delirious happiness, who loves you i, ceternumn, and you do not doubt...! 0 my love! you play very lightly with a life you chose to have, and which, moreover, has been given to you with an entire devotion which I should have given you if you had not demanded it. I like better that you did wish for it. I love you with too much constancy that such disputes should not be mort'al to me. Alioln D]ie! I have toll you the secrets of my life, and you ought, in return for such unlimited confidence, to spare lhim who lives in you the torture of such doubts. You hold( me by the hand, and the day you withdraw that adored hand you alone will know the reason of what becomes of ime. My beloved Eve, I commit extravagance on extravagalce. It is impossible to think of anything but you. It is not a desire, though I h-ave fully the right to desire pleasure more keenly than other men, and this desire renders me stupelied at times; no, it is a need to breathe your air, to see you, and yesterday you gave me eternal memories of beauty. If I had no sacred pecuniary obligations (and I commit the folly of forgetting them sometimes), we would not think of the rue Cassini. No. Yesterday at Diodati f said to myself: "'Why should I quit my Eve; why not follow her everywhere?" I wish it, myself. I accept all sufferings when I see you; and you, you wounded me yesterday. But you do not love as I do; you do not know what 1834] Letters to Madame Hanska. 111 love is; I, for my sorrow, have known its delights, and I see that from Neufehatel to my death I can reach the end desired through my whole youth, and concentrate my life and my affections on a single heart! Dearest, dearest, I am too unhappy from the things of life not to make it a cruelty in her I love and idolize to cause me a shadow of grief. I would like better the moest horrible of agonies to causing you pain. Must I come and seek a kiss? GENEVA, January, 1834. Your doubts do me harm. You are more powerful than all. Angel of my life, why should I not follow you everywhere? Because of poverty. M1on Dieu, you have nothing to fear. From the day on which I told 'you that I loved you, nothing has altered this delicious life; it is my only life. Do not dishonour it by suspicions; (1do not trouble our pleasures. There was no one before you in my heart; you will fill it forever. Why do you arm yourself with thoughts of my former life? Do not punish me for my beautiful confidence. I wish you to know all my past, because all my future is yours. Break your heart! Sacrifice you to anything whatever! Why, you don't know me! I am ashamed to bring you sufferings. I am ashamed not to be able to give you a life in harmony with the life of the heart. I suffer unheard-of woes, which you efface by your presence. Pardon, my love, for what you call my coquetries. Pardon a Parisian for a simple Parisian talk; but what you will shall be done. I will go to see no one. Two visits of a quarter of an hour will end all. Perish a thousand times the society of Geneva rather than see you sad for a quarter of an hour's conversation. It would be ridiculous (for others) that I should occupy myself with you only. I was bound to respect you, and in order to talk to you so much it was necessary that I 112 H1 f,,,,'/ (j B( la. t,'. [1 34 should talk with Madame P.... iBesides, what trifles! Before the Ocea n of which you talk, are you going to conl'cern yourself al)out a miscrable spider? Mlon Dlee! youl ((oll t know N. hat it is to 1,e;i//ifl;nit./o What I wrote youl this nmollniig is of natlure to show you how falset a'te your fears. I nevetr ceased to look at yout while talklin' to iMaatmi... Ailn de-arest, my dear wife, mv 'va, I woiuld willinllly sell mv talent for two t ll)olsand d (cats! 1 wvuld follow vou like a shlad(lxv. I )o vot w is tos, () bhack to AVierzeltownlia'? I w ill follow you aIl sty there all my life. Blut we emust lh]ve pretexts, a.Md, tunfiartinate that I am, I cannot leave Paris wvithout sa.i,'viug' editors and cred itors. I have reecivedl twxo letters; olne from that good olorl'get, the )thler from miiy siser. Tronbles upon troI)i iles. To have at all mo1n1tCIs thie siglht of paradise and the sufieria, (;f hlcl, - io thlat liv/i g? (;., VA, January, 1834. My love, my only lit'fe, my mliy tlhoughlt, ohl! your letter! it is Nxwrittell forevetr on oiy heart. EListen, celestia:l:tangel, fo 'r you are not of this earth. I will reply to you on these tlliiigs once for all. Fame, vality, self-love, litera tre, they are scarcely clouds utpon o)r s:ky. You tramnl)le all that twenty times a d'ay lbeneath your feet, wANhich I kiss twenty times. O(), mv angel, see ime at your knees as I tell you tllis: if I have hlad l he llmost filgitive of reputations it lhas com]e when I did itnot want it. I was drunk for it till I was twenty-two. I wante(l it; as a 1pharos to attract to me an aigel. I l5ad l notiinlo' with which to please; I blamed myself. An angel canme; I let myself suffer in her bosima, hiding from her lnmy desires for a young and 1)eautifull wlllman. She saw those desiies and said to me: 1834] Letters to iiadame Ifanska. 113 "When she comes I will be your mother, I will have the love of a mother, the devotion of a mother." 1 Then one day the misery of my life grew greater. The toils of night and day began. She who had offered me, oil her knees, her fortune, which I had taken, which I was returning at the peril of my life, she watched, she corrected, she refined, as I refined, corrected, watched. Then all my desires were extinguished in work. It was no longer a question of fame, but of money. I owed, and I had nothing. Three years I worked without relaxation, having drawn a brass circle around me from 1828 to 1831. I abhor Madame de C[astries], for she broke that life without giving me another, -I do not say a comparable one, but without giving me what she promised. There is not the shadow of wounded vanity, oh! but disgust and contempt. You alone have made me know the vanities of fame. When I saw you at Neufchatel I wanted to be something. In you then begins, more splendid than I dreamed it, that dreamed life. Oh! my Eve, you alone in my life to come! -Alas! like Louis Lambert I wish that I could give you my past. Thus, nothing that is success, f ame, Parisian distractions, moves me. There is but one power 'that makes me accept my present life: Toil. It calms the exactions of my fiery temperament. It is because I fear myself that I am chaste. As for this seclusion that you want, hey! I want it as much as you. It is not being a fop to tell you that since Neufchiatel three ravishing women have come to the rue Cassini, and that I did not even cast a man's glance on seeing them. 1 Madame de Berny is meant, and the invention of this letter is infamous. See letter to Madame Carraud in Appendix, written at the same time as this spurious letter. - TR. 8 114 1Hotiore de Balz'.\ [Ls:34 My Eve, I love you better than you love me, for I amn alone in thle secret of what I lose, and you know nothing of love but the sentiments of love. Besides, 1 love vyo better, for I have more reasons to love you. if I were free I would live near you, happy to )e tlie steward of yolur fortune and the artisan of your wealthl, as Madame Carraud's brother is for AMadame (l'Argomit. I have a security of love, a plenitude of devotion, which you AwNill only know with time. It needs time to fathom the infinite. To suffer the whole of life with you, taking a few rare moments of lhappiness, yes! To have a lifetime in two years, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten years, and die, yes! Never to speak to a woman, to refuse myself to all, to live in you, oh, angel! but tlhat is my thonught at all hours. The... which I told you about Maldame P... was because she hlad vexed you, and before your sufferingl I became besotted, as you before mine. Ml1o.n Dieut! if we lived togethler, if I llad twenty (ldcals a mnonth, to you should belong my poems. I would write books, an;d readl them to you(, and we would burn them ill oour lire. My ad(ored 'minet/, I weep somnetimies in thinking that I sell my ideas, that people readt me! All! yo do not know what I could be if, free for one evening, I coul(l speak to you, see you, caress yotu by my thoughts and by myself. Oh()11! vo would then know that your thioughlts of purity, of exclusive tenderness are mine. Anigel of my life, I live in you, for you, by you. Only, if I am mistaken, tell me so without anger. There is never any false or ')ad intention in nme. I obey my heart in all tlhat is sentiment. I have never known what a calculation is. If I mistake, it is in good faith. Mly love, let us never separate. In six monthls I shaHl be free. Well, then, no power on earth can disunite us. L,, dileet,i was forty-six when I was twenty-two. Why talk about your forty years? We have thirty years a834i Letters to Miadame Hanska. 115 before us. Do you think that at sixty-four a man betrays thirty years' affection? What! you think that the opera, the salonI, fame can distract me from you? Then you don't know how I love you. I shall be more angry at that than you at Madame P... No, believe me, I love you as a wornill loves and as a man loves. In my life to come there is nothing but you and work. My dear gift, my dear star, my sweet spirit, let yourself be caressed by hope, and say to yourself that I am not amorous or passionate; all that passes. I love you, I adore you in ceternum. I believe in you as I do in myself. MJon Dieu! I would like to know words which could infuse into you my soul and my thought, which could tell you that you are in my heart, in my blood, in my brain, in my thought, - in short, the life of my life; that each beating of my heart gives birth to a desire full of thee. Oh! you do not know what are three years of chastity, which spring_at every moment to the heart and make it bound, to the head and make it palpitate. If I were not sober and did not work, this purity would drive me mad. I alone am in the secret of the terrible emotions which the emanations from your dear person give me. It is an unspeakable delirium which, by turns, freezes my nature by the omnipotence of desire, and makes me burn. I resist follies like those of the young seigneur cut down by the Elector. We have, both of us, our sufferings; do not let us dispute that. Let us love each other, and do not refuse me that which makes all accepted. In other respects, in all things, angel, I am submissive to you as to God. Take my life, ask me to die, order me all things, except not to love you, not to desire you, not to possess you. Outside of that all is possible to me in your name. 116 16nll or (le eBalzace. [IsM3 GENEVA, January, 1834. If you only knew the superstitions you give me! When I work I put tlhe talisman on my finger; I put it on the first finger of the left hand, with which I hold my paper, so that your thought clasps mie. You are there, with me. Now, ill seeking from the air for words and ideas, I ask theml of that delicious ring; in it I have found the whole of ' S.rapliita." Love celestial, what thin'gs I have to say to you, for which one needs tlhe sacre(1 hours during which the heart feels the need of baring itself. The adorable pleasures of love are the only means of arriving at that union, that fusion of souls. Dear, with wlhat joy I see the fortunes of my heart and the fate of lly soul secured to me. Yes, I will love you alone and solely tlhrough my life. You have all that pleases nme. You exhale, for me, the most intoxicating perfume a woman can have; that alone is a treasure of love. I love you with a fanaticism that does not exclude the quietude of a love without possible storms. Yes, say to yourself well tlhat I breathe by the air you breathe, that I canll never have aniy other thought than you. You are the end of all for ime. You shall be the young dileetc — already I call you the pre (ilet(ta. l)o not nurmur at this alliance of the two sentiments. I should like to thinkl I loved you in her, and that the zol)ble qualities which touched me and made me better thanl I was were all in you. I love you, my angel of earth, as they loved in the middle ages, with the mIost complete fidelity, and my love will a'ways be granl, without stain; I am proud of my love. It is thle lprinciple of a new life. Ilence, the ewv co(urage that I feel under my last adversities. I would beo Leater, lbe something glorious, so that the crown to )lace upoin your head should le the most leafy, the most flowery of all those that great men have nobly won! 1834] Letters to Madame Hanska. 117 Never, therefore, have fear or distrust; there are no abysses in heaven! A thousand kisses full of caresses; a thousand caresses full of kisses! Maon Dieit! shall I never be abie to make you see how I love you, you, my Eve! A bientot; a thousand kisses will be in my first look. GENEVA, January, 1834. My loved love, with a single caress you have returned me to life. Oh! my dearest, I have not been able- to either sleep or work. Lost in the remembrance of that evening, I have said to you a world of tendernesses. Oh! you have that divine soul to which one remains attached during a lifetime. My soul, you have, through love, the delicious language of love which makes all griefs and annoyances fly away on wings. Loved angel, do not obscure with any doubt the inspirations of love of which your dear caress is but tlhe interpreter. Do not think you can ever enter into comparison with any one, no matter who. But, my loved darling, my flower of heaven, do you not understand, you, all charm and all truth, that a poor poet can be struck at finding the same heart, at being loved beyond his hopes? My adored wife, yes, it was for you that the heart of the most delicate and sweetest woman that ever was brought me up. I shall be permitted to say to her: "You wished to be twenty years old to love me better and give me even the pleasures of vanity. Well, I have met with what you wished me." She will be joyous for Is. Dear eternal idol, my beautiful and holy religion, I know how the memories of another love must wound a proud and delicate love. But not to speak of it to you would be to deprive you of nameless fetes of the soul, and joys of love. There are such identities of tenderness and soul that I am proud for you, and I know not if it is you I loved in her. Then, an ungovernable jealousy has so 118 lHontore de Balzac. [1834 habituated me to think with open heart, and say all to her in whom I live, that 1 could never hide from you a thought. No, you are my own heart. Yes, to you all is permitted. I shall tell you naively all that I think that is tine, and all that I think that is bad. You are an I, handsomer, prettier. My love has neither exaltation, 1or 1 more, nor less, nor anything tlhat is terrestrial. O(h! my dear Eve, it is the love of the angel always at the same degree of force, of exaltation. To feel, to touch your hand of love, that hand of soft, pe oad sentiments, - do you understand me, my angel, tender, kind, passionate, - that hand, polishe(d and relaxed of love, that is a happiness as great as your caress of honey and of fire. Tills is what I wished to say to my timid angel, who tholtught that all caresses were not solida ire. One, the lightest as the most passionate, comprises all. In that you see to the bottom of my soul. A kiss on your cherished lips, -those virgin lips that have no souvenirs yet (which makes you in my eyes as pure as the purest young girl), - a kiss will be a talisman for the desires of love, wlhen it contains all the caresses of love. Our poor kiss, still disinherited of all our joys, only goes to your heart, and I would that it enwrapped ail your person. You would see that possession augments, enlarges love. You would know your IIonore, your husband; and you would know that he loves you more daily. My (learest Eva, never doubt me, but doubt yourself less. I have told you tlhat there is in you, in your letters, in your love, in. its expression, a something I know not what that is more than in other letters and expressions that I thougiht inimital)le. IBut v0ou are twenty-eight years oldl, - tlat is the grand secret. But. (dear treasure, you have the most celestial soul that I know, and you have intoxicating beauties. Mon Di)eu! how shall I tell you that I am drunk at the faintest scent 1834] Letters to JMadame lIanska. 119 of you, and that had I possessed you a thousand times you would see me more intoxicated still, because there would be hope and memory where now there is only hope. Do you remember the bird that has but one flower? That is the history of my heart and my love. Oh! dear celestial flower, dear embalming perfumes, dear fresh colours, my beautiful stalk, do not bend, guard me always. At each advance of a love which goes and ever will go on increasing, I feel in my heart foyers of tenderness and adoration. Oh! I want to be sure of you as I am of myself. I feel at each respiration that I have in my heart a constancy that nothing can alter. I wept on the road to Diodati, when, after having promised me all the caresses that you have granted me, a woman was able, with a single word, to cut the woof she seemed to have taken such pleasure in weaving. Judge if I adore you, you who perceive nothing of these odious manceuvres, who deliver yourself up with candour and happiness to love, and who speaks thus to all my natures. There is my confession made. I think that you have all the noblenesses of the heart, for, adored angel, one should respect the weakness and even the crimes of a woman, and if I hide nothing from your heart, it is that it ought always to be mine. So I send you my sister's chatter and the letter of Madame de C[astries] on condition that you burn all, my angel. I know you so true, so great; ah! I would not hesitate to read you the letter of the dilecta if you wish it, for you are really myself. I would not hide from you the shadow of a thought, and you ought, at all hours, to enter my heart, as into the palace you have chosen to spread your treasures in, to adllorn it, and lind pleasure in it. All should there be yours. If Madame C...'s letter displeases you, say so 120 IIonorJ de -Balzae. [1834 frankly, my love. I will write to her that my affections are placed in a heart too jealous for me to be permitted to correspond with a woman who has her reputation for beauty, for charm, and that I act frankly in telling her so. I wish to write this letter fromn myself. I would like well that you should tell it to mne. As for my money trombies, do not be uneasy about them. It is the basis of my life, till tle 1cend of July, love, wlhichl makes everything' easy to Ine to }ear. Pardon inme for having( made knownl to yo0l yesterday's trouble. ()Ol, dear, always beautiful Ilower, I am ashamed to haave made you know the extent of your Imission, buat you are an inexhaustible treasury of atfection, of love, of tenderness, anId I shall always find in you more consolations than I have tiroublles. You have 1)t into my thoughts atnd all my hours a li"ght, a gleam, which makes me elndure a'l. I wake up happy to love you1; I go to bed happy to be loved. It is the life of anogels; andl imy despair comes from feeling in it the discord which my want of fortune an(l of liberty puts between the desires (f my heart, tlhe iinlpulses of my nature, and the works wlhich kee) inme in an ignoble cablin like thie moujiks of Paulowska. If I were only at Paulowska! I would that you were I for a moment to know how you are loved. TIhen I would be sure that seeing so nmuch love, so much devotion, such great security of sentiument, you would never have a d(oubt, and you would love ia r terni'o:i a heart that loves you thus. A thlousar;d kisses, and may eacl halve in itself a thousand caresses to) you like that of yesterday to mie. GENEIVA, Januarv, 1834. Dear soul of my soul, I entreat you, attachl yourself solely - your cares, your 1h}ough!ts, your memory - to what will be in my life a constant thought. Let the 1834] Letters to Jladamc Iiatnska. 121 piece of malachite become by you alone an inkstand. I will explain the shape. It should be cut six-sided; the sides should be about the dimensions of the sides of your card-basket, except that they ought to end, at the top, squarely, as at the base; they should go up, enlarging froim the base to the top, and, to decide, logically, the conditions of the stand, the pot for the ink (hollowed out in the malachite) must have at its surface a diameter equal to this line [drawn]. The cover, shaped like a marchepain, must be round, and sunk in the pot; it should be simple, and end in a silver-gilt knob. Let the stand have a handle, fastened on by simple buttons, and this handle, of bronzed silver-gilt, should be like that of your card-basket. IIave engraved upon it our motto: Adoremnus in ceternm,1, between the date of your first letter and that of Netfchlitel. The inkstand should be mounted on a pedestal, also of six sides, suitably projecting; and on each side, at the junction of the pedestal and the stand, there should be, in art-term, a. moulding of silver-gilt, which is simply a round cordon, which must harmonize with the proportions of the inkstand. Then I think that at the top of the sides this moulding should be repeated. In the middle of each side of the pedestal put a star; then, in small letters, in the middle of each large side, these words: Exadit, - Vox, - Anygeli, separated by stars (which makes "Eva"). If you want to be magnificent you will add a paperknife of a single piece of malachite and a powder-pot, the shape of which I will explain to you. Not to displease that person I will give him Decamp's drawing which you can get back, and I will ask him; in exchange, for a piece of malachite for my alarm-clock. Here is Susette. I can only say that this will make me renounce the pleasure of making you pick up on the shores of the lake the pebbles I intended to have 122 _I01onor d/e Balzac. [1834 made into an alarm-clock. I went, yesterday, to see if we could walk along the shore. I wanted to connect you with these souvenirs, to make you see that one can thus enlarge life and the world, anid have the right to surround you with my thought througih a thousalnd things, as I would like to surround imyseh with yours. Thus sentiment moulds material objects and gives them a soul and a voice. What! bebete, did you not guess that the ded(ication was a surprise which I wished to give yotl? You are, for!ong(er thian you think, the thouglit of my thought. Yes, I shall try to come to-night at nine. G ENE VA, January 19, 1 834. 13My loved angel, I am almost mad for you, as ole is mad. I cannot put two ideas together that you do not come between them. I can thiink of nothing lbut you. In spite of myself my imagination brinlgs me back to you. I hold you, I press you, I kiss you, I caress you; and a thousand caresses, the most amorous, lay hold uponl me. As to my heart, you will always be there,,ii'lliif/lt/: I feel you there deliciously. But, i;os Difet.' whlat will become of me if you lhave taken away my mind. Oh it is a monoloallia that frilghtens nme. I rise every moment, saying to myself, " Come, I '11 )o there' " Theli I sit down again, recalled by a sense of my obligations. It is a dreadful strugwgle. It is not life. I hl.ave never been like titis. You have eonIsumned the whole of me. I feel stupefied 1andl happy when I let myse'f 7+o to thliking1 of you. I roll in a delicious revery, where I live a thousand years in a moment. Wiha t a horrible situation. Crowned with love, feelin l love in all my pores, living only for love, qand to fi'.<l oneself consumed by grief and caught in a thousand spider's —webs. 1834] Letters to Madame Itanska. 123 Oh! my dearest Eva, you don't know. I have picked up your card; it is there, before me, and 1 speak to it as if you were there. I saw you yesterday, beautiful, so admirably beautiful. Yesterday, all the evening, I said to myself, "She is mine!" Oh! the angels are not as happy in Paradise as I was yesterday. GENEVA, February, 1834. MADAME, - Bautte [chief clock-lnaker in Geneva] is a great seigneur who is bored by small matters; and as you deign to attach some importance to the chain of your slave, I send you the worthy Liodet, who will understand better what is wanted, and will put more good-will into doing it. I have told him to put a link to join the two little chains. Accept a thousand compliments, and the respectful homage of your moujik, HONORE. GENEVA, February, 1834. The Sire de Balzac is very well indeed, madame, and will be, in a few moments, at your fireside for a chat; he is too avaricious of the few moments that remain to him to spend in Geneva, and if he had not had some letters to answer, he would have gone there already this morning. A thousand affectionate compliments to M. Hanski, and to you a thousand homages full of friendship. PARIS, Wednesday, February 12, 1834. I prefer saying nothing more than that I love you with increasing intoxication, with a devotion that difficulties increase, to telling you imperfectly my history for the last three days. Sunday I will post a complete journal. I have not a minute to myself. Everything hurries me at once, and time presses. But,. adored angel, you will divine me. 121 Ho Inor' l/C B(tlzac. [1834 The dilectfa [Madame de Berny] is better, but the futurl6 seems bad to me. I wait still before des)airing. MJ[on Dieeu! may my thoughts of love echo in your ears and cradle you. PAntIS, iThurslay, rs clFruary 13, 1834. MA A,tME, - I arcived much fatiguoled, but I found troubles at hoime, of which you can conceive the keenness. Madame (le Berny is ill. and( seriously ill, -- more ill thian she is aware of. I see in her face a fatal change. I hide any anxiety from her it is boundless. Until my own doctor or a somnamlbul!ist reassure me, ] shall not feel easy about that life which you know to bQ so precious. I have delayed a (lay in writing to you, because oil WVedllesday morliing, I lhad to rush to the rue d'Enfer, and when I could write to you there was no longer time; the public otiees closed earlier o(t account of AshWednesdav. The sigitt of tllat face so gracious, aged in a month by twenty years, and horribly contracted, lias greatly increased the grief I felt. Even if tlhe health is restored, and I llol)e it, it will be always painful to me to see tile sad chtinge to old age. I can say this only to you. It seems as if nature had avenged herself suddenly, in a moment, for thle long protestation made agailst her and time. 1 hope most ardently that the life may be saved; but I recognized symptoms that I saw with horror in my father before the irreparable loss. So, I have sorrow upon sorrow. 1 Now, after 1 Madame do Berny was the friend of his parents, and twenty-four years oler than himself. When the family lived at Villeparisis the (de Bern'vs lived near them in a ]lire(1 house, their own estate being at Saint-Firmin. Mlladame (0 Berny recoo'nized IBalzac's genius in his early youth, when lparents and friends denied( it. For a time, Nwhile at Villoparisis, lihe tanulht her son with his own )rother thenrv. When Balzac's father opposed his literary career, it was she who, witlh 1834j Letters to Mfadame Hanska.. 125 confiding to you these distresses, I can, madame, give you some consoling news. The publisher has understood my delay, and is not angry with me. I have, certainly, to work enormously, but, at least, I shall not have the annoyance of beillg blamed. As for M. Gosselin, that is only a loss of money. So, you who felt such affectionate fears lest the prolongation of my stay would prove a burden may be reassured. I shall have had complete joy, and no remorse; and now that there is no remorse, I should like a little. It is so sweet to bear something for those whose friendship is precious to us. I can tell you from afar, with less trembling in my voice and redness in my eyes, that the forty-four days I spent in Geneva have been one of the sweetest halts Mrne. Surville and her husband, induced the old man to advance him p:art of his inheritance for the printing-office, a(nd later another portion to avoid bankruptcy. When the crisis came, in 1828, and his father would do no more for him, Madame (le Berny lent him money from time to time to meet his load of business debts. The total amount lent by her, at five per cent interest, was 45,000 francs, the last 6,000 of which he paid in full in 1836. Madame de Berny had cruel trials of her own. Two of her children were insane, one idolized son and two daughters died before her in the prime of their youth. The illness here mentioned was one form of heart disease, from which she rallied for a time, but died in July, 1836, in the sixty-first year of her age. Of Balzac's grief at this event his sister says: " My brother was then (1836) overwhelmed by a great heart-sorrow... the death of a person very dear to him.... I have never read anything so eloquent as his expression of that grief." Writing, himself, to a friend at that time, he says " She whom I have lost was more than a mother, more tlian a friend, more than any creature can be to another creature. I can explain her only by divinity. She sustained me during great storms by words, by actions, by devotion. If I live, it was through her. She was all to me; and though for the last two years illness and lapse of time had separated us, vet we were visible to each other fronm a distance. She re-acted upon me. She was, as it were, my moral sun. Madame de Mortsauf in the Lys is a )ale expression of her noble qualities; it is but a distant reflection of her, for I have a horror of prostituting my own emotions." - Tit. 126 lHonore de Balzac. [1834 that I have made in my life of a literary foot-soldier. That rest was necessary for me, and you have made it into a joy. It was a sleep) with tlihe sweetest dreams, -- dreams which will be realities. True friendship, sweet, kinld, noble andl good se eltilneits are, so rare in life that there must mninote a little grLatittd(le in the return we owe, and I feel as muchl gratitude as friendship. I shall forget nothing of our affectionate little agreements: neither the albuml, nor thle coffee, nor anything. To-day I can only tell you tlhat I arri-ved without any hindrance, except great fatiguie. The cold was keenl. Saturday morning I crossed the Jura on foot through the snow, and on reaching the stone where two years ago I sat down to look at the wonderful spectacle of Franlce andl Switzerland separatedl by a brook, wllich is the Lake of Geneva, and a ditch, which is tlhe valley between tlie Mont Blanc and thle Jura, I had a moilnemet of joy mingled with sadness. Two years ago I wel)t over lost illusions [refers to his rupture with Mine. de Castries], and to-day I liad to regret thle sweetest thiings thlat have ever come to me, outside of family feel ings, - hours of friendship, tle valule of which a poor writer from necessity must feel more keenly than others, because there is in him a great poet for all that is emotion of thle heart. Yes, I am proud of my personal feelingis, but it is a great grief to know the joys of friendship to their full extent, and lose them, even momentarily. To-day I replunge into work, and it is crushing. I have promised that the second Part of the ' Etu(les (le Mceurs " shall appear February 2.5th. Tliat is olly ten days for completing you know how much. My punctuality must excuse the delays. You see that in writing I am as indiscreet as when I went to see you. Well, adieu, madame; believe thlat I am not "Freneh" in the matter of memory, amid that I know all tlhat I leave of good and true b)eyond thle Jura. In the li)uis 1834] Letters to Madame Hanska. 127 when I am worn-out I shall think of our evenings; and the word patience, written in the depths of my life, will make me think of our games. You know all that I would say to the Grand Marechal of the Ukraine, aind I am certain that my words will be more graceful from your lips than from my pen. Tell Anna that her horse sends her his remembrances and kisses her forehead. A thousand affectionate compliments to Mademoiselle Severine; inform Mademoiselle Borel that I have not broken my neck, and keep, I entreat you, madame, at your feet, my most sincere and most affectionate homage; your noble beauty assures you of sincerity, and as to the affection, I wish I could prove it to you in some way that would not involve misfortune. "Do not forget to-morrow," was one of your recommendations when I told you that I did not believe in morrows; but now I do believe in them, for, by chlance, I have a future, and my publisher h'as proved it to me. Ile is jubilant at the sale of "Eugenlie Grandet," and said to me solemnly, "It sells like bread." I tell this to you who think you see cakes in it, while most people expect to see me f./ire briocrhes of it [fiasco]. Excuse this studio jest, you who like artists. Devotion and friendship. PARIS, February 15, 1834, eleven o'clock. My darling Eva, to you belongs this part of my night. Since Wednesday morning of this week I have been like a balloon; but as I went and came, and bustled through this Paris, I walked along, exciting myself with one fixed idea, - the idea of being forever near to you. My dear idol, I have never had so much courage in my life; or rather, I have a new life. I read your name in me, I see you; everything seems easy to me to attain to seeing you again. I am afraid of nothing. My tears, my regrets, my sadness of love, - all that falls 128 Hoenore de Batlzac. [1834 upon my heart at the moment when I get into bed. Then, alone with myself, I ant all grief not to be at the "Arc," not to have seen my darling, and I ogo over in memory the smallest details of those days when, for all (grief, I had that of beiJng waked three holurs too soon, hours that separated my risingo from the moment when I set out to go to you. The next (lay I work with an ardour of enthusiasm. What shall I tell you of these four days? I had to see two editors (they came) and the )prilter, to finish my proofs, to nurse Mine. de Berny, who is better, - btt wl-at a change! she is still a little feeble, incapable of correcting my proofs. Everything will stiffer for that, but what does it matter? I want to see that life out of danger. I felt there how I loved you. A horrible sensation told me that I could not bear any (ldalger to you. All that recalled my terror at the time of your nervous attack. Oh, oa DL]ieu! to see you seriously ill, you, who sum up and hold all my affections in your heart, my life in your life, - why! I should die, not of your death, but of your sufferings. No, you (lo not know what you are to nme. Near you, I feel too much to tell you egotistical thoughts; here I talk to you all day long. You are woven irnto my tlhoutht. t find no word but tlfat to express my situatioll. As soon as I found myself in Paris I thought of tlhe means of going to see you for a single day in Geineva. Here I find violenlt family troubles. To-day I have had my brother-in-law ad(l my mother to dinner. That tells you that from five o'clock to half-past ten I have been given up) to them. Yesterday I had to dine with my sister, my mother, and my brother-in-law; then 1 was forced to give them from four to eleven o'clock. Those poor heads are distracted. I must have courage, ideas, energy, ecoom?/y for all of them. The morning of this Friday I set lmyself to learni all 18341 Letters to Mladame Hanska. 129 that has happened here. I had to go out early, to see the doctor, negotiate a payment for to-day, 15th, and consult him. So you see the employment of to-day and yesterday. Thursday was taken up by the publishers, a little sleep and a bath, also by Madame de Berny, to whom I wished at any rate to read " Ne touchez pas a la hache." Wednesday, the day after my arrival, I wrote you in the evening, I ran about all the morning, set my affairs in order, attended to a thousand little things, which I don't particularize, as they are all mere necessary nothings, - made up my accounts, wrote, etc. After this avalanche of small things here I am, not much rested, rather less anxious about the dilecta, before a pile of. proofs and enormous debts for the end of the month. Madame D... has urgent need of half her money by the end of February. It is now the 15th, the month is a short one, I must finish my two volumes; I must finish "Ne touchez pas" and write " La Femme aux yeux rouges." My adored, my darling minette, I tell you things that are terrifying, but do not be alarmed. Vienna is traced out before me; all will be well. Your desire to see me, your love, all you hovers above me. I believe in you only; I want new successes, new fame, new courage; I will in short, that you shall be a thousand times prouder of your husband of love than of your lover. Yes, dear celestial Eva, I am melancholy because I am here and you are down there, but I have no more discouragements, no more depressions. When I raise my eyes I see something better than God, I see a sure happiness, a tried happiness. Oh! you do not know, my treasure, my dear life, what such sweet certainty is to my soul. You don't know what you did with your infernal jesting, you remember? You tried upon a most loving heart a weapon you did not know was loaded. A moment more, and I was lost. My eternal love could be placed on you alone; 9) 13o Ifonor6C de Balzac. [1 834 I see it, I know it now, for now I desire you more tlha ever. MIy dearest soul, I have for myself all the efforts that I make to meet you again; I materialize my hope. But, my beautiful myself, you, what are you doinlg? Alh! my beautiful, sailntly creature, I know it is not on him of Paris that the b1ur(lell is lleaviest; it is our Geneva love, it is you who, bearing all our happ)iess, feel most our pains, our sorrows. Neither (lo I ever look at tus two without a smile full of hope, but also slighltly tainted with sadness. Oh! my idolized 'angel, you in whom all my future resides, all my happiness, and( for whom I desire all the fine glories that makle a happy woman, you whom I love with all the ardour of a young sentiment, of a first and a last love in one, yes, know it well, no sufferings, ideas, joys, wlich can agitate your soul fail to come 'and agitate mine.1 At this moment when I write to you, having left all to plunge into your heart, to come nearer to you, no, I feel space no longer; we are near one to tlhe other; I see you, and one of my senses is iJntoxicated by the memory of one of those little voluptuous moments which made me so happy! I am very proud of you. I cry out to myself that I love you! You see, a poet's love has a little madn(ess in it. None but artists are worthy of women, because they are somewhat women too. Oil! what need I have always to iear myself told tlhat I am love(l, to hear you repeat it! You, you are all. You will know only when you hear my vo)ice how ardlently I tell you thlat you are the only well-beloved, thle only wife. Now I shall rush there more amn-orously than thle two preceding times. You know why, my dear, naive wife? Because I know you better, because I know all there is of divine 1 This ridiculous stuff is carefully translated word for word. The reader nuist make what hie can of it It is lu(licrols to sulppose that Balzac ever wrote thes(e vapourings of a shop-hoy to his female kind. - Ti. 1834] Letters to lMadame Hanska. 131 and girlish in your dear, celestial character, because - No, I never dreamed so ambitiously the perfections that are agreeable to me because I know that I can love ever. Going to Neufchatel I wanted to love you; returning from Geneva it is impossible not to love you! Who will ever know what the road to Ferney is at the spot where, having to leave on the morrow, I stood still at the sight of your dear, saddened face. lIon Dieu! if I tried to tell you all the thoughts there are in my soul, the voluptuous pleasures which my heart contains and desires, I should never cease writing, and, unfortunately, the word " Vienna" is there. I am cruel to both of us in the name of a continued happiness; yes, one year passed together will prove to you that you can be better loved each day, and I aspire to September... My d(earest, I have many griefs; this flaming happiness is surrounded by briars, thorns, stones. I cannot speak to you of family troubles; they are endless. You will know thein from one word, you who feel through a sister what, in another order of things, I feel through my mother. My mother has committed, with good intentions, follies that bring a person into disrepute. Here am I, I, so busy, forced to undertake the education of my mother, hold her in check, make a child of her.1 Dear angel, what a sad thing to think that if the world has accumulated obstacles in my life, my family have done worse in being of no use to me, and secretly hampering me. One day or other the world counts us as a 1 His whole correspondence, and all that we know and can gather of his life go to prove that he never coull have written this. His familyl then consisted of his mother and Mmie. Serville. His affection for M. and Mime. Surville appears in every part of his life. His mother seems to have been at times irritating, and very inijudicious with him, u)t not in the way suggested. At one period he intrnsted her with all his affairs, and she was his business agent. Ile shows in his life and writings a strong respect for the Family bond, and his last letter to his mlother is signed " Ton fils souinis "-" Your snbmnissive son." —TR, 132 Honore de Balzac. [1834 victor to have beaten it. But family griefs are between us alnd God. I told Blorg'et that September would see me in Vienna, and a whole year inl the Ukraine and the Crimea, and you know I wrote him tllhat lie could meet you in Italy. I send you a scrap of a letter from that excellent friend; it will please you; you will see in it that nobility of soul, that beatuty of sentiment, that make us love him. WhIat rush of love he has to those wlho love his friend! But do not go and love him too nitl(', Jlf(tadete. He will take to you your chai?, the sketches of my apartment, and your seal, if it is done, without knowing what he hands to you. So tell me the (lay you will be in Venice; he will go there. Ile is my Thla(ldes, yon see. What he does for me, I should (do for himl. One is never jealous of fine sentimlents. As much as de((thI, entered cold into your husbland's heart when you spoke of a coquetry to Saverine, so mulech should I go joyously to accomplish in your name a service to your Tlhadd(eus. From to-day, Sunday, I shall write to you every day a word, on a little diary. Yes, the AViirtemberg Coquebin slhall alone touch the manuscril)t of II Seraphita," which will le coarsely bound in the gray cloth which slipped so easily onil tlhe floors. Am I not a little of a woman, hey, / if (tte? Have I not found a pretty use for what you wanted destroyed, and a souvenir? Nothing can be more precious, or silll)ler. Book of celestial love, clothed in love and in joys terrestrial as compllete as it is possible to have here )elow. Yes, angel, complete, full! Yes, my ambitious one, you fill all lmy life! Yes, we can be happy every day, feeling every day new joys. MIon, Die/f! Firiday at dinner I saw in my sister's home one of those scenes wliicli prove tihat il.spired love, that jealous love, tlhat notlillng iii Paris can resist continued 1overty. Oh! (lear amgel, what at terrible reaction ii in v heart, thinkiiig of the little ione i: the rue Cassini. HlOw 1834] Letters to lIadame Hanska. 133 I swore to myself then, with that iron will, never to expose the flowers of my life to be in the brown pot in which were the pinks of Ida's mother, - you know, in "Ferragus." No, no, I never could have that experience, for never shall I forget the 14th of February, 1834, any more than the 26th of January; there is a lesson in it for me. Yes, I want too much; there exists in my being an invincible need to love you always better, that I may never expose my love to any misunderstanding. Oh, my heart, my soul, my life, with what joy I recognize at every step that I love you as you dream of being loved. The most indifferent things enter into this circumference. No, your young girl's chain shall remain pure. I would like to employ it. It is too pretty for a man. That is why I wanted your head by Grosclaude. What a delicious border I could have made of it, and what a delicious thought to surround you, you, my dear wife, with all the superstitions of your childhood which I adore. Your childhood was mine. We are brothers and sisters through the sorrows of childhood. There is one of your smiles of happiness, a ravishing little contraction, a paleness that takes you at the moment of joy, which returns to stab me with intoxicating memories. Oh! you do not know with what depth you correspond to the caprices, the loves, the pleasures, the poesies, the seitimenlts of my nature! Come, adieu. Think, my beloved, that at every instant of the day a thought of love surrounds you; that a light more brilliant and secret gilds your atmosphere; that my thought is all about you; that my interior eyes see you; that a constant desire caresses you; that I work in your name and for you. Take good care of yourself; and remember that the only serious order that is given to you by him who loves you and whom you have told me you wished to obey is to walk a great deal whatever the weather may be. You must. Ah! the doctor laughed 134 IIoolorc de BLalzac. [1834 at my fears. Nevertheless, there are baths to be taken, and some precautions, "' fruits of my excessive lab)our," lie said. " So long' as you lead your chaste, monkish life and work your twelve hours a day, take every mornlinig an infusion of wild pansy." Is n't his prescription droll? You know all tlhe caressinlg desires that I send you. AVell, I hope that every We(liesday you will ]know how to draw my letter from thle claws of the post. From now till the endl of the monlth I sllall work only my111 twelve hours, sleep seven, an(l sl)read out tile live others in rest, reading, baths, and the bustle of life. Your Bengali is wise. Well, a thousand( flowers of the soul. All realection made, I shall send your ostellsible letter by Borget. PAntIS, February 17 - February 23, 1834. No letter to-day, my dearest Eve. Monl D)i/?! are you ill? What tortures one has at such a distance! If you are ill, and they have taken your letters! A thousand tlhotuglts enter my brain -and make ine desperate. To-day I work much, but get on little. To-morrow I am forced to go and dine with A. (de Margonne, the lord of Sachl. Nevertheless, I get up1 at half-past one iin tlhe morning anld go to bed at half-past six. Myv habits of work are resumlied and the fati'gues of toil; 1)lt I bear them well. I fiad unheard-of difficulties in doing well what I have to (1do at this moment. At every instant of the day my thoughlt flies to you. I have mortal fears of beillt( less loved. I adore you with such compnl)ete abandonment! I have such need of knlowing myself loved! I can be happy only when I receive a letter from you, not every (lay, but every two days. Your letters refresh nmy soul; they cast into it celestial balm. You calnot doubt me; I work 1ight and day, an(d every line brigs ns ne nearer to you. liBut you, my beloved angel, what are you doitig? You are idle; you still 1834] Letters to Madame ICtanska. 135 see a little company. Mon Diet! what ties are between us! They will not break, say! You do not know how much I am attached to you by all the things that you thought would detach me. There is not only ungovernable love, passions, happiness, pleasures, there is also, from me to you, I know not what profound esteem of moral qualities. Your mind will always please me; your soul is strong; you are fully the wife I desire for mine. I go over deliciously within me those forty-five days, and everything proves to me that I am right in my love. Yes, I can love you always; always hold out to you a hand full of true affection and redeive you in a heart that is always full of you. I like to speak to you of your superiority because it is real. Every sound your soul gives out is grand, strong, and true. I am very happy through you in thinking that you have all the qualities which perpetuate attachment in life. My dear flower of love, I wrote in my last letter that I wished you to walk; but I wish more, I also wish you to give up coffee au lait and tea. I wish you to obey me, and I desire that you shall only eat dark meats. Above all, that you bring yourself gradually to using cold water when you dress. Will you not do all that when it is. asked of you in the name of love? Do not depart in any way from that regimen. As for walking, begin by short walks and increase every day till you can do six miles on foot. Take your walk fasting, getting up, and coming back to breakfast on a little meat, but dark and always roasted. If you love me you will manage yourself in this way with a constancy that nothing hinders. Then your beauty will remain the same; you will get slightly thinner, your health will be good, and you will prevent many illnesses. Oh! I implore you, follow this regimen, and when you are near the sea take sea-baths. You do not know how I love you. 1 -6 ]iOl ( n,' d(e B}alzac. l1834 Tuesday, 18. Still no letter; what anguish! I Lave just returned from Madame de C[:astriesj, wlhoml I do not waint for an eiielmy wi-hen my look coimes out, andl thle best means of oltai.illiiga 'l defelter a ga'ilst, the faubomurg Saillt-(erimain is to 111make lier alpprove of the wo(rk ill a(lvalce; andl she grieatly altpproved of it. I carried to Madame Appolly A5I:ldamle 1Poto(ka,'s letter. Tile ambll asadlress [of Allstrial was at hei toilet; I (iL Jlot see ler, ald, onl tile wo1(le, I ailm (')lltelt; I do lo11t vwanIt to be disturbe(l, I wish to i i owhere, eand tile si;la1r idea las colme to 111e of shaving my head like a moink,o mas to,u e uiable to go, out of tlme hotuse. I haIve to go to a b)aH! Saturday at )Dallii's; lie ]ias dol(e me services, a:l I am forced to have some gratitude. D)o you know there is some question. of may taking my mother, sister, tanl brother-inl-law to live here? I awN it a family (ouicil upon it. I see matly inco-veniieices; tlhe lessenlliig of rmy liberty, thoutghi nothing would prevent my going to tlhe Ukraine and Vietnna anad abseniting myself two years. Bllt, for the last two dats, my reason tells Inme to refuse this union; and yet it is tlle only leansll to prevenit my mother from commniitting follies. What vexationis and impedimelnt,-!m I hlave workedt little to-day and have rushed about much. Wednesday, 19. Fturiousi work. Thte ll Duchesse de J.angeatis " costs me more thaln i can tell you. In my op)iiioni it is colossal in work, but it will be little appreciated by the crowd. My pul)lisher refuses me any moniey for iny mon(th's blills; here I ami constrained to a thoudsand -tnnoying efforts, and shall I succeed(? lie is rihit; lie represents Madame 13ehet, and tells me he can't ask her to pay in a(lvanlce; the new Part must absolultely be )iroulght out. So I sed(l you a thousand telidlernesses i'e, re'ading' tlmis iie, you must thiiLk that th le l t o. c!'.r s l ve ma s ull of 1834] Letters to lIadame ItanS.7ta. 137 love, that he had need to write to you a thousand gracious things, but that he must be silent and work! Till to-morrow. Thursday, 20, five o'clock. My mother, sister, and brother-in-law are coming to dinner to talk over affairs. I have worked since one hour after midniaht till three hours after midday without leaving off. Now, angel of mine, decidedly you will shudder, you will palpitate, when you read the "' Duchesse de Langeais," for it is the greatest thing in women that I have so far done. No woman of this Faubourg resembles her. You have a thousand thoughts of love, a thousand caresses, a thousand prettinesses. I think of you and your pleasure when I hear my name uttered gloriously everywhere. I wish to become great for a sentiment greater still. Till to-morrow. A kiss to the wife, a little pigeonnerie to Eve. A thousand souls for you in my soul. Friday, 21. I have your letter, the second letter written to your dearest one. Mon Dieu! how I love you! The thousand desires, the hopes of happiness which fired my heart at each turn of the wheel as I went to Netfchatel, the certain delights that I went to find in Geneva and which made you sublime, ravishing, in short a wife, forever mine, - well, I have felt all tlhose divers em.tions once more, augmented by dear joys, by the adorable security of an angel in his sky. Oh! my love, what rapid wilngs have borne me near to you! Yes, my thought has kissed your magnificent forehead, my heart has been in your heart, my thought in your beautiful hair, and my mouth - I dare not say, but certainly it breathed love and kissed you with unheard-of ardour. Oh! dear Eve, dear'treasure of happiness, dear, 138 HIonore de Balzace. [l 834 noble soul, dear light, dear world, my onlly happiness, how shall I tell you fully that I felt there that I loved you in &etetrnm? I oug'ht to have read that letter on my knees before your portrait! What courage you communicate to me Eh bien, I am glad at wlhat you inform me of. To have it so, it must he the fruit of conscientious thought. Oh! dear darling, I want tlhat this other y?/o, this othler we, well, I wish he m.iy have all thlat can flatter the vanities of a mother, that lie may be tall, that he have your forehead, my energy, that he be handsome and noble, a great heart and a fine soul. For all that, wisdom! At Vienna, my love, at Vienna, we will try. What delights inl chastity, in fame, inl work that has an object. Fidelity, fame, toil, all tllhat for a woman, onle only, for her whose love shinles already upon me for all my life. Yes, Eva, Eva of love, my beautiful and noble mistress, my pretty, naive servant, my great sovereign, my fairy, my flower, yes, you light all things! Persist in your projects; be a woman as superior in your conduct as you are in your plans. Be as strong in your house as you are in your love. Oh! your letters, they ravish me, they stir me; oh! you make me dote upoin you! What a soul, what a heart, what a dear mind l! YIou crown my ambitions, and yesterday I was saying' to Mine. de B... that you were - you, the unknown of (Geneva and Neufectltel -the realization of the ambitious prog'ramme I had made of a woman. Ah! my love, it is something?, after tlhe triumphl tliat all women desire to obtain over the senses and the heart of their lovers, to obtl'in also the eomplete and entire assurance that they are admired from afar, that we can always esteem them, cherish them, take 1)leasure beside them. Such as you have seen me near you, such I shall ever be. To you all my smiles, to you the flowers of heart and love, inexhaustible in their bloom. To you the 1834] Letters to Madame Ilanska. 139 candour and freshness of my sentiments, to you all. To you, who understand the mind, the gaiety, the melancholy, tlie grandeur, the transports of the ever diverse love of a poet! Oh! I stop, kissing your eyes. To-morrow I rush, about; I have tiresome business matters; but this is the last time. I shall finish at one blow the difficulty about the " Physiologie du Mariage," and by the end of March I shall not owe a sou to Madame Delannoy. After? Well, I shall resume work to accomplish the rest. I tell you nothing of these tramps, but they take much time, weary me, exhaust me, and my love, as much as necessity, cries to me every morning, "March! " My love, my Eve, night and day I go to sleep and wake in your heart, in your thought. To suffer, to work for you, these are pleasures. Till to-morrow. Saturday, 22. I have just received your ostensible letter and have answered it. I spoke stupidly of your chain, but I have not the heart to throw the letter into the fire and write it over again. I am tired. To-night I must go to a ball; I, at a ball! But, my love, I must. It is at the house of the only friend who has ever gallantly served me. I will send you the pattern of a chain, that of Vaucanson; have it made solid, and Liodet can send it to me and draw on me for the cost. Tell me if bronze-gilt things can enter Russia. I have had an admirable three-branched candelabrilm made here, and I should like to send you one; also an inkstand and an alarm-clock (a very useful thing to a woman), in short, all that I use here to be the same with you. If I had been richer do you think I would not have substituted to you a chain like. yours and taken yours, in order that you might say to yourself while playing with it, " He plays with that chain! " But I can make such joys for ourselves later. Answer me about the bronze, 140 Hlonor d(-e T.anzU c. [1834 because I want you to have that masterpiece before your eyes. Think, what happiness to see as you write to me, Exsultat viia;w (tiaqleloritm, which I shall see ill writing to you. O(h! I am greedy, hungry for such things, which put two lovers unceasingly in each other's hearts! I shall have your room at Wierzchowniia made just like mine here. 1 wanlt you to have the same carpet. Ot1! I adore vyon. Just now I wept on thinking of the floor of your house in Geneva. How lucky to have thle strength not to coug'h! These tears have told me that I slhall be at Vienna, September 10, and that I shall press you, happy one, on tltis heart that is all yours. JBe('te, inl ten years you will be thirty-seven and I forty-five, and, at that age we can love, marry, and adore etech othler for a lifetime. Come, my noble companion, my dear Eve, never any doubts, - you have promised me. Love with confidence. Seraphiita is we two. Let us spread our winis with tlhe same movement, a(nd love in the same way. I adore you, looking neither before nor behind. Yomt are tlie present, all my happiness at every moment. Do not he jealous of Madame P...'s letter; that woman must be/ior us. I have flattered her, and I wanlt her to think that you are (didained. All that I read you in the " I)uchesse de Langenis "' has been changed. You will read a new b)ook. D)ear angel, no, we will never quit the sphere of happiness where you have made me a halppiness so complete. Love ime always, you will see me always happy; oh, my life, oh, my beautiful life! Here, I no longer know what all annoyance is in seeing my whole life ardent with one sole love. Tell me what you are doing. Your visit to Genthod (lelighlted me. Never let any woman bite you without biting her deeper. They will fear you and esteem you. Thanks for the violet; but an end of white ribbon would please me better; it has no longer any smell. I send you a violet from my garden. 1834] Letters to Madame Hanska. 141 Sunday, 23. Adieu, soul of my soul; will this letter tell you how you are loved? Will it tell it to you really? No; never really. II faut mes coups de bee la ou est l'amour. I hope to finish my volume this week. You will receive it in Geneva. I will attend to your orders, and do blindly what you tell me. But write names legibly in all business. Would you believe that two young men dined with me yesterday and told me that several men, two of them friends of theirs, said they were I at the [masked] ball at the Opera, and obtained the favours of well-bred women while I was at Geneva, and that I have been thus calumniated. There are women who boast they have been mine, and that they come to me, to me, who see only la dilecta, who receive nobody, who want 'to live in your heart! I learned that last night. Well, adieu my love; no, not adieu, but ah bientot, at Vienna, cara mia, my treasure. I have to work horribly, still; seven or eight proofs to a sheet. Ah! you will never know what the volume you will soon read has cost. I hope to be in funds for my payments; I hope that on March 25th the third Part will appear. So, all goes well. I lose five hundred francs more by Gosselin, but pooh! The violet will tell you a thousand things of love. The Wtirtemberg Coquebin will bind " Seraphita" marvellously with the gray cloth; do you understand, treasure? I go to-day at three o'clock to Madame Appony. Perhaps I shall wish to go to Madame Potocka of Paris. I will speak to you of that. PARIS, March 2, 1834. My salvation! For my salvation! No, let me believe that between the two persons of whom you are thinking and me, you have not hesitated, you have condemned me. At least, there is in that all the grandeur of true love. I was working night and day to go to you. Now I shall 142 4Ho2 nor cde Balzat[c. [1s831 certainly work as much, for it is not possible for mte to take the sli-ghtest resolution till my motlher is physically happy. 1 have still a year to suffer. Let us say no more of ine. So you lhave been cruelly agitated? A sentimnent which gives such remorse was feebler aud it is my heart that was blamed! -1, to whom (t(o'emtls i(,n (telil ww meant sometluinl! Fate is about to take from me a true affection, and( to-dlay I lose all my beliefs in hla')ppiness, witllout anytlhing being able to disengaage me frolm myself. Alh! you have not known me! All those who have suffered forgive, you know. 1 shall stay as I am; I cannot change. You said yourself: The Jules womnell love faithfully, in spite of desertion." Am I therefore not a man? Is this another test? It co3sts me more thanl life; it costs me my courage. I cannot oppose to this blow either disdaini, contempt, or any of tle egotisti'cal seintiineits tlhat console. I remnain in my stupor, without iud(erstaiding. All! i knew not that I was writing for myself: T) ewoluided haIts, silence and sl/~ide. Afot Diieu! nmy book is tfiiishled; I am iot rich enough to destroy it, but I lay it, at your knees, beogitg 'you not to read it: Eve should (not opetn a book in w hich is the I)uchesse de e Laneais." You mighlt, though certain of the entire devotion of him who writes to you, be woulnde(l, as one is pricked by bushes. I shall always weep at beiiig unable to suppress it. I cannot bid you adieu; I shall never quit you more, and, from this day, I shall not allow myself even the sight of a woman. But you have not told me all! I have been odiously calumniated. You have given ear to inmpostors. There is roo1n for many blows in a heart like miine; you cannot kill it easily. It is eternally yours, without division. I tell you nothing of what is in my soul; I have neither 1834] Letters to AMadame IHanska. 143 strength nor ideas. I suffer through you. So long as it is from your hand, why should 1 complain? Ah! you shall see that I know how to love. Our hearts will always understand each other. PARIS, March 9, 1834. My angel returns to me; ah! I will hide my anguish from you, my griefs, my terrible resolutions of a week in which all things have come together to rend my heart. You, Monday; Tuesday. I quarrelled, perhaps to fight; with Emile de Girardin, - that was happiness. There 's a society I shall never see again and never want to see. My enemies are setting about a rumour of my liaison with a Russian princess; they name Madame P... I have seen since my return only Madame Appony, Madame de C..., Madame de G..., and, for one hour, Madame de la B... That rumour can come only from Geneva, and not from me, who have never opened my mouth about my journey. Here I am, on bad terms with Madame de C[astries] on account of the " Duchesse de Langeais "- so much the better. But all this happens at once. So, no solitude shall ever be more complete than mine. I have but an hour in which to answer you. Oh! my love, I swear to you I wrote to Madame P... only to prevent the road to Russia being closed to me. It would be poor cleverness to have it said here, in Paris, that I am starting for Russia. That is the way to have passports refused to me when I ask for them. I have not seen Zaluzki. Is it he who talks? Mon Dieu! 1, in my hole, to be subjected to such griefs. Read the " Duchesse de Langeais." You will read it with delight. As true as that I love and adore you, I never said more than two sentences to Madame Bossi, and I never looked at her. You desire, oh, my angel, that I shall not again be coquettish except with men. But between now and Vienna there is only toil and solitude. Give me the 144 jilo') ' de, Be alz,~ac. L1834 means to sein(i you my book. and your coffee, in which will be your hair-ciLain. Therefore, undo the parcel yourself. NeN,r give youl-s,-elf such anxieties again; yesterday, Saturday, withtout i', (/iit, I should have killed myself. O-a! i entreat you, if yo)u vwishi tiai [ should esteem you aixnd adore you to the enlmI of (our days, do not change; ble solely 1lnille. I, tio you see e.1 oe e but you. O 'The sll)uperhluman efforts that I malke are the greatest proofs of love a man canl give. Oh, der, adored one, my Eve, my Eva, to give his life, what is that? Nothing'. Each time that I saw you I gave it without regret. I sacrificed all to you. But to rise every day at ini'ight to plulnge into a crater of work, and t, do it withl one name upon my lips, one imago in my heart, one wVoman. belfore me! — strcnye)l and, c(Osta,,l, y I live oly by the sentileint of grandeur which a nmysterious: 1,ve conl:veys to Ime. This is loving. ()tO be illy true BeAtrice, a Beatrice who gives herself, but remainis an ang-el, a li}lit! All that your jealousy can denian(l, all titat yor caprice canl exact shall be d(lone withl j,o. Except tlhe di/ccta, who corrects my proofs and who, I swear tO) you, is a motthe-, no woman stall hlear me, shall see me. My mother ald sister have decided. They w-ill live torether, land not come to me. I:ain still free. Oh1, my love, my love, de:ar a'(l adolred, for(.ive ine my an.swer to your letter; buat to satcrifice a love like mine to a child, to a husband, to reject it for a'ty interest whatever; that kills me. Oh, my angel, to thinlk tlhat vou are a fancy, after all tlhat you snid to ine. after all that you exacted, all that I accomplishe(l, — it is enough to die of it! I am proudly a poet; I live 1 y tle heart, by senltim'ents only, -and I ihave bit, one sentiment. My dilecita, ~at sixty years of ag-e, is no long-er anvtlinng but a mother; she is all my family, as you are all my heart, all my future! 1834] Letters to Madame Hanska. 145 I have to work hard; the " Duchesse" will appear on the 15th; she excites all Paris already. Mon Dieu! a thousand kisses; may each be worth a thousand. Oh, my angel, I hope I may not again have to tell you that to betray me in the name of any one whatever is to put me to death. I kiss you with transport. The Bengali is virtuous. He is dead under his toil. Put Ave on the inkstand. The." Contes Drolatiques" will tell you why. I have said nothing. I had a thousand effusions of the soul; I am forced to keep them back. This letter must go to the post at one o'clock. I received yours at midday. PARIS, March 11, 1834. My flower, my one sole love, I have just received the letter you wrote me after having received the letter of badnesses. Oh! what happiness to be able to write to you once more so that you can leave Geneva without a regret! Since the letter in which you return to me, you cannot imagine how beautiful, grand, sumptuous, has been the fete in my heart at the recovery of your cherished heart. What joy, what intoxication of thought, what forgetfulness of pain, or rather how sweet its memory is, since it tells me how much you are loved, adored, as you wish to be. Oh! if you had seen all that, never a suspicion, nor a doubting word, nor a written phrase would dishonour the purity, the blue immensity of this love that dyes all my soul, fills all my life, is become the foundation of all my thoughts. For the last two days I am drunk with happiness, glad, joyous, dancing, when I have a moment, jumping like a child. Oh, dear talisman of happiness, darling Eva, minette, wife, sister, family, light, all! I live alone in delights; I have said a sincere farewell to the world, to all. Mon Dieu! forgive what you call my coquetries; I kneel at your beloved knees, dimpled, loved, kissed, 10 146 Ilotorc de Balac.l [1834 caressed; I lay my head against you, I ask pardon, I will be solitary, a worker, I will walk with none but Madame (le B..., I will work without ceasing. Oh! blessed be the Saleve, if the Saleve gives me my happy Eve! All! dearest, I adore you, don't you see? I have no other life, no other future. I received yesterday a letter from Madame P... I shall not answer it, to end the correspondence. Besides, I can write only to you. My time is taken up in a frightful manner. For the last ten days I have not varied it; to bed at six o'clock, rising at midnighlit. I slhall (ldo this till April 20. After which I slall take two weeks' liberty to rest. My book will appear oll the 16th, the d(ay of your departure from Geneva. You will filnd it addressed to you, b6treau t esitfat, at the coach oilffice in G(enoa. I wrote you in great haste on Sunday. Incredible tales are being told about me. While I am sitting up all night they say an Englishwoman has eloped with me. It is no longer a Russian princess; it is an Englishwoman. Oh! my dear treasure, I implore you, never let your dear celestial forehead be clouded by the effect of a " they say," for you will hear it gravely said that I am crazy, ~tand a thousand absurdities. Write to me and expect an answer. I never keep you waiting. Your dear writing overcomes Inme; it shines in my eves like the sun. I fecl you, I breathe you when I see it. You will travel surrounded by the thoughlts of love; I accom1panly you in idea, I never leave you. At each correction made, at each page written, I cry, "' Vienna!" That is my word of joy, my exclamation of happiness. Why do you speak of God? There are not two religions, and you are mine. If you totter, I shall believe in nothing. Oh! my love, you have given me?Iousc,, J'; you will never withdraw it. One alone cannot break that which belongs to two. You are all nobleness, be all constancy. 1834] Letters to Madame Iianska. 147 I shall be that without effort, with joy; I love you like my breath, and in ceternmu; oh, yes, for all my life. I cannot tell you the sufferings of my week of passion. of my desire to go and end my days at your house in Neufchatel. I told Borget to come at once. I withdrew 'Seraphita" from the printers, and meant to send.you a sole copy (without the manuscript), bound with your gifts of love. In short, a thousand follies, a thousand tempests agitated my heart cruelly. Oh! I am much of a child! It is a crime to torment a love so true, so pure, so unutterable! Oh! how angry I was with you! I cursed your analylzting forehead, on which I place a thousand kisses of love. Oh! my good treasure, make me no more bitterness. In writing a few sweet things to Madame P... I had in view to stand well with the dear ambassadress, because, through her, I shall have Pozzo di Borgo, and I do not want any hindrance to my year in the Ukraine, the first complete happiness of my life. So, if your cousin shows you my letter triumphantly, play the disdained, I entreat you. To see the Ukraine, eighteen good months! and no money interests to hamper me! I can even die for you without wronging any one. Listen, my love; this is the secret of my nights: that I may be happy without a thought to tarnish my joy! After that, I can die happy, if I have lived one year beside you. Every hour would be the most beautiful poem of love. At every hour I should be happy with the happiness of a child, a schoolboy, who believes with delight in the love of a woman. If heaven marries us some.day, at whatever moment of my life it be, it will be the union of two souls in one. You are a dear, loved spirit. You please me in all ways, and you are, far-off or near, the superior woman, the mistress always desired, each of us sustaining the other. It is so sweet to a man to find that the mind, the heart, the soul, the understanding of the woman who pours out to him his pleasures, is not narrow. 148 JIonorc de Balzac. [1834 Oh! dearest, all is in you. I believe in you, I love you, and as I have known you better I have found a thousand reasons for eternal attachlnient in esteem and in the thousand things of your heart and mind. There is no evil possible for me when I think of the life that you can make me by your love. In writing this, which you will read in that yoom of love before qttittilng it, I wish to cast upon tills 'paper wlich you will hold all my soul, all the talgible qualities of a being who is yours forever; never withdraw from me the heart I have pressed, the adorable charms of tlhat cherished soul - -ollrself in short. Adieu, soul of my s1oul, my faith, strength, courage, love —all the great sentimeunts tlhat make a great man, and a happy life. Adieu; u blie/ot, -and sooner than you think, detarest. lYes, I will love you better than any woman was ever loved, and our "I Cheine" will be better thlan that you picture to ime. Coquette, indeed! You knlow well that my heart will rest in yours without othler clouds to our love than those you nake. Come, Auguste, carry this to the general post-office.1 PARrIS, March 30 - April 3, 1834. I have not written to you soonier, madame, because I presutled that you woul(l not be inl Florence before the 1st of April. I hlave sent to the addres-s of MM. Borri & Co. a littl e c1)kage containing your copy of thle second part of thle ' Jtudes de Mw(urs au XIX' Siecle," and I have aided the Prologue of the third dizain of the "Coant-s i)rolatiques " for M. IIanski, inasmuch as there is something in it about a famous idnkstand, and thin:gs that will make him laugh; for I do not insult you with 1 This is tle last but one of these spurious letters. There is one other whtich plainly )elrags to this series, but it hlas been placed at a later date for a purpose which will appear farther on. -TiR. 1834] Letters to Iacdacme Ilanska. 149 - my Prologue, pay attention to that. It is to M. Hanski, and not to you, that this proof belongs. You will see at the end of the " Duchesse de Langeais " that I have preserved a remembrance of the Prel'Eveque by dating the work from that revolutionary and military spot where we saw such warlike intentions. The third dizuin is also dated from the Eaux Vives, and the Ilotel de l'Arc. I have many things to tell you, but little time to myself. My third Part is in the press, and I ought to make up for time lost. Nevertheless. Madame B1chet is a very good person. Forgive the want of order in my letter, but I will tell you the events that have happened to me as they come into my memory. In the first place, I have said adieu to that mole-hill of Gay, Emile de Girardin and Company. I seized the first opportunity, and it was so favorable that I broke off, point-blank. A disagreeal)le affair came near following; but my susceptibility as man of the pen was calmed by a college friend, ex-captain in the ex-Royal Guard, who advised me. It all ended with a piquant speech replying to a jest. Another thing I must tell you is that I have recently quarrelled also with the Fitz-James. And here I am, as much alone as the woman most ambitious of love could desire, if any woman could wish for a man whom excessive work is withering more and more. It is two months to-day that I have been working eighteen hours a day. The "Md ecin de campagne " will be completely sold off in a few days. I am in all the fuss and worries of getting out a new edition of that book, which I want to sell at thirty sous, in order to popularize it. 150 Horforc de Balzac. [1834 Thursday, April 3. From March 30, tle (lay on which I beg'an to write to you, until this evelning, I have been lyin' () m y p, allet unable to write, read, or work; or (1o atisytltilng at all. A prostration of all my forces made ue very anxious but to-day I am quite well, and I amn goinsg for a week to tlhe Pavilion in tile forest of Fontainebleau. I have ordered all my letters to be kept in Paris. I wanit chlange of air, and to work at one thiig oily3; for I hlave j.ult suffered very much, but, thank (God, it is all over. I resume my letter. I invited your cousin Berard... to dinner, with Zaluski, and Mickicwiez, your denrest poet, whose face please(l me much. Bernard is very ha(ldsonie and was very witty. I entreat you, madame, to send me word, by return (1i post, if you will still be in Florence May 10th, how much time you stay in Rome, when you arrive, ail whene you will leave; because when my thint Part is done I slall have twenty (lays to myself. I wanrt to use them in travelling an doin(0g notiing, and I slall accompany Auguste Borget to Floreince. AWe rhhall leave May 1st aid(l it takes only eiglit days from Paris to Ilorenice. D)o not blame me too much for thte nupunctuality of my correspondence. In the extreme desire for IBmEIu1Y which possesses me, I (lon't consult human forces, I work exorbitantly. I have at this monment in press: two volumes of mv third Part of tle " E1tudes de Mwaurs," two volumes of "' Les Clouans," and tile third (1i-ia/; then, in a week from now, two volumes for Gosselin. It is eiou(gh to terrify one. But tlhere are two magic words which make me able to (do all: liberty on thle 1st of Se)tember; Vienva on that d(ay; and I shall not regret my nights or my tortures, for )en-receipts will tally with expenses. MoliO Iien! wlhat a charminr g pro)ject - lc ) le in lcFlorence 1834] Letters to Mladame Hanska. 151 May 10, and back in Paris for the 20th! To see Florence with you! Write me quickly; for after these terrible toils through the month of April I must hlave twenty days' rest, and I know nothing more delightful than to see an Italian city while accompanying a friend. I think of you very often, and I much regret Geneva, where I worked so much, all the while amusing myself. Except for a few worries, my affairs are going well. Some flatterers say that my fame is increasing, but I know nothing of that, for I live in my chimney-corner, working for citizen rights in the Ukraine. Your poor " Sraphita " is laid aside. WV'hat is promised must be done before all else. You yourself, without knowing it, tell me to work. I keep before me the lon ('t tirer [order to print] which you gave for one slieet in Geneva, and it seems to me a perpetual counsel. Do you know, it is rather melancholy to think of you only with regrets. You do not know that for twelve or fifteen years, Neufchaltel and Geneva are the two sole periods when I have been permitted, by what grace of heaven I know not, to look neither forward nor back; to live beneath the sky without thinking of griefs, or business, or poverty; you have been to me something beneficent. There is more gratitude in my remembrance than you know. And now that I have been nailed to an insatiable table for two months, and shall be for another month, leaving it only to sleep, I cannot think without emotion of the walks to Sacconex, to Coppet, and of your house, and my hunger which made us leave the garden where we were sitting under the willows and you discovered that good smell in the Indian chestnut, macerated in water. There are none of those tranquil pleasures in Paris. But I am not in Paris now. Here I am alone, much alone. I have parted from society, and have returned to my former fruitful solitude. Before all things else, I must finish a book, 152 llonlor' (le Bcalz(tc. [1834 and the "Etudes (le lmeurs " ought to be finished this year. My liberty will be to go and come and remain where I plense to go and remain. Nevertheless, I do not know a more agreeable tril) than to Florence to see you for live days, and hear you for one single eveniing say "'tiyeuilles " or "lodet." That, I think, would restore my courage for another three months. Perhaplts sllhall bring M. Illanski tle third dizo in to laugho away his " blue devils;" at any rate, lie lmust b)e very ill if lie resists my wild joy. It is two montlhs since I laughed; one more will make three; buit thwit he shall (lie of laugllhing. Tell him that as G(;eneva was so base in thle matter of the poor Poles, I will never speak well of Geneva again. Aire you comfortab)le in Italy? 1how did you cross the mouonains? I follow you in thoughllt. Have you thotught of your p(oor, lhumble nmoujjik and hlis bloldb cotrieiti,, w at Aix? You oughtil to hlave thoutght of himn at Aiguebelles, where tlhe servantls at tlhe inn are so gracious, anl 't Tur'il, where lie wished to go. T' ha k you, madame, if you' tlihink a little of ]1him wlho tlhinks much ()f y()u. I have not seen ( rosc1laude. Our Exllhibition is detestable. There are live to ten fine plictuires in three thousand five hundred canvases. IHow is your dea(r Anna? You will tell me, wonl't you, how your little caravan rolls oli? M. Iernard... ctame yesterday to make me ecompllimenis on tlhe "')Duehesse de l.aiuneais," a(nd was very gracious. lxon lPic.a! you will forgive me - me, a poor hermit toiler - for talking to you so much of myself, Ibecause I am calling for your eg)'otism ill reply; to talk to nle solely of yourself would be d(oing well by nme. I can tell you only two tlings: I woirk cositanltly, I pay, I think of my friends. 1 have in my heart a happy corner, and that out'ght to sullice to make a noblle life. 1iy ' blue devils" have no time to rise to the surface. 1834] 1834] Letteirs to M~adlame fHanska.15 153 Do you still intend to play Grandet at Wierzehownia? for in that case I shall await thirty invitations before going, there, to save provisions. Do you want anythingo iii Paris? I hope that you and M. Hanuski will not employ any other correspondent than me. But Borget and I will arrive ladlen with cotignae, peach preserves, and Angoul~ine and Strasburg pa-t~s. You ought to give mie a commission; you don't know what pleasure it is to me to busy myself for sonething a friend asks of me, how it brightens my life. A fancey - that 's myself only; but the fancy of another-, whoin I love, is a double f ancy. Spaehmann [binder] has done your album, and I am beg-inningio to collect the auto~graphs. It will take long', but you shall have it, with ptatienice. I begin with the oldest. PigTault-Lebrun is eighty-five years old; he shall begrin it. Adieu, madamne, I would like to keep on writing to you always, just as when I was by your fireside I did not want to go away. But I must bid you adieu - no, not adlieu, but an revoir. I shall await with gTreat impatience your answer, to know. if you will be in Florence May 10. Do be there!The shiorter the journey, the longer time I shall have to see you; I have twenty days to myself, no more. The twenty-first I must resume the Yo/ke of m isery. Madame de G[irardinl] has made many efforts to get me back agyaini, but your obstiniate moujik -he would not be monjik if he did not say "iiie"- has said nay as elegfantly as he could, for he is a little civilized, your devoted moujik.' JioNxonfE DE B ALZAC. 1 Telphinne do Girardin made many,attempts to recover him, and. dIid so, fiuially. Ini spite of his estraiem~einet from her honse she was alwvays 1oxv.,t to him a -nd durino, tile trime( of his quarrel with her husband she wNrote miany kind thidgs of him in " La Presse." -TiR. 1554 H1O4rcl dcl b(lz(,.[13 [1831 You know that all 1 wish to say to those about you; my regards, my respects, will have more value by passing' through your lips. FIAPEI'LE, near Issoti)u, April 10, 1834. MADAME, - Since I had thle pleasure of writillng to you I have been very ill. My nighlt work, my excesses, have been paid for. I fell iilto a state of plrosttration which did not allow me to read or write or even to listen to a sustained discussionl. My bodily weaikness equalled the intellectulal weiakness. 1 could not move. What hlas frighltened ine most is that for tle last two yearas these attacks of debility have increased. At first, after a month of toil, 1 would feel one or two hoturs' weaknless; then five hours, then a whole (lay. Since then tlie weak4aess las ilecoime excessive, last ing1 two days, three days. Thlis tiimne it cnme inear (Ieatl; but for the last tell cdays I am convalescent.i The doctor ordered me change of air, absolute e rel)se, no110 occupationl, an1d 11ourishling food. So I am here for ten (lays in Belry, Lat Issoudunl, with Madame (arratud. To-day, April 10th, I am better; I can write to y< u and tell you of my litite (leath-struggle, my despair, for, feelilng no force, no tllought within 1me, I wept like a child. Butt to-day I recover courag'e; p(fsset p,'i;colo, y(t,,lio il st,,ao. I shall laugh ll t the doctor who said to nme:"You will die like Bichat, like B1'3eard, like all those whlo abuse by their brain the human forces; and whlat is so extraordinlary in this is tliat; you you the most enllergetic foJbi'/cr of emotion, you tliel apostle wh'lio plreach the ab)sence of thouglht, you wlio pretendi tlhat life goes off in the passions and by the action of the )bratin more than by bodily lmotions, -- you will be dead for hlvinr( neglected the formulas you formulated!" 1 This letter in tlie Frei( h volume is dated April 10, which is. of course, wrong, or else the previous letter is imisdated. -- Tit. 1834] Letters to lIadamle Hanslka. 155 From all this has resulted, ma(lame, a good and beautiful )project of opposing to each month of toil a full month of amiusement. So, from the 10th or 12th of May, I shall take twenty days in which to go and see you for two or three clays wherever you are in Italy. If you are willing to see Saint Peter' s at Rome in June, we will see Rome. tog'ether. Then, after admiring Rome for five days, I will come back and take up my yoke. Ne.t, having spent July and August on new pensums, I will go to see Germany, and( salute you once more in Vienna, for I don't know allything sweeter than to give a purpose of friendship to a journey of pure amnusement, to go ill search of two or three gentle evenlillngs, and make you laugh, and chase away the blue devils." You have nbt written to me; (lo you know that there is ing(ratitudle in you? it is you who have a '"French" heart. What! not the smallest little line! Nothing from Genoa, nothing from Florence. You received, I hope, in Florence, my third Part, and the third dizain to make M1. Hahski laugh. Just now I amn completing the third Part, and doing a mnaster-work, - "CUsar Birotteau," - the brother of him wholn you kniow, victim like his brother, but victim of Pllrisian civilization, whereas his brother is the victim of a sinlle man. It is another "M'deein de campagne," but in Paris; it is Socrates stq)id, drinking, in shadow anw (drop by drop, his hemlock; an angel trodden underfoot, an honest mann misjudged. Alh! it is a great pieture; it will be grander, more vast than anything I have yet done. I wanlt, if you forget me, that my name should be cast to you by Famne, as a reproach. Do you know, madamne, that you are very seriously in my prayers of nighlt an1d morning,- you and a'l those you care for? You d(o not truly know the heart which chance has made you meet. A desire to boast possesses 156 1Io,'ord,(I Bdlz<t<. [18S-4 me -but no; titme will be to you.a too constant, too nollle eulooy on nme. I (1o not wish to add to it. As soon as "Birotteau" is printed, the third Part out, the di:(fin inl thle light, I sliall rush joyously to Italy to seek your approbation as a sweet reward. Maitre 1Borget cannot eomee with me; you will see him, no doubt, in Venice; but tlhe artist moves slowly, lie sips all, whereas I am forced to ro like tile wind:an(l retiurl like a vapour. Borget is here, and returnts with me to Patris, April 20. Poor Madaine Carrau (l is very unwell, and is causing alarm to her friendls. Slhe confided to me tle secret of her sufferings. She is )erhlaps prei'nant, aind another chllild would be her (leath. She hlas hardly strength to live. I beg of you, write ine in (dtail about your travelling life, that I may know all your jo()ys and even your disappointments. I have so much a(ldired tle sp)lendid faceo of Mickiewiez; whoat a noble hlead! Write ime what' you think of the l)ucthesse (le l angeais." Kiss Anna on the forehead for me, lier )oo)r h'e. Present my regards to M. lIanski; how does Italy suit hliun? My respects to L[adlemoiselle Slvwerine. To you, madame, y Vllost affectionate thloulLthts. I nimst b)id you adieu for to-(day, bectause work calls me. In ten days, after "Birotteau " is done, I will write you a long letter andl make uIp arrears. I will tell you my past troubles, my sufferings laid to rest, and my sensations, inasmuch as you deign to take an interest in your p1),)or literary mou()jik. Your beautiful Sraphlita is very mournful; sIhe has folded her wings anld awaits the lhour to b)e yours. T will not have a single rival thoughlit disturb tliat tlhought you have adopted. Perhaps I will bring herl to )ome thlat slhe may be d(one, little by little, und(er your eyes. Each day enlarges the picture and mayn;fies 'it. 1834] Letters to Madame Hanska. 157 I have not had time to answer Madame Jeroslas...; she cannot be pleased with me; truly it is not possible for me to write except to you and the persons who are nearest to my heart. One has but three friends in the world, and if one is not exclusive for them, what gocd is it to love? When I have an instant to myself I am too tired to write; but I think; I carry my thoughts back to Geneva, I utter, mechanically, "tiyeuilles," and I illusion myself. Then a proof arrives, and I return to my sad condition of workman, of manual labour. Well, adieu. Be happy; see the beautiful scenery, the fine pictures, the masterpieces, the galleries, and say to yourself if some gnat hums, or the fire sparkles, or a flame darts up, it is a friend's thought coming from my heart, from my soul toward you; and that I, too, I would like my share in those beautiful enjoyments of art, but that I am here in my galley, having nought to offer you except a thought - but a constant thought. I wrote you on the day I felt recovered; therefore have no fear if you take an interest in my health. I have no more weakness except in the eyes. PIAIS, April 28, 1834. MADAME, -I have just received your good letter of the 20th, written in Florence; and you know by this time that it is impossible for me to go there. You must have received my little line from Issoudun, in which I asked you with great cries for Saint Peter's in Rome. For that trip I can answer. At that time all my affairs will be arranged. But Madame BWchet needs me and my Parts, 'otherwise she will be compromised. I hope you have not mingled anything personal in your reflections on: "it was only a poem " [conclusion of the "Duchesse de Langeais"]. You feel, of course, that a Thirteener must have been a man of iron. You would not accuse aa author of thinking all he writes? 158 1tonore de Balzaec. [1834 If painters, poets, artists were sharers in all they represent, they would die at twenty-five. NO(, lly duchess is not my Fornarinla. When I have her - )but /1 o(t e a Fornarina -I shall never paint ther. licr adorable spirit may animiate my soul, her heart lmay be ili my heart, hlie life inl my life, but paint tier, show liher to t le pul)lic! -I would sooner (lie of hullgei, forl shloulid die of slhame. I am very glad that you do not yet know ime fully; because now you may, perhaps, love me better Some day. bA, D)iea! what, you tell me of your health alid that of Monsieur llanlski made me bound in my chair. Ma(lame, in the naimte of the sentilfment, tlhe sincere affection I bear you, I implore you wNhen you or Alonsieur Ilanski or your Anna are ill, write to lme. 1)on't laugh at what I am going to say to you. Recent facts at, Issoudun l)roved to me that I possess a gieat inagiietic power, and that either by a somnambulist, or by miyself, I can cure those who are (lear to me. l Therefore, have recourse to me. I will leave everything to go to you. I will devote myself with the pious warmlth of true (levotio() to the care that illness needs,:aid I can give you undeniable proofs of that singulr 1,power. Therefore, put me in the way of knowing how you are. Don't leceive me, and dlo't laugh at tliis. Your rooriances afflict me. VWhy Ihavea s(l lark suppositions? JMfon Di)e! as for me, when I dream, I dream of happiness only. Yesterday, some one told me thie secret, of Dmy M1jorneys was discovered, and that I l:had 1been to joiln ( lueen Hortense. I laughed much at that. You make me weep witli rage when I read wlalt you say of Florence. Sliall I ever meet willh a'l that again? Oh! make me very supplicatiiig to M. Ilnski for tIme eight days I can be in Rome. See! it is possible. Sa uit Peter's day is the 23rd of June. I ean leave Paris on 1834] Letters to h1(dame Htanska. 159 the 12th for Lyon, and reach Marseille the 15th, whence a steamboat takes you in forty-eight hours to Civita Vecchia. I coul( stay eight or ten days in Rome without doing any harm to my affairs; for all, doctors aind somainbulists, are unanimous in beseeching me to balance a month's work by a mnonth's amusement. Now there is nothing that takes me so out of my worlk as music and travel - in Paris no interest excites my soul; I live in a desert; I am, as it were, in a convent; the heart is moved by nothing. Rome would be a grand and beautiful distraction if I were there alone, but with you for ciceroue what would it be! And this is not said from gallantry, (' la "charming Frenchman." No, it is said from heart to heart, to the woman of the North, to the barbarian! 1 have broken with everybody; I was tired of grimaces. I hlave but two unalterable friendships here which are true, and to which I at times confide. Then, I have w(Yrk into whlich I fling myself daily. This letter will still reach you in Florence. It will tell you feebly my regrets, which are boundless. This heavy material life, which I so largely escaped in Geneva, oppresses me here. I thirst for my liberty, for freedom, and if you knew what prodigies of will, what creating persistence is needed to secure no more than my twelty-foulr cldays in June and July, you would say, like one of my friends who has perceived a little of the intellectual working of my furnace (and you know more than a mere acquaintance), that Napoleon never showed as much will, or as much courage. What you have written me about Montriveau [in the "'Duchesse de Langeais "] worries me, for you are a little epigrammatic, and( it would be a great grief to me to be ill jud(ged or misunderstood by you. You are the second person to whom I have shown my mindi( in its truth. I like to let no one penetrate it, because if they 1GO lonor d(e L'alzac. L[ 8s34 do, what is there to give to those we love? You (lid lot mean to wound nme, did you? I like your jtudgments on Florence and works of art much; and I woul(l greatly like, if you will be so good to your moujiik, tllhat you should stu(ly Rome, so thlat when I come I may not stop to look at bagatelles, blut see inl my eiglht (days.all that there is of really line, anmd good, and masterly, wivichll goes to thle soul. 1)o nolt,ay "Montriveau " to 11e again. Remember thlat I have the life of the heart and the life of thle brain; tlat I live more by sentiments tilha by tle caprices of tle milld; that I would rather feel than express ideas; an'! thlat neither way does wrong Lo tlte other. One nee(ds a little intellect to love. I write you as it comes, without preme(litalion-; for I must tell you that I am il the midlst of "ILes Chouans," whichl I am printing with extreme rapi(lity, causta met/lli, to put an end to some debts. lBut no matter! rmy scribbling will surely tell you tlhat a lovilng thought follows you wherever you go, and that ther'e is at a fireside near the Observatoire a p1)et wlho takes interest il your steps, is troubled by yo1ur cough, and made uneasy by Monsieur lmanski's illness. I was already uneasy enough at receiving no letters from you. I belong to you like a moujik, and if AM. Ilanski gives whleat to his, you owe to me, moujik of Paulowska, a few straws of affection, here and there. You might have written to nmIe lhree times since Turin. I will tell you nothing of rly comblats; I am occupied solely by my work and by a life wlhich is also a work for me; not a poem, madame, btt all tllat there is of good and beanutiful upon tlls earth. Tihus, everythin(g here, p)(litics, 1men, and tilngs, seem to mle very paltry beside whallt I feel in heart and brain. T iam every da( mnore grieved to have )eell forced to Ib)ndoii ' S rapAli; ";'ut in Ronme it shall be tlie work 1834] Letters to Madame ilanskla. 161 of my choice. It belongs to you and it ought to be done beneath your eyes. Mfon Dieu! if you are better, tell me so quickly. Throw into the post these words only: "I am," or "We are better." It is so good to see the writing, the painting, of a thought escaped from the heart of a friend! You don't know how, in the evening, when I am very weary, my castle in the air, my novel, my own, is Diodati; but a Diodati without the deceptions of your novels; a Diodati without bitterness in its denouement. Of us two, am I indeed the younger and the one most full of illusions? There are days when I say tiyeuilles, laughing like a child, and those who take me for a grave man would be stupefied. Come, don't knock down my dreams, my castles. Let me believe in a cloudless sky. Since I exist I have lived by unalterable beliefs only, and you are one of those beliefs. Don't cough and look dark; may the troubles of spleen never come either to you or to Al. Hanski, to whom my letter is half addressed; take it only as a talk full of affection. Our Exhibition has nothing regrettable. M. IHanski would not have bought much there; but if I were rich I should like to send you one picture, an Algiers interior, which seems to me excellent. Borget is preparing for his journey; you will see him in Venice perhaps, for he moves slowly. I beg of you, madame, tell me whether, according to this new arrangement, we can meet in Rome; for I begin to perceive that I am wvriting to you to know that. You would be very good if you would torment M. Hanski in order to obtain it. In the first place, if you torment him you will amuse him; you will substitute for his blue devils real annoyances; next, you will create a little conjugal drama, in which you will be victorious; and it is so good to triumph, especially over a husband. it 1 62 l(o2;or;U de ]Balzac. [1834 WAell, once more adieu. To all those who are near you give the remembrances of a poor workman inl letters, who subscribes himself your affeetioialte, your wholly devoted servant and friend, 110(NOR,1: DE, B *ALZAC. I am reading over your letter lo see if I have forgotten anything'. No; I have anuswered all, and only omitted to tell you one tlhing, because it is too d]aily: it is that I press, across space, tile pretty hanl you nold out to ume so graciously, and wish a thousand p'easures to your caravan. A /Nentc t in Rome; for work, alas! will make me consume tile time with terrifying rapidity. Ad(lieu, I cannot quit my pen any better thlan [ could quit your house in Geneva. You chose to laugh, ta /-t Franeaise, at my 'lbcautifmul marquise, whlose tile eyes make me die of love." I will play the Frenchman aind tell you to turn that speech rotund, except as to the beauty of thte eyes. Fie! it is not nice to be always s howing InC tie ite rk on which my vanity was wrecked. Come, admit tlhat you lave not been frank, or it will be the ground of a quarrel ill Rome - if olle could quarrel with you on meetingo again. i'P is, May 10, 1834. I have this moment received, madame, your letter of A1pril 30. Alas! I have buried my hopes of the Rome trip. It always costs nme horribly to renounce an illusion; all my illusions seem to be one and inseparable. I have but a moment to answer vou, for in order that you may get this letter before you leave Florence, on thle 20thl, it must be posted to-da(, ai)(d it is now twelve o'clo(ck. You do not tell ime wllere you are going. Is it to Milan? What will!be your address? How long sliall you stay? I could see you tlhere if I went witi 1834] Letters to Madare Hanska. 163 Borget. But at any rate, in September, at Vienna. That is more reasonable. Mon Dieu! yes, the advice you give is impossible to follow. With the certainty of risk, I risk myself. There are no thanks worthy of the kindness you show in speaking to me so frankly of what I do; and you will not know, except in course of years, how grateful I am for this frankness. Do not be afraid; go on, blaming boldly. You tell me to go to Gerard's; have I the time? Time melts inl my fingers. To bring to an end my crushing liabilities I have undertaken a tragedy, in prose, called, "Don Philippe et Don Carlos." It is the old subject of Don Carlos already treated by Schiller. All must march abreast; the little literature of copper coins, the puerilities, the studies of manners and morals, and the great thoughts that are not understood, - "Louis Lambert, "S 'Sraphita," "Cesar Birotteau," etc. My life is always the same. I rise to work, I sleep little. Sometimes I let myself go to gentle reveries. Since I last wrote to you, I have had but one recreation; I heard Beethoven's symphony in C minor at the Conservatoire. Ah! how I regretted you. I was alone in a stall -I alone! It was suffering without expression. There exists in me a need of expansion which toil beguiles, but which the first emotion brings to the surface like a gush of tears. Yes, I am alone, deplorably alone. To find happiness I need the evening hour, silence, not work, but solitude and my inmost thoughts. Write me quickly where I shall send you "Les Chouans," which will appear on the 15th, five days hence. Florence will certainly see me; you have beep happy there. 1 shall go and pick up your thoughts in seeilng those beautiful places, those noble works. I am only jealous of the illustrious dead: Beethoven, Michel Angelo, Raffaelle, Poussin, Milton, - all that was ever grand, noble, and solitary stirs me. 164 Honore de Balzac. [1834 All is not said about me yet; I am only at the little details of a great work. When a man has undertaken what I have to (lo. - all! madame, permit me to confide this to your heart, - it is impossible to fall into the petty and base intrigues of this world; sentiments ought to be as great as the works desire to be great. Mly ambition is even stronger on the side of sentiments than it is for a, fame which, after all, shines only upon graves! So, I live alone, more alone than ever; nothing drags me from my contemplations: to love and to think, to act and to meditate. To develop all one's strength on two great things, - work and the richest emotions of the soul, -what can one ask more than that? A drop of friendship, a little sunshine; to press a hand by which we can supp))ort ourselves. Your advice upon my writings proves to me that on one point you have crowned my ambition. I would that I could send into your soul by this paper the emotions of pleasure your letter has caused me. But that is dillicult. So I cannot see you again until Vienna! Till then I shall not listen again to the only person who has made me hear a langiuage completely poetical and largely generous. I must stop, for you will take truth for flattery. What a hindrance is writing; how often one look has more meaning than all words. Well, you will divine whatever I think that is good, and all that time prevents me from saying. You will tell yourself that it is impossible for a solitary man - a man often crushed by work and lost in Paris - not to think, every (lay, of persons who love him truly; you will know that I am occupied with you, and am gathering for you those autograplhs. iMn Diu)! what a numuber of ihings to tell you! I-low the Academy wanted to give the Molltyon prize to the ''Medecin Je campagne," and what I did to avoid being 1834] Letters to Madame Hanska. 165 put in the competition, -as many applications and pro. ceedings were needed as the other competitors made to obtain the prize. And about my tragedy, and my other works in hand! But it is very difficult not to forget one's self in thinking of you. If you go to Milan, if you stay some time, if I can go and say bonjoar to you for a few days, tell me; for from the 20th to the 30th of June I should be very glad of an object for a trip, and I know none that would give me such keen happiness. I will inquire about Bartolini; but I see plainly you do not know our sculptors. In the Exhibition there was a statue of Modesty which might crush the antique; in sculpture we have great talents that are real. You like Bartolini, so I will like him, and I will make Gerard like him. But you think no longer of Grosclaude; do you know that your admirations have something which might alarm any other heart than a sincerely friendly one? You have shown such exquisite feeling for my poor "Chouans" that, to make it less unworthy of you and me, I have delivered myself up to patient toil such as my printer alone has an idea of. You will reread the book in Milan, no doubt. The third Part of the "Etudes de Mours" will not be ready before the first days of June. I should much like to have Susette take them to you from the author, who would then solicit an audience and recover from the fatigues of the journey through the hope of seeing you. Alas! I have such business on hand that the devil and his horns could not get away. But I am a three-horned demon, of the race, rather degenerated, of Napoleon. A thousand gracious thoughts and memories. Find here all that you can wish in a heart full of gratitude and devotion. What! will you really be in Vienna in July? So soon! These distances placed between us seem to me 166 fHotor' de Balzac. [1834 like farewells. But I shall go to Germany in September. I shall arrive rich with some successes; which please me now only because you take an interest in them; you make them more essential to nme for this reason. Well, here is the hour. 1 do not know where to write to you, but I shall write all the same, and when your new box comnes I will send it to you. There is no lake at Vienna, therefore give inme the hope of seeing the Lago Maggiore with you. At Vienna I shall (lo my reconnoitring on the Dlanube, in ordier to paint the battle of Wagram, and the fight at Essling, which are to be my work during the cominog winter in the Ukraine, if you will have me. But I must also see the countries through which Prince Eug'1ene marched from Italy across the Tyrol. Adieu, adieu, you whom one does not like to leave. You know as well as I all that I think, and you must be kind enough to give expression to my sentiments to ycur travelling companions. Oh! how I wish 1 could have seen with you the city of flowers! PIriIS, June 3rd -June 21, 1834. I have this moment received, madame, the last letter you did me the honour to write to me from Florence; I hope, therefore, that this one will find you in Milan in time to prevent false hopes, as you are so kind as to interest yourself in my excellent Borget. IHe is still at Issoudun, and will take Italy by way of the Tyrol, beginning l)y both banks of the Rhine; therefore lie will have no chance of meeting you. 1 am sorry. His is one of those fine souls one needs to knvow in order to judge of man and have some ideas ef the future. I myself renounce with sorrow the pleasure I had p)lanlned, of bid(ling you good-day in 3Milan. You put such grace and urgency into your inquiries as to lmy situation that I cannot help speaking of it to you after 1834] Letters to Madame Hanlska. 167 summing it up for myself. I still owe six thousand ducats [sixty to eighty thousand francs]; this will be comprehensible to you if turned into your currency. Between now and the last of October, I must pay off two thousand. The remaining four thousand are owing to my mother. But until the end of October I have five hundred ducats to pay monthly; and since my return from Geneva my pen and my courage have sufficed until now to pay that sum. If by the end of September I am free, I shall have done marvels. But until then neither truce nor rest. My tranquil, joyous winter must be won at this cost. The doctor thinks well of the Baden waters. This is my situation. For the last two months I have worked night and day at the work you honour with your preference. You have had much influence on my determination relating to that work ["Les Chouans"]. In the desire to make it worthy of your friendship I have re-made it. It is not yet perfect, because,' absorbed in the faults of the eseimb/le, I have let pass faults of detail and several mistakes. But, such as it is, it may now bear my name and you can avow your charitable protection. It has needed a courage no one will give me credit for; but the secret of my perseverance and my love for this work has been in my desire to be agreeable to you, and to deserve one of those approbations which intoxicate me with pleasure, and to hear from your lips, when I have shaken off the enormous weight of my troubles, that the work pleases you. I shall send it to Florence to M. Borri, requesting him to forward it to you in Milan; and I shall also send it to Trieste, so that this poor first flower may be certain to receive your friendly glances. I have been delighted with it, and I have let myself be persuaded that you are right in liking it. I have tried to justify your preference. Marie de Verneuil is much finer, and the work has been well cleaned up; but, as the 168 _IIOi(Po de l. B lza,. [1834 l)rinter said to me: "It is not forbidden to put butter onl sp)inaclh, - a satyilng worthy of Chariet. Great news! Piietot is dismissed from the "Revue de Paris;" I ret!rn there with several peeuniary advantages, whlich will help me to get free. "Sc'raphita" serves me to re-enter with great eclat. T'ie work has slrprised Parisians. Weinll the last lumber appears I shall iadd a letter of c)Ivoi to you, in which you will filnd tile dedicationll, wlich I shall try to make worthy of you, simnl)le an( grand. It was not put in the begiinnin, becatlse I (did not wish to( (le(ticate to yout a book not finishied. Here is a whole lIiong, monlth that I have worked to p)ure loss on my third Part. I amill dissatisfied, vexed withl wlat I do(1. Nevertheless, you will tind it at Trieste. I must iimake a composition in tile slyle of "E1ugn iec Gralwdlet," to sustain this P'art [of ti.e 1 tudes de M(eurs.] 1IMy affairs are, at tliis nmoment, com)plicated( by a tranisaction I lhave protposed to iM. G(osselin to annul our contriacts, which will require six thoiusuand firanlls ill (cash pai(l to him, for w hich lie will returni my agreements. ThiLt io>ilt obtaitied, I shall have no1 engltarements exeel)t witll l\I adalae Il 'chct; and by three months of great tlaoi(r I c(ollt, 1)y the end of Septemnber, take the road to G(r uaIl), o, lt witlho()lt auxieties, carrying my f rao(edv to d,,) and idleness to enjoy nlear you. you knew what cares, dehatels, lablours were necessary to reach l this restlt! Bult whalt hlappiness to recover liberty, wlat p)leasure to do) what one likes! Spaclmann is 1no longo)'er Coquebin. By my efforts, ai(d those o)f mv sister, lie lhas just married a young( and 1retty 'ir'l who will lhave some fortune. Shle brings him five hlui1dredi de ucats, whbicl l make him rich, and slhe has folur thousand mmore in expectation. Mademoiselle Borel was qutite wrong' here 's a happy mail made. I thougltf of vyoui n marrying this poor binder, about whom we laughed and talked at your fireside in Geneva. 1834] Letters to Jlitdad e LHaeskca. 169 The greatest sorrows have overwhelmed Madame de Berny. She is far from me, at Nemours, where she is dying of her troubles. I cannot write you about them; they are things that can only be spoken of ear to ear. IBut I am all the more alone, deplorably alone,- as much alone, that is, as I can be, for treasures are in llmy thought during- the hours of repose and calmness which I Lake with delight. All is hope for me, because all is belief. If you knew how much there is of you in each rewritten phrase of the "Chouans"! You will only know it when I can tell vou in tlhe chimney-corner at Vienna, in some hour of calm and silence when the heart has neither secrets nor veils. The correction of the second edition of "Le Me'decin (e campagne" draws to a close, and I am half-way on with tlhe third diz in, -so that I now am driving abreast nine volumes. MIy life is sober, silent, self-contained. Nevertheless, a lad1/ has cro-ssed the straits and written nme a beautiful letter in Enylishe, to whicll I have answered that I only understand Frenclh, and tlhat I respect ladies too much to give it out for translation. The affair stol)ped there. I received a letter from Madame Jeroslas.., delightful in style and quite surprising. I have not yet replied. Those are all the events of my life since I wrote you last. "Philippe le Reserv6 " is put aside. Nevertheless, the literary world is very curious al)out. my play. In rel)ly to what you deign to write rme about it, I mulst tell you that CarIlos was so deeply in love with the Queen that there is sufflicieAnt proof that the child of which she died pregnant ('"treated for dropsy, for God took pity on the throne of Spain, andl blinded the (loctors," says the sensitive Mariano) was the Infant's. So in my play the Queen is guilty, accord(ling to received ideas. 170 0Lomor0 I d(e L(C B zac. [1834 Carlos idem; Philippe II. and Carlos are fooled by Don John of Austria. I conform to history and follow it step by step. HIowever, according) to all appearance, tllis work will be done under your eye, for it is the only thing that can be done whlile travelling, al(nd you shall then judge of the political depths of that awful tragedy. It needs a lead well guarded by ropes to gauge it! Two of my friends are ar(lently ruinmmaging historical manuscril)ts that I may miss nothing. I want to obtain even the plans of the palace and the rules of ctiquette of tlhe Span)lish court under Philippe 11. MM. BIerryer and Fitz-Janmes wisl to have me nolinated( for depulty, but they will fail. The matter will be decided withinl a lmonth, and you will klnow it, no doilut, at Trieste. If I were nominated I should have myself ordered to Baths, for tile portfolio of l)rimle minlister would mnot induce nme to renounce tlhe dear use I meann lo make of the first moment of liberty I ha:ve ever won in my life. The farther I go( on, the higher is the ideal I form of true happiness. For me, a happy (lay is more than worlls. Whien I want to give lmyself a ma-gnificent f(^te I shut my eyes and lie down on a sofa, anid absorb myself in rememblering tlie silly things I said to you with my p(' ole (1d'(cA U S )(,1ncn/(,1, l)eside thle Lake of Geneva, alnd I go over anain tilat,0(ood d1ay at l)io(lti, whichi effaced a thonsandl pangs I lhad felt there a year before. You have made me know the difference between a true affection and a simullted nfeet ion, and for a heart as childlike as nine there is cause tthere for eternal gratitude. Yesterday I went to see my mother and found h]er much changed, very ill and quite resig'ned. I have been sad ever since. In settling, anid cle'aring 1pl our accoulnt a fortnight ago slie fretted ogreatly about what would 1 Fashionanlle speech of the ' lncrn a1les." - Ti. 1834] Letters to Madame Hanska. 171 happen to me if she died, and that constant foresight pained me. Yesterday I was far more sad. She is very good to me. She has sent for me, but to-day I cannot go because I am expecting an arbitrator to whom I must explain the Gosselin affair. But to-morrow I shall go quickly. I have now only fifteen days in which to do a volume which is impatiently demanded, and never did I have less warmth of imlagination. June 20. You are at Milan. I am not there! This letter, begun seventeen days ago, has remained unfinished by force of circumstances. In the first place, the return of my brother from the West Indies with a wife (was it necessary to go five thousand miles to find a wife like that?); then annoyances, vexations without number, besides work. The publisher of "Les Chouans" has not paid me. Here I am, with notes falling due. Then, M. Gosselin demands ten thousand francs, nearly a thousand ducats, to break our contract; I am trying to find them. But the greatest misfortune is this: after much trouble I had succeeded in finding a subject for my third Part; but after doing half a volume I flung it into the box of embryos, and have begun anew with a grand, noble, magnificent subject, which will give you, I hope, both honour and pleasure. According to my ideas, and according to my critics, it is above everything else. But I have had to make up for time lost. Ah! madame, what hours of despair and terrible insomnia between the 3rd and the 20th of June. There must have been sympathly! Believe in me, I entreat you. Whether you go to Vienna or to Wierzchownia, my winter is destined to 'you. I want to flee Paris; I want absolutely to dig out in silence my Philippe II. You will see me arrive with the rapidity, the fidelity of a swallow. 172 Honorc de Balzac. [1834 I shall go, in July, to Nemours to write, away from Paris, which is intolerable in summnier, my fourth and fifth Parts of the "lEtudes de Mowurs." If I can end them ill September I shall make untold efforts to get the last printed by the beginning of November. Perhaps you will still be in Vienna the first fifteen days of that month. I would like to know your itinerary, for I shall take, as soon as I can, fifteen days' liberty, and shall go, naturally, to the country you are in. I send to-day, to Trieste, the "Chouans" for you, and the second edition of the "Medecin de campagne" for Monsieur Hallski, as you hllave yours. 1 will send my third Part later, for I am very impatient to have your opinion about this new production. When "Seraphita " is' inished I will lbring her to you, bound by the husband of the pretty girl of Versailles. You will see lie had not the heart to continue Coquebin to (ldo that savage binding of (10oth and salin. lBut if I could know how long you stay at Trieste, I could leave here July 10th and be at Trieste thle 16th, see you for three days, and get back again. I have a thousand thingos to bring you; thle cotq/,(tC, the perfumes, and tutti quanti. I shall end this letter by saying: a lientot. The hope of crossing many countries to find you at the end of the journey gives me courage. I work, now, twenty conlsecutive hours. Well, I must bid you adieu, saying, as gracefully as I can, tihat you are less a memory to me than a hleart-tllougllt, and that you would be very unkind to fling in my face forever that I am a Frenchman. Remember, madame, thlat I am a Coquebin who does not marry, or at least only marries with the MfIuses. I have been alarmed by reading in IIoffmann (article on Vows) a severe judgment on Polislh women; still, I had, to tell the truth, a pleasurable evenlin' in thinking that the article was true for you in all that was flatteriog, and false in all that was. cruel. 1834] Letters to JITadarme Hansku. 173 Our poor Sismondi has been roughly demolished (the word is true) in the "Revue (lde Paris" of last Sunday. His "Histoire des Fran9ais" has been rased, destroyed - from garret to cellar. Poor Madame de Castries is going away, dying, and so dying that I blame myself for not having been there for a month, for those infamous Parisians have deserted her because she suffers. What a sad sentiment is that of pity. Therefore! - Ah! Friday, 21. I have been for several days sad and distressed. I did not tell you this yesterday. The post hour went by, and I kept this letter. Yes, I have failed in hope, I who live only by hope, that noble virtue of the Christian life. "Le Medecin de campagne " reappears to-morrow. What will be its fate? I have been very happy this morning; you could never, perhaps, guess why. I should have to paint to you the state of a poor solitary who stays in his cell, rue Cassini, and whose only rejoicing is in a tiny winged insect which comes from time to time. The poor little gleam was late in coming, and I was horribly afraid, saying to myself: "Where is she? Is anything amiss with her? She has been eaten up!" At last the pretty little creature came. Once more I saw my bete 'a bon dieu, iridescent, a little mournful; but I put it on my paper and asked it, as if it were a person: " Have you come from Italy? How are my friends?" You will take me for a lunatic - no, for I have heart and intellect, and only trespass through excess, not want, of sensibility. That is how a man who wrote the "Treize" can weep with joy on again beholding the scales of his little insect. Well, adieu. I wish that you might have the same quiverings. That is only saying that one is still young, 174 IlRlownr dc Balzwc. L1834 that the Leart beats strong, that life is beautiful, that one feels, one loves, and that all the riches of the earth are less than one hour of sensuous joy such as I had with my little insect. And, also, 1do y)ou know how much of joy, amber, flowers, grace of the countries it flies through, that little creature can brilng back? See all that poesy can invent about a bcete ' bom d:ieu, and what lunatics are hermits and dreamers! Well, adieu; be happy on your journey; see all those fine countries well. As for me, I am furious at being nailed to this Jittle mahogany table, which has been so long the witness of lny thoughts, sorrows, miseries, distresses, joys -of all! Thus I will never give it except to - 1ut I will not tell you all my secrets to-day. To-day I am guy. I have been so sad nearly all this month! There are my beautiful blue flowers in the barren fielcds between the Observatoire anld my window drooping their heads. It is hot. Nevertheless, if I want to see you this winter I must m~ind neither weariness, nor heat, nor wieakness. Voul(d you believe that the second edition of tlle "Physiologie du iiariageo" does not appear, that those men will nlot pay me, and that I shall have another lawsuit onl 1my hands? Mion )ie.' what have I done to those fellows! Kiss Anina on the forehead. Oh! 1how I wish I were her horse again. Offer imy regards to MA. Ilanski. Put all that is most flowery in French.courtesy at the feet of your two companions, and keep for yourself, madame, whatever you will of my heart. PAtlls, July 1, 1834. Ah! nmadame, nature is avengingo herself for my disdain of her laws; in spite of my too monastic life my hair is fallinog out by handfuls, it is whiteillng to the eye the absolute inaction of my body is making me fat beyond 1834] Letters to Mliadcame Hanska. 175 measure. Sometimes I remain twenty-five hours seated. No, you won't recognize me any more! The moments of despair and melancholy are more frequent. Griefs of all sorts are not lacking to me. 1 wrote three half-volumes before finding anything suitable for the third Part of the " Etudes de Mocurs."' It will at last appear on the 20th of this month. (Be satisfied, it is not I who am elected deputy.) You will tell me, will you not? where I am to send my third Part. Do not deprive me of the happiness of being read by you, which is one of my rewards. I still have three months' arduous labour before me; shall I finish before October? I don't know. I am like the bird flying above the face of the waters and finding no rock on which to rest its feet. I should be unjust if I did not say that the flowery island where I could repose is in sight of my piercing eyes; but it is far, far-off. I should like to write to you only good news; but, although arranged, my compromise with M. Gosselin is not yet signed. I must find a thousand ducats, and in our book business nothing is so scarce; for books are not francs - and not always fitncqais! I laugh, but I am profoundly sad. "La Recherche de l'Absolu" will certainly extend the litnits of my reputation; but these are victories that cost too dear. One more, and I shall be seriously ill. "' Sdraphita" has cost me many hairs. I must find exaltations that do not come at the cost of life. But that work which belongs to you ought to be my finest. Tell me to what Baths you are going, for it is possible if - if - if - that I may myself bring you various little things, such as a faultless new edition of the " Medecin de campagne," my third Part, and the manuscript of "Seraphita," which will be finished in August. Yes, stay at some place where I can go till September 15th. If I compromise with Gosselin, I can free myself only 176 IT ' de Bulvrlxtcc [1834 by alienating an edition of the " Etudes Phlilosophiques." Tlhat will he w(,rk added to wovrk. In tile total solitudle ill wlichl live, sighiong after a poesy which is lacking to me a:lld whlich youl know, I plunlc into music. I have ta]kenl a, seat ill a box at the Opera, where I go for two ho)urs every (other day. Music to ime is lnmemories. To hear 1 11ic-e is to )love those we lo)ve, 1et ter. It is thinkinlg with j,)oys of tle senses of our inwatrd joys; it is livinll beneatil eves wlhose lire we love; it is listening to tie 1)el( ovel voice. So M(nIday, Wed(nes(lay, all Friday, froilll lalf-pl)ast sevenl to tenll o'clck, 1 love with deliglit. \My tll(jugllt travels. AW ell, I miiLt say,1f /(.i; as so) 1 111 as my compromise is mtade I will write to you al)otlt it itn detail. Never filnd fault witll my devo(ted flricldship); it is illde(pelIdelt of tilie alt l spals c. I t tlilk o(f you niearly all day, and is not that llatluralt? Tile o01ly lhall jy lomellnllts I hlave knlowni for a year, moIneelits whletn there was neither work ior tile worries ()f material life, were enljoyed near you; 1 tlillnk of you an( of your wandering coloy()ly as oine thinks of hapl)iness, and sinc'e I left you I havle lived only tile burninglo life of unfortunate artists. Wa-s M. Itaulski gratified by my atteintion? You slhall lia:ve, malldamei, anl edition for yourself; a: edition wllich 1 sh11ll try to> make raivishing, anl(i ii whichi there will be a secret eo)(letryv. Ill! if 1 liad hadl your features I wou\ld Ilave pleasedl myself in having them engraved as La Fosseilse. iBut thougI' h 1 lihave memory enough for nivseCf, I sllouild not have e.oughll for a painter. l)ay before yesterday, I had a visit from 'Wolff, tile pilanist from Geneva. I eoul(l l ave thlrownl the house out of wilidows for joy. Was it not lie who asked me: " Who is thalt admirable lady? " So the poor lad found me very cordial, very splendidly hospitallle. To see lhin was to fancy myself back in Pre-l'lrEveue, ten steps from your house, and breathing' the Genevese air. 1s34] Letters to lIadame Hanska. 177 I hope to be able to write you more at length a few days hence. I reserve to myself the right to write my tragedy at Wierzchownia. I have amused myself like a boy in naming a Pole M. de Wierzchownia, and bringing him on the scene in the "Recherche de l'Absolu." That was a longing I could not resist, and I beg your pardon and that of M. Hanski for the great liberty. You could n't believe how that printed name fascinates me. What a good winter to be far from thle annoyances of Paris, absorbed in a tragedy, struggling with a tragedy, laughing every evening with you and making the master laugh, for whom I'll invent "Contes Drolatiques" expressly for him! If I have to get to you through driving snow-storms I slhall come! And after that, I'll go to the Emperor Nicholas himself to obtain permission for you to come to Paris and see the fiasco of my play! Adieu, you who are seeing every day new countries, while I can see but one! I hope Anna is well, and that M. I.anski has none of his black d(rayons, that Mademoiselle Borel smiles, that Susette sings, that Mademoiselle Severine still retains her graceful indifference, and you, madame, that vigorous constitution which is a principle of living joys; but also of pains; my desire is that God shall take all sorrow from your cup. Do not forget to tell me where you will stay after Trieste. I send you a thousand flowers of the soul and of affection. PARIS, July 13, 1834. It is now a long time, madame, since I beheld your pretty writing, and my solitude seems to me deeper, my toil more heavy. I gaze with a gloomy air at that box in which you sent me jujubes, which now holds my wafers. Are you in Venice? Are you at Trieste? Are you travelling? Are you resting? You see, I think of you, 12 178 1lonoro de Balzac. [1834 and I do not want to waste all tlhe reveries into which I plunge, so I send you one. Ohi! I am so bored in Paris! Never did its atmosphere so weigh upon me. I breathe in fancy the air you breathe with an enthusiastic jealousy! It is, they say, so light, it would suit my lungs so well. lAtn Dime! work is crushing me, and for all hippo(griff 1 have only that jujube-box and Anna's dog-inkstand, poor little dear! I aln writing at this moment a fine work, the " Recherche de l'Absolu; " I tell you nothing about it; I want you to read it without bias, and(l witi all the freshness of ignorance of its subject. Where will you be then? My businless affairs are cursed. Notling comnes to a conclusion. That ambulating roast-beef, into who()m God has thrown all the thoughts that make for silliness, called Gosselin, stops us by petty things. Next Tuesday we may end the matter, perlhaps; I will immediately write to you. Put on one si(le thirty-seven thousand francs to l)pay, and on the other side twenty-eighit francs' worth of paper, a bottle of ink, and a few quill-p)ens I have just boughlt, and you will have an idea of my position, assets, and debts. To reach an equilibrium, I need iron health, not talent, but lbck in my talent. Six volumes more for the said Beclet to publish, and twenty-five 12mnos for the first edition of the ~' Etudes Philosophiques "! After all that is done, I shall have a few crowns left andl "liberty on the mountain." When I say on the motintain, I mean plain, for the Ukratine is, you say, a flat country. There are my affairs, madame. As for sentiments, they are, by reason of restraint, a thousand times mo-re violent than you ever knew them since you have coi( sented to be my confidant. But thalt l)erson woull be very content if she knew all tlihat I hide from her, for it is very difficult to express sentiments that lie at the 18341 Letters to 1lcadame Hiansca. 179 bottom of one's heart. They need, not only a tete-a-tete, but a heart-to-heart. Mingle with this fury of work a fireia d'amore and a fury of business and a few good memories which come to me when I listen to good music - trying not to hear the Duke of Brunswick, who germanizes in my box sometimes; for this dethroned prince, being no longer a lion, makes himself a tiger with us. (You will not catch that poor joke if I did not tell you that our box is called the tiger box. Forgive the digression, but I know how you like to know all the little details of Parisian life.) So now you have an exact view of the mneare existence your moujik lives; he is, for the rest, as virtuous as a young girl. The " Recherche de l'Absolu " will tell you that; '" Seraphita" better still. Truly, I am writing with a gay pen, and I am sad; but my sadness is so great that I am afraid to send you the expression of it. I would sell my fame and all my literary baggage (if I had no debts) for the pebbles on the road to Ferney. If you would buy my books in bulk I would write them for you little by little, or tell them to you in the chimney-corner. Make M. Hanski buy a principality, for I should not like to be jester to any but a prince; self-loves should be conciliated. You could give me such pretty caps and bells! As for salary, I would tPike it in the laughs that would come from your lips. But you would be expected to give me eulogies and lodgings, cakes and bells. No Barkschy; I make conditions. But a fool would have to hide his heart. WVell, well, you would not want me. fMo) Diet! how often in my life I have envied Prince Lutin! [Puck.] I wish you all enjoyments of your journey. I must now go and finish a "'Conte Drolatique" while you are getting into the carriage and saying, perhaps: " I did not think that this Frenchman whom I accused of levity on our way to the lake of Bienne was so sincere when he told me he was capable of attachment." Ah! madame, 180 Heonore de Baclzac. [1834 poor men have only a heart, and they give it; I am a poor man, a manual labourer Awho works in phrases as others carry a hod. If I were free, I should bathe to-night in the Adriatic, and then go and tell you some joyous tale, review the ducal houses in tie "Almanach de Gotha," or play patience. You lmade me adore patience - and I live by patience. But I drudge, I suffer much. 'PArIs, July 15, 1834. I wish you to find this letter on your arrival in Vienna. Day before yesterday I poste(l a letter to you in Trieste, and teh minutes later your good long letter from Trieste came. Ah! that, indeed, is writing! That is making some one happy! Poor Alphonse Royer, who wrote "Venezia la bella," (lid not tell me in two volumes what you have told me about Venice in two pages. I said to a friend who came in just as I was putting your letter into the pretty box I have had made to hold them, - for to me your letters are beings, fairies which bring me a thllousald (lelights; I am dainty for my fairy-letters, - I said to him " We are ninnies, we who think we can write. We ought to kiss the slippers of certain women, the si(de where the slippers touch the ground, for within, none but the angels are worthy of that!"' Thanks for your letter; how many things I want to answer and must put off to another (lay, not wishing to speak now, except of tlmin(g I have much at heart. You have not understood me about "Sdraphita." I declare to you that I have more jealousy of heart than you accuse me of; for if, after promising me a testimonial of friendship, you were to forget it, I should suffer in all that is most sensitive in heart and soul and body. Therefore, I wanted to avoid the same suffering( to you by explaining that the enzcoi would be in the last 1834] Letters to Madame Hanska. 181 article, to make my happiness the more transcendant. That last chapter, the "Transfiguration," is to me what, in its own degree, the picture was to Raffaelle. Leave me the right to put your name upon my picture at the moment when the almost gigantic conception of that work is about to be comprehended. But, after reading your letter, I think there was conceit in my thinking you would suffer. Basta! I will say no more about it. The second number of "Seraphita" has been, for three weeks, in the printing-office, and I have worked ten hours a day upon it. 1 will send you the whole of it to Vienna, addressed to M. Sina. It will all be out by the end of September. Another quarrel. I would rather be happy in a corner than be Washington in France, seeing that we have dozens of WVashingtons in every street. That means that I would rather be at Wierzchownia in January than sputtering politics in the tribune of the Palais-Bourbon. This is by way of answer to your sublime retrocessa, when you wish to efface yourself behind France. As for me, I efface France beneath your sublime forehead. France, madame, is never short of great orators, great ministers, and great men in everything. Well, the Gosselin affair is signed; I am quit to-day of that nightmare of foolishness. The illustrious Werdet (who slightly resembles the illustrious Gaudissart) buys from me the first edition of the "Etudes Philosophiques," - twenty-five 12mo volumes, -in five Parts, each of five volumes, to appear, month by month, August, September, October, November. You see that to carry this through, and do three Parts of the "Etudes de MIeurs," still due to Madame Bechet, requires Vesuvius in the brain, a torso of iron, good pens, quantities of ink, not the slightest blue devil, and a constant desire to see, in January, Strasburg, Cologne, Vienna, Brody, etc., and to fight with snow-drifts. I do not mention that 182 HSonorc de Bailzac. [1834 bagatelle called health, nor that other bagatelle called tale t. Now you know the programme of my life, and if I had a lady( of my thotugyhts you must own she ixould be much to be pitied, unhappy woman! Fortunately, she is, very satdly, the lady of my thoughts only; and I know she is very joyful to find inme hindered. For all this fine work M. Werdelt is to oive me fifteen thousand francs, and whatever of glorification I can catch above the bargain. This, joined to the rest of the "IEtudes (le Molurs," will free me entirely, and leave me with a few crowns. which are in tllis low world, the winu's on which we tfl o'er distances. D)o you know why I am so gay that there is gaiety in iny g'rumblings? It is that I have seen olnce more the pretty little scribble of your writing; thlat I know you to be, except for the sufferings of travel, plerfectly well, an(l Anna too. Adieu, a thousand tender feelings of the heart. Alh! be reassured. Madame de C... insists that she has never loved any one but M. (de M..., and that slhe loves him still, that Artemisia of Ephesus. This evening I say good-bye, at Liszt's, to Wolff, that young face from Geneva - where I was so youngli Whel) you write to me from Vienna, tell me, I entreat you, how long you stay. Somethinog tells ince that I slall see Vienna with you; that menans that I shall like V\iennla. You must tell me what tile Germans think of "Seraphita." You will receive, in Vienna, the third Part of tile " Etuldes de Mainls," which leaves here, a(ldressed to MI. Sina (mo]? J)a f,/ how I do like tlhat name!), about thle end of this month. So you wvill have it during the first ten days of August. A thousand tender regards. 1834] Letters to Mcadame Hanlsla. 183 PARIS, July 30, 1834. Oh! my angel, my love, my life, my happiness, my strength, my treasure, my beloved, what horrible restraint! what joy to write to you heart to heart! what shame to me if you do not find these lines at the time and place! I have been into the country for six days to finish something in a hurry. Ohime, I cannot start for the Baths of Baden before August 10; but I will go like the wind; it is impossible to tell you more, for to be able to go there needs giant efforts. But I love you with superhuman force. So from the 10th to the 15th I shall be on the road. I shall have only three or four days to myself, but I bring you that drop of my ardent life with a happiness which the infinite of heaven can alone explain. Mon Dieu! what hours full of you, of which you have only presentiments! How I have followed you everywhere! How I have, at all hours, desired you! Yes, my cherished Eve, my celestial flower, my beautiful life, stay at the Baths till September. If it takes eight days to get there, and I leave here August 15th, I shall only arrive on the 23rd, and I must be here for the first days in September. All depends on my work and my payments. The desire to be free, to be yours, has made me undertake thlings beyond my strength. But my love is so great; it sustains me. Your "Scraphita" is beautiful, grand, and you will enjoy that work in three months. I need three months for the last chapter; but perhaps I will finish it near yor. You warmed up my heart for the first; you ought to hear the last song! Oh! dear, dearest adored one, tell yourself well that the love you have inspired in me is the infinite. Have neither fear nor jealousy. Xothliq can destroy the charm under which I wish to live. Yes, there have been many melancholies, many sadnesses: I was a displanted 184 H4Tonore de Balzac. [1834 tree. To see you in August restores to me happiness and courage. Now, to come to Baden I must bring out in the "Revue de Paris " "Le Cabinet des Antiques," of which you know the beginning. To work to go to see you, oh, what enjoyment! There is no work, there is joy in every line. Did you receive the "'Chouans " at Trieste? But you cannot answer nme. You will receive this August 8 in Vienna, and the 10th I shall start. What are Neufehfitel and Geneva in compl)arison with Baden? Were there six months of desires, of repressed love, of works written in your name, oll, my life, my thoiughlt? One must be strong to sustain a joy so lon01g awaited. Oh, yes, be alone! It is impossible to write you a long letter; it would take a day more, as I only arrived this morning, and I feared that Marie de Verneuil might not find it and be vexed with him who adores her as an angel loves (God. To be separated fronm you by only eighteen days; it is all, and it is nothing. Your little letter has made me crazy. It will be a great imprudeince to go to B3aden, for I have a thousand ducats to pay in September, but to see you one (lay, to kiss that idolized forehead, to smell that loved lhair, whlieh I wear about mly neck, to take that hand so full of kindness and love, to see you! that is worth all glories, all fortunes. If it were not upon us, upon a long'er time of separation thlat this folly falls, it would not be a folly, it would be quite simple. I)ear angel, ldo you know what halppiness there is for me in these eighlteen days, and thle journey, mon ])ic~.t I adore you night and morning, I send you all the thoughts of my soul, I surround you with my heart, do you feel nothing? Amnd my sufferings in not going to Florence, in short, I will tell you all. I)ear angel, be happy if the most ardent love, the 1834] Letters to Madame Itanska. 185 most infinite that man can feel, is the life you have desired to have, give, receive. A bientot, then. Oh! what a word! Three or four days of happiness will make the months of absence more supportable. Oh! my treasure, what an abyss for me is tenderness. You are the principle of this frightful courage. Will you love my white hairs? Every one is astonished that any one can produce what I produce, and says that I shall die. No; three days near you is to recover life and strength for a thousand years! Adieu; a thousand kisses. I have held this bit of vinca between my lips while writing. To thee, my white minette, and soon. A thousand tender caresses, and in each a thousand more! 1 This is the last of these odious and ridiculous letters. It belongs properly to the series which ended March 11, 1834. In my opinion it has been concocted and placed under this date to convey the idea that it is one of the letters which Balzac mentions in his letter to M. Hanski of September 16 (see p. 199); and, furthermore, this is done with tlhe intention of convincing the reader that the whole series of forged letters (which are plainly identical in character with this letter) were written by Balzac. Putting aside, for a moment, thle )profs of deception which I have proluced, I must say in conclusion that I think no one of literary ju(lgment will believe that the author of the " Comeddie Humaine " wrote these spurious letters. From this date the letters go on in Balzac's characteristic manner, - expansive, impulsive, boyishl at times, and too full, certainly, of his debts and his troubles; but with it all is the strong underfiow of a great and dauntless soul allied to things pure and noble. The story is tragic; and not the least tragic part of it is the wvicked present attempt of degenerate men to degrade a hero. I here place a letter of the same date from Monsieur Hanski to Balzac, which will serve to show the sort of man he was, and how he regarded his own and his wife's friendship for Balzac. I now leave the whole subject to the judgment of the reader. - TR. 186 Hioetor' i e Balzac. 1s34 FiROM MI. J1ANSKI To AL. IJONOIZE DE BALZAO. VIENNA, August 3, 1834. I have just received, monsieur, the copy of the "M'Sdecin die catlpagne," -that one of your works which I like best; the real merit of which I could wish were felt and recognized at its just value. I allowed myself, some time ago, to write to you fully on the impression this book made )uponl me; therefore I xwill not return to it, but simply beg you to receive my thanks for so precious a souvenir of your good friendship. ly wife has told you, no dloubt, of the way I was ttaken in by the "3Mniteur." But explain to us who your legitimist homlonyin is who is mad.le deputy frlom Villlefrainche? We thouglht there was for France, as for us, only one 3I. de Balzac; and, ia thLat conviction, I was preparing a long letter of congiratulation. In it I spoke of a certa(i, ((,,,SC [lie meIans that of tle D)uchesse le Berry, then imprisoned at B13ayve, of w-hich, klowing your generous hleart, I hoped to see you tlhe clmpllion. But, at the sweetest moment of tl]ees illusory dreams, my wife brou(ght me yeour letter, and todl ime that you were not a deputy. I)isappointed, I curised the fatality that presides over tIle thilngs of thiis wovld; I consig'ied my fime epistle to tlie tlalnes, and the blue devils returned ill troops to assail "he. But adieu, monsieur; my wife is. no tloubt, writillng you a long gossip. AMore at tllis timle would bo)c you. I therefore end, assuring you of all my- frieindslhip. V:cNc:sLAS IA SKI. To hlA)ASAME IIANSKA. 1' RIS, August I - Au\gust 4, 18,34. I have received your letter, writtn from Vienna, mad(lame. Yo() have plrol)lly received' two frorm 11e, arddressed to J. Collioud, with the "Ch'louans" and thle "MAledcin de camnag.ne' " IDistances are so little calcu 1834] Lattcrs to iciadanze fHanska. 187 lable. I believe that up to the present time I have had such true syimpathies that my inspirations have always been like those of my friends. I have forgotten nothing, neither MAarie de Verneuil, nor your "Chouans," nor TI. Ilanski, who will have his "3lidecin de campagne." I am a little chagrined. The imnbeciles of Paris declare me crazy in view of the second number of "S6rapliita," whereas the elevated minds are secretly jealous of it. I am worn out with work. Too much is too much. For three days past I have been seized by unconquerable sleep, which shows the last degree of cerebral weariness. I cldare not tell you what an effort I amn making now to write to you. I have a plumophobia, an inkophobia, which amount to suffering. However, I hope to finish my third Part by August 15. It will have cost me muche. And for that reason I am afraid of some heaviness in the style and in the conception. You mnust judgre. The "Catbinet des Antiques" will appear in the "Revule (de Paris," between the second number of "Seraphita" and the last, for the "Revue" makes the sacrifice of holding the latter back till I can finish it. You know the beginning of the "Cabinet des Antiques." It made one of our good evenings in Geneva. Let M. Ilanski console himself; I shall be deputy in 1839, and then I cnln better, being free of all care and all worries, act so as to render my country some service, if I amn worlth anything-. Between now and then I expect to be able to rule in European questions by means of a political publication. We will talk about that. I have had many troubles. MIy brother made a bad marriage in the Indies, and the poor boy has neither spirit, energy, nor talent. Mlen of will are rare! I shall go to see you in Vienna if I can get twenty days to myself; a pretty watch given at the right 188 HonorYC de Batlzac. [1834 moment to Madame Btechet may win me a month's freedom. I am goinog to overwhelm her with gifts to get l)eaee. I have many trolubles, many worries. The kind A[. lianski wotuld not have his black butterflies if he were ill 11y place. tMy second(l line of operations is now to be (irawn otl1. I shiall have the lirst Part of the "']}tu(les Phllilosopllliques " printed within ten days. It will appear at tlle same time as the third Part of thle "Etudes (le 3Miurs." There is but God and I, and the third person, wilI is never nalled, who are in tile secret of these works which affriglit literatuei. I have sixty thousaind volumes this year in tle commerce of publishers, and I slhall have earned seventy thousand francs. Hence, hatreds. But, alas! of those seventy thousand francs nothing will remain to me but tlie happiness of b)eing free of all debt after being ruine( by it. Yotu are very fortunate, m a(lalme, to, 1e,ble to take tlhe Danube baths; but w rite mne soon if they are remnovingr those frightful nervous headaches which frightened me so much. Do not suffer. Preserve your lhealtlh. Wlen you walk, (do not wear those little shoes that let in water, as they did the (lay we went to Ferney. D)o you know I feel a little vexed with you thlat you can think tlhat a man whlo has m/y fatJ? a(d my 'till can chano'e, after all I have written to you. In tie matter of money alone I (lo not (ldo all I wvould; but in whatever belongs to thle heart, to tlhe feelinls, in all thlat is tAe mana you can have few reproaches to make to me. Write me, very legibly, your addresses in Vienna and Bladen, for I fi(d it impossible to make out the name of the hotel where you are now. I am to see, some day soon, an illustrious Pole, Wronskv, great mathematician, great mystic, great mecha nician, but whose conduct hlas irregularities which the law calls swindling; thoughl, if closely viewed, they 1834] Letters to Madame Hanska. 189 are seen to be the effects of dreadful poverty and a genius so superior that one can hardly blame him. He has, they say, one of the most powerful intellects in Europe. Monday, 4. I have been forced to interrupt my letter for a day and a half; I have not had two minutes to myself to collect my thoughts. There has been a deluge of hurried proofs and corrections; ouf! I beg you to recall me to the memory of all who compose your caravan. Our Paris is very fiat, very sad. IMM. Thiers and Rigny have, they say, lost five millions at the Bourse, in consequence of the invasion that Don Carlos has made all alone. Every one talks war here, but no one believes in it. The king has dismissed Soult in order to remain at peace. Adieu. I hope, madame, that you will amuse yourself at the Baths, and gain health; but you must walk a little. 3Iy life is so monotonous that I can tell you little of myself that is worth telling. One thought and work, that is the life of your moujik. You - you are seeing countries, you have the movement of travel which occupies and diverts. Ah! if I could travel, I would go to Moravia. Adieu. If you hear anything in the air, if a pebble rolls at your feet, if a light sparkles, tell yourself that my spirit and my heart are frolicking in Germany. Wholly yours, HONORE. PARIS, August 11, 1834. Thank you, madame, for your good and amiable letter of the 3rd of this month. The envelope delighted me with its hieroglyphics, in which you have put such religious ideas. I have many answers to give you. But a thousand 190 Hono or5 de B(alz3c. [1834 million wafts of incense for your ideas on "Philippe le Discret." You share my sentiments on Schiller and my ideas of what I ought to (do. Oh! spend the winter in Vienna? I shall be there, yes - You have the bo(,ks? Good. No, I see no one, neither man nor woman. -My I;g,'ms bore ne; they have neitller claws ior brais. IBesides, I seldom go to the Opera now. How sweet your letter is! with what lhappiess I have read it! that description of your house, thle flowers, the gardel, your life so well arranged, even the blue (evils on the watch for M. Ilanski. Thank you for a11 the details you give me. At the momenlt when I was readling the religious part of your letter, that where tlhe good thioughts went to my heart, my Carmelite nlns, wlho lhad opened tlhe windows of their chlapel on account of the hieat, began to sing a hymn which crossed( our little street alnd my courtyard. I was strangely moved. Your writing go'leamed in my eyes and softly entered my heart, more livinl thlan ever. This is not poesy, but one of those realities that are rare in life. "'La-Recherche de l'Absou " kills me. It is an immense subject; tlle finest book I canl (do, say s,.(;,. Alas! I shall not be through witlh it before -lte tl )20th of thllis month, in nine days. After tlhat, I spread 1my wings and take a three weeks' furlougllh, for my head cannot sustain another idea. On tlie 21st I shout: "Vive l'Almanaeh de Gotha! " God g(rat that ten days later I present to you mryself the "AbsIolI." I will not tell you anytliinog abolut it. Thlat 's an author's coquetry, which you will pardon when you lay down the book. My life, it is fifteen hours' toil, proofs, alutlhor's anxieties, phrases to polishl; bll, there 's a distant gleam, a hope which lights me. 1834] Letters to Madame Hans/ca.. 191 At last, France is beginning to bestir itself about my books. Fame will come too late; I prefer happiness. I want to be something great to increase the enjoyments of the person loved. I can only say that to you. You understand me and you will not be jealous of that thought. Madame de Castries is dying; the paralysis has attacked the other leg. Her beauty is no more; she is blighted. Oh! I pity her. She suffers horribly and inspires pity only. She is the only person I go to see, and then for one hour every week. It is more than I reaily can do, but that hour is compelled by the sight of that slow death. She lives with a cataplasm of Burgundy pitch from the nape of the neck to the loins. I give you these details because you ask for them. So, constant labour, sundry griefs, the condition of Madame de Berny, who, on her side, droops her head like a flower when its calyx is heavy with rain. She cannot bear up under her last sorrows. Never did a woman have more to endure. Will she come safely out of these crises? I weep tears of blood in thinking that she- is necessarily in the country, while I am necessarily in Paris. Great sorrows are preparing for me. That gentle spirit, that dear creature who put me in her heart, like the child she most loved, is perishing, while our affection (that of her eldest son, and mine) can do nothing to allay her wounds? Oh! madame, if death takes this light from my life, be good and generous, receive me. I could think only of going to weep near you. You are the only person (Borget and Madame Carrand excepted) in whom I have found the true and sanctifying friendship. In case she dies, France would be horrible to me. Borget is away; Madame Carraud has not, in herself, the feminine softness that one needs. Hers is an antique rectitude, a reasoning friendship which has its angles. You feel, you! 192 Honorc de Balzac. [1834 Yes, I am overwhelmed by this sorrow which approaches; and that divine soul prepares me for it, so to speak, in the few lines she is able to write to me. Yes, I have only your heart into which I can shed the tears that are in my eyes while writing this in Paris.1 I aml horribly alone; no one knows the secrets of my heart. I suffer, and before others I smile. Neither my sister nor my nrother comprehend me. These are sad pages. I have some hope. Minme. (le Berny has such a rich constitution; but her age makes me tremble; a heart so young in a body that is nearly sixty, that is, indeed, a violent contrast. She hlas dreadful intflammationls between the heart and lungs. My hand, when I magnetize her, increases thle inflammation. We were obliged, therefore, to renounce that means of cure; for, as I wrote you, 1 was able to spend ten days with her the last of July. Oh! be well yourself! you and yours! Let me not tremble for the only beings whlo are dear to me, for all, at once! I needed your letter this morning, for this morning I received a letter from a mutual friend of Madame IBechet and me, telliing me of her commercial distresses. If my book is not ready to appear she wants compensation for the delay; the "Absolu " oty/1it to have been finished in two months! That irritated me. I was weeping with rage -for lie (loes weep, this tiger; lihe cries out, this eagle! - when your letter came. It fell into my heart like dew. I blessed you. I clasped you like a friend. You serened me, you refreshed my soul. Be happy. Shall I ever cause you a like joy? No, I shall always be your debtor in this way. I have had other griefs. MIy Boileau [M. Charles Lemesle], my hypercritic, my friend, who judges and corrects me without appeal, has found a good many 1 Compare this with the shameful letter supposed to have )een written about her to Mline. ilauska, Jan. 18'4. See p. 112. - 'l. 1834] Letters to Madame Hanska. 193 blunders in the first two 12mo volumes of the "Me'decin de campagne." That makes me desperate. However, we will take them out. The work shall, some day, be perfect. I was ill for two days after he showed me those blunders. They are real. We are washing up between us "La Peau de Chagrin." There must be no faults left on that edition. Add to all this money anxieties, which will not leave me tranquil till January, 1835, and there you have all the secrets of my life. There is one about which I do not speak to you. That one is the very spring of my life; it is my azure heaven, my hope, my courage, my strength, my star; it is all that one cannot tell, but it is that which you will divine. It is the oleander, the rose-bay tree, a lovely form adored beneath it, the twilight hour, a revery! Adieu; I return to my furrow, my plough, my goad, and I shout to my oxen, "Hue!" I aln just now writing the death of Madame Clae's. I write to you between that scene of sorrow entitled the Death of a Mother, and the chapter entitled, Devotions of Youth. Remember this. Remember that between these two chapters your greeting, your letter, full of friendship, came to give me back a little courage and drive away a thousand gloomy phantoms. There you were, shining like a star. The happy husband, no longer coqvebin Spachmann, will bind the manuscript which you must put with that of "Eugenie Grandet." As for that of the "Duchesse de Langeais," it has been dispersed, I don't know how. I am very careless about my manuscripts. You had to set a value upon them which made me proud, in order to make me keep them for you. So with those of "Seraphita," I am like a mother defending her young. Do you know what courage there is in calling one's self legitimist? That party is very abject. The three parties that divide France have all descended into the mud. 13 194 iloenore de Balzatc. 1 834 Oh! my poor country! I am humiliated, unhappy at all this. We shall rise out of it, I hope. I send you no commonplaces. To tell you that I keel in reserve a thfousand sincere and gentle, tender feelings would be nothing; a feeble portion, indeed, of a friendship whichll makes ine conceive of the infinite. I3lay tlhe )Danube make you strong) anll give you health; I love the Danube better than I love tlhe Seine. I have seen Plrince Puckler [tuskau here, and lie seemed to me a little IMephistophelian, sprinkled with Voltaireanism. lie told me that I was lmuch applreciated in Bellin, and that if I went there - IIa! a! bravi! bravay! - But what I like in foreign lands is thle goo)d nonsense that I shall t.lk in the cldimney-corncr of 73 Landstrasse. Adieu; distribute my friendlship, reg'ards, and remembrances to those abt}out you as you, will. '.AEI, Aug'ust 20, 1834. Yesterday I had an inflammqation of the brain, in consequence of my too lard wvork; but, by tile merest chance, I was with my mothler, who lad a phial of f/of a tra'tnqil, and ibathed my head with it. I suffered liorribly for ni~ne or ten hours. I aim better to-day. Tile docto(r wanits ie to tr tavel for two m onths. MIy unfortunate atfaiis allow mte only twenty days. i lave still ten days' woirk on thle "Reelerelhe de i'Absoli," whiel lhas, like '"Louis Lainleitf," two years ago, very nearly carried me off. But on thle 1st or 2nd of September I shall l)e on my way to see Vienna. Imnpossible to give myself a more ag.reeable object for a journey. So, between the 7th aund 10thl, I shall have thle pleasure, you will let me s, ay happiness, of seeingo you. No, I have had nl o more letters from your eousin. Somethiong that I do not know must have made her quarrel with me. 1834] Letters to Madame Hanska. 195 I think as you do on Lamennais' work, "Les Paroles d'un Croyant." I nearly got myself devoured for saying that from a literary point of view the form was mere silliness, and that Volney and Byron had already employed it, and that as to doctrines, they were all taken from the Saint-Simonians. Really, those kings on a slimy, evil-smelling rock are only fit for children. Adieu; you will be indulgent to a poor artist who rattles on with the intention of havinllg no thought, of being very boyish, and desires only to let himself go to the one affection that never wearies: friendship and the sweetest things of the heart. Thank M. Hanski in advance for his good little letter. At this moment I have no strength to write more than what I do here. That strength is what in the eighteenth century they would have called "force of sentiment." I am so glad to know that you are well lodged and pleased with your house. PARIS, August 25, 1834. I may have alarmed you, madame, but Madame de Berny is better. She is not recovered, however. No, she remains in a condition of cruel weakness. Two (lays ago I wrote that I should start for Germany; but that was folly, for it takes ten or twelve days to get to Vienna, as much to return, and I have but twenty to dispose of. No, it is not possible in the situation in which I am. "La Recherche (le l'Absolu " consumes so much time that I find myself in arrears in all my deliveries of copy, consequently in all my payments. On another hand, I cannot go without leaving the end of "Seraphita" for the "Revue de Paris," and how can I determine the time it will take me to finish that work, angelical to some, diabolical to me? All this worries me; I cannot have my liberty till the month of November, and then will you still be in 196 lionorc dCe Bac-lzac. [1834 Vienna? Yes. But I shall have only a month to myself, and the question will still be the same. I see how it is; I must wait till "Philippe II. is dole." I have the weakness and the species of physical melancholy that conmes from abuse of toil. The life of Paris no longer suits me; and while I feel in my heart a veritable childhood, all that is exterior is aging'. I begin to understand Metternlihism in whatever is not the sole and only senltimenit by whlich I live. A book has just appeared, very fine for certain souls, often ill-writteln, feeble, cowardly, dliffuse, which all the world has proscribed, but which I have read courageously, and in which there are fine things. It is "Volupte" by Sainte-Beuve. Whoso hlis not had his Madame (le Couaen is not worthy to live. There are in that dangerous friendship with a married woman beside whom the soul crouches, rises, abases itself, is undecided, never resolving on audacity, desiring the wrong', not committing it, all the delicious emotions of early youth. In this book there are fine sentences, fine pages, but nothing. It is tile notlmhing that I like, the notlihing that permits me to mingle myself with it. Yes, the first woman that one meets xwith tlle illusions of youth is something holy and sacred. Un fortlunately, there is not in this book tlhe enticing joyousness, the liberty, the imprudence which characterize passions in France. The book is puritanical. Madame de Couaen is not sullicintly a woman, and the danger does not exist. But I regard the book as very treacherously dangerous. There are so matny precautions taken to represent the passionl as weak that we sulspect it of })einll immense; the rarity of the pleasures renders them Infinite in their short and slight apparitions. The book has made me make a great reflection. Woman has a (duel wvith man: if slle does not triumph, she dies; if she is not rioght, she dies; if she is inot hap)py, sie dies. It is appalling. 1834] Letters to Miadame IHanska. 197 I have real need of seeing Vienna. I must explore the fields of Wagram and Essling before next June. I specially want engravings which show the uniforms of the German army, and I must go in search 'of them. Have the kindness to tell me merely if such things exist. To-day, 25th, it is almost twelve days since I have received any letters from you. I live in such isolation that I count upon and look eagerly for the pleasures that come into my desert. Alas! Madame de Berny's illness has cast me into horrible thoughts. That angelic creature who, since 1821, has shed the fragrance of heaven into my life is transformed; she is turning to ice. Tears, griefs, and I can do nothing. One daughter become insane, another daughter dead, a third dying, what blows! - And a wound more violent still, of which nothing can be told. And at last, after thirty years of patience and devotion, she is forced to separate from her husband under pain of dying if she remains with him. All this in a short space of time. This is what I suffer through the heart that created me. Then, in Berry, Madame Carraud's life is in peril through her pregnancy. Borget is in Italy. My mother is in despair about my brother's marriage; she has aged twenty years in twenty days. I am hemmed in by enormous, obligatory work, and by money cares, also by two little lawsuits which I have brought to solve the last difficulties of my literary life. For all this one needs, as my doctor says, a skull of iron. Unhappily, the heart may burst the skull. I counted on the trip to Vienna as the traveller counts on the oasis in the desert; but the impossibility of it faces me. I must be in Paris from the 20th to the 30th of September. I have then to pay five hundred ducats, and when one digs the soil with a pen gold is rare. However, labour will suffice. I shall be free in a few months, if the abuse of study does not kill me. I begin to fear it. 198 Jlonore de Balzac. L1834 Tuesday, 26. To-day I have finished "La Recherche de l'Absolu." Heaven grant that the work be good and beautiful. 1 cannot judge of it; I am too weary with toil, too exhausted by the fatigues of conception. I see only the reverse side of the canvas. Everything in it is pure. Conjugal love is here a sublime passion. The love of the young girl is fresh. It is the Home, at its source. You will read it. You will also read "Souffrances inconnues," which have cost me four months' labotiur. They are forty pages of which I could not write but two sentences a (lay. It is a horrible cry, without brilliancy of style, without pretensions to draima. There are too many thoughts in it, and too lmuch drama to show on the outside. It is enough to make you shudder, and it is all true. Never have I been so stirred by any work. It is more than "La Grenadikre," more than " La Femmne abandonnle." At the present moment I am makingo the final corrections of style on the "Peau de Chagrin." I reprint it and remove the last blemishes. Oh! my sixteen hours a day are well employed! I go to the Opera only once a week now. D)ay before yesterday 3Ma(ldae Sand(, or Dudlevant, just returned from Italy, met ince in the to/yer of tlhe Opera, and we took two or three turns together. I wais to breakfast withI her the next day, but I could not go. To-day I have had Sandeau to breakfast, who told me that the (lay after that woman abandloned limn he took such a quantity of acetate of morphia that his stomach rejected it, and threw it up) without there having been the slightest absorption. I was sorry I had not received the confidences of Madame George Sand. lie regretted it too, — Jules Sandeau. The poor lad is very unhappy at this moment. I have advised him to come and take Borget's room, and share with me until he can make 18s34 Letters to iladame Hanska. 199 himself an existence with his plays. That is what has most struck me the last few days. Well, I must bid you adieu, and this adieu, in place of the ait revoiJ bientot on which I had counted, saddens me to a point I cannot express. Remember me to all about you. I shall write next to M. Hanski to thank him for his letter, and explain to him that the present parliament will be, for the next five years, insignificant. All the European questions in connection with France are postponed till 1839. A thousand constant regards. FOM 11II. DE BALZAC TO M. IIANSKI. PAnIS, September 16, 1834. MONSIEUR, - I should be in despair if you would not undertake my defence towards Madame IHanska, though I feel, indeed, that even if she would deign to forget two letters which she has the right to think more than im-.proper, the friendship she would then have the goodness to give me would never be like that with which she honoured me before my culpability. Nothing restores a broken tie, the join shows always; an indelible distrust remains. But permit me to explain to you, the only person to whom I can spelak of this, the mistake which gave rise to what I shall always regard in my life as a misfortune. But consider for a moment the boyish, laughing nature that I have, and on which I would not now intrench myself if I had not made you know it; it is because I have been with you as I am with myself, with the person I love best, that I justify myself. Together with this hearty boyishness there is pride. From any other I would rather receive a sword-thrust, were it even mortal, than lower myself to explain what I have done. But to mend the chain, to-day broketr, of 200 2 lion 0o( (IC, lBJ(lz((,,r [ 18:34 {an affect ion that was dear to me, I don't know what I wou:ld nlot do. Xlad.ame Ilans-ka is, illndeed, the purest nature, the most chil(llike, thle gravest, tile gayest, the best eduat ted, tile most saintly aiid tile miost plhilosophical that I ki(ow, a:,d I have been woni to her by all that I love best. I have toltd her the secret of my affections, so that I could always ble with her as I wished. One evellinllg, in jest, shle said to me that she would like to know what at love-letter was. This was said wholly without meaniglio, for at tlre moment it referred to a letter I had been. w-itinll that iorningr to a lady whom 1 XI il net namelli. Buti I said, laulghing': "A letter from Moilntat.raln to Marie de Verneuil? " and we joked about it. 1Beinlr at Trieste, Ma(lamne Tlansk1a wrote me: "Have you foro,tten Marie de Verneuil? " (I saw she referred to tlre "Chouan10," for whichl she was impatient) and f wNrote those two unfortunate letters to Vienna, supposing that slie remembered our joke, land replying to her that sihe woul( lind Marie de Verneuil in Vienna. You could never believe how shocked I was at my folly when sle 'answered nme coldly onl account of the first, when 1 knew there was a second; and when I received the three lines that shie wrote me, of which, p)erlhaps, y;u are ignorant, I was truly in despair. For myself, mnoisieur, I would give you satisfaction; it is very indifferent to inme to be or not to be (from man to) man); lut I shouldl be, for the rest of my (lays, the imrost unhappy man in tlre world if this childish folly Iharmed, in any way, Madame IIanska; and that is what ma:ikes m.e write to you thus. Therefore, on 1ly p)art there was neither vanity nor presunmption, nor anythilng whlatever tliat is contemptible. I wrote (admitting myself to blame) things that were unintelligible to?Madarme Hanska. I am here in a 1834] Letters to Madclme lHanska. 201 situation of dependence that excludes all evil interpretation; besides which, Madame Hlanska's negligence is a very noble proof of my folly and her sanctity. That is what consoles me. I earnestly desire, monsieur, that these explanations, so natural, should reach you; for though Madame Hanska has forbidden me to write to her, and said that she was leaving for Petersburg, I imagine that you will still be in Vienna to receive this letter, or that M. Sina will send it to you. Tell her from me, monsieur, how profoundly humiliated I am - not to be grossly mistaken, for I never thought to do more than continue the jokes we made on the shores of the lake of Geneva when we talked of the Incroyables, but - to have caused her the slightest grief. She is so good, so completely innocent, that she will pardon me perhaps for what I shall never pardon myself. I am becoming once more truly a moujik. As for you, monsieur, if I had to justify myself to you, you will understand that I should not do it. il/on Dieu,! I was so seriously occupied that I lost precious moments in writing those two letters I now desire to annihilate. If friendship, even if lost, still has its rights, would you have the kindness to present to Madame Ilanska, from me, the third Part of the "I"Etudes de Mlo(urs," which I finished yesterday, and which will appear Thursday, September 18? You will find the manuscri)ts and the volumes with M. Sina, to whom I addressed them. If Madame IIanska, or you, monsieur, do not think this proper, I beg you to burn the manuscripts and the volumes. I should not like that what I destined for Madame Hanska at a time when she thought me worthy of her friendship should exist and go into other hands. "Seraphita," which belongs to her also, will be finished cl 0 ) 0Iton2or de Balzac. [1834 in the " Revue de Paris," September 25). I dare not send it to her without knowing whether she would accept it. I shall await your answer, and silence will be one. As ''"Sraphita" will be immediately published in a volume, I shall, if slhe is merciful, make her the humble dedication of this work by putting her arms and name on the first leaf, with thelse simple words: "This page is dedicated to Mladame 11... by the author; " and she shall receive, at any )lace you indicate, the volume and the manuscript. However it be, and even if Ma(lame Ilanska offers ne a generous and complete pardon, I feel that I siall always have 1 know not what in my soul to emblarrass nme. So, though I have made to this precious friendship the greatest of sacrifices in writing the present letterfor it contains thin'gs humiliating) to nme, and which cost ine clear - I am destined, no doubt, never to see you again, and I may therefore express to you my keen regrets. I have not so many affections round inme that I can lose one without tears. I was never so young:, so truly "'nineteen years old," as I was with her. lBut I shall have the consolation to grow, to do better, to become something so powerful, so nobly illustrious, that -som]e (lay she can say of nme: "No, there was no wicked intention, and nothing small in his error." In whatever situation we may hold to each other when you receive this letter, l)ermit me to thank you for the kin(l things you have said to me about my false electien and the "MOdeciin de campagne." Yes, if I ever enter the tril)llbe, and seize power, the tlling you speak of would crown my desires and be, in my political life, the object of my am:bition. I can say tiis withiout flattery, isinasmuch as it was a fixed determnination before I ever knew you. I consider the primary cause a shame to France of the eighteenth century as much as to that of the nineteenth. 1834] Letters to Madame fanska. 203 I have much work to do, monsieur; and I am overwhelmed by it. I did not expect this additional grief, for which I can only blame myself. Express to Madame Hanska all my sorrow, and, though she may reject them, I send her my respects, mingled with repentance and the assurance of my obedience. But perhaps she has punished me already by one of those forgettings from which there is no return, and will not ev3n remember what occasioned my error. Adieu, monsieur; accept my sentiments and my regrets. DE BALZAC. In case you are no longer in Vienna, I have notified M. Sina of the parcel. To MADAME IIANSKA. PARIS, October 18, 1834. MADA3ME,- I went to spend a fortnight at SachJ, in Touraine. After the "Absolu" Dr. Nacquart thought me so debilitated that, not wishing (as he said in his flattering way) that I should die on the, last step of the ladder, he ordered me my native air, and told me to write nothing, read nothing, do nothing, and think nothing - if I could, he said, laughing. I went to Touraine, but I worked there. My mother came here and took charge of my letters. On arrivilng this morning I found a heap of them, but I sought for one only. I recognized the Vienna postmark and your handwriting, which brought me, no doubt, a pardon that I accept without any misplaced pride. Had I the wings and freedom of a bird you would see me in Vienna before this letter, and I should have brought you the most radiantly happy face in the world. But here I can only send you, on the wings of the soul, a respectful effusion. In my joy I saw three Vienna postmarks, just as Pitt, drunk, saw two orators in the tribune, while Sheridan saw none at all. o04 Hlonore de Balzac. [1834 I resume my correspon(lence according to the orders of your Beauty (capital B, as for Highness, Grace, Holiness, Excellency, Majesty, for Beauty is all that); but what can I tell you that is goodl? I am gay in my distress, gay because my thoughts can tly, rainbow-lined arnd fearless, to you; but I am, in reality, faltigued and overwlelmed with work and obstacles. Do you really care much to know about tilis life of a bloody crater? HoIIw call I selnd to you, so fresh, so pure, the tale of so many sorrows? D)o you know, can you know, what sufferings a publisfher can cause us by!aitnchiiig badly into thle world a I)ook which has cost us a hundred nighlts, like "La iReclhercht e de 1'Absolu." Two members of the Academy of Sciences taught ime chemistry tlat the book might be truly scientilic. They made me correct mly proofs for thle tenth or twelftlh time. I had to read Berzelitis, toil to be right as to science, and toil to lainuitain style so,s not to bore wihi chemistry thle cold Frenech reader by makinlg a lbook in which the inlterest is blased on chemistry, - ill point of fact, there are not eight pages in all of science ill tle four hundire(ld pages of tile book. Well, thlese gigantiic labours whIich, done within a given time, have worn out twenty printers, whio call me a' "slyel' of men,]" Ibecause when I sit up ten nigh'lts they sit up1) five- well, these lion toils are compromised! 'lTie ''Absolti, ten times greater, in my opinion, than "Eug(nie Crad(let," wil ogo wit hout success, and my twelve volumes will not be exliausted (us I am in making them); mly freedom is d(elyed! I)o you understand my wrath? I hloped to tilnisil "'Srnplhita " in Touraille; but I have worn myself out. like Sisyphus, in useless efforts. It is not every (lay tlhat we can go to heaven. I began in Tonraine a great work, -"Le P1 re (oriot." You will see it in thle comilg n.umbers of tlhe "RIevue de Paris." I putt in ti,/eil/cs, laughing like a 1834].Letters to Micdame canlskua. 205 maniac; but not in the mouth of a young woman, no; in that of a horrible old one. I would not allow you to have a rival. I come back here; I have my two last lawsuits to compound, my first part of the "Etudes Philosophiques" to launch; happily Werdet is an intelligent man and most devoted; but he has very little money. I must, under pain of seeing him fail, do "Cesar Birotteau" by December 15; besides which, 3Madame Bechet must have her fourth Part of the "Etudes de Mcwurs" by the 1st to the 15th of November. My pecuniary obligations are coming due, and my payments are made with difficulty. Besides which I have taken J. Sandeau to live with me; I must furnish for him, and pilot him through the literary ocean, poor shipwrecked fellow, full of heart. In short, one ought to be ten men, have relays of brains, never sleep, be always blest with inspiration, and refuse all distractions. It is now three months since I last saw Madame de Berny; judge of my life by that feature of it. Ah! if I were loved, my mistress might sleep in peace; there is no place in my life -I won't say for an infidelity, butfor a thought. It would n't be a merit; I am even ashamed of myself. I should have to do six hundred leagues on foot, go to Wierzchownia on a pilgrimage, to present myself in youthful shape, for I am so fat that the newspapers joke me, the wretches! That is France, 1a belle France; they laugh at ills produced by toil; they laugh at my "abdomen." So be it! they have nothing else to say. They cannot find.in me either baseness or cowardice, or anything of what dishonours them; and, as Philippon of "La Caricature" said to me: "Be happy; all who do not live y wr'iting admire your character as much as your works." I grasped his hand well that day. He gave me back my strength. You know by the announcement of the fourth Part, 206 lono,,,c de Balzw,. [18s34 that I am busy with the second voluoive of the 'Scenes de la Vie privee," but what you did not know of is "Le Pere Goriot," a master work! the painting of a sentimeent so (great that nlothing can exhaust it, neither rebuffs, nor wounds, nor injustice; a man who is fc^thcr, as a saint, a martyr is Christian. As for "Cesar Birotteau," I have told you about him. Yes, I inhaled a little of the autumn in Touraitne; I played pJl(,t and olyster, alnd when the skies were clear L thoug'hlt it was an omen, an(l that a dove was coming from Vienna with a green leatlet in her beak. I am now in my winter condition, in my study, with the Chartreuse gown you know of, workinge for the future. As for my joys, they are innocent, - the refurniishing of my bedroom, a cane tlhat has made all Paris ga,,tble, a divine opeCra-.glass whiich mly chemists have had made for me by the optician of the Observatoire; besi(les whlieh, g'd buttons on my blue coat; buttons chiselled by fairy hands, -for the man who carries, ini the nineteenth century, a cane worthy of Louis XIV. cannot keep upon his coat ignoble pinchbeck buttons. It is these little innocent crotchets that mlake me pass for a millionaire. I have created the sect of Canophilists in the fashionable wold, and(l they take me for a frivolous man. It is very ainusing'. It is a motth now since I have set foot at the Opera. I have, I think, a box at the Bouffons. Is not that, you will say to mne, very comfortable poverty? But remnember that music, chased gold canes, buttons, and opera-glasses, are mny sole amusements. No, you will not blame them. Shall I send you the corrected "Peau de Chagrin"? Yes. Ten days hence that Baron Sina, who fills my mind on account of his name, will receive, addressed to him, a package containing five 12nmo volumes, in the style of the four of "Le M Ideein (le campagne," which 1 is4] Letters to Miiadame iHaiska. 207 Maitre Werdet calls pretty little volumes. They are frightful; but this edition is an edition intended to fix, definitively, the type of the,grand general edition of the work which, under the title of "Etudes Sociales," will include all these fragments, shafts, columns, capitals, bas-reliefs, walls, cupolas, in short, the building, which will be ugly or beautiful, which will win me the plandite ciees or the oemoniot. Be tranquil; in that dclay, when the illustrated edition comes, we shall find asses on whose skin to print you a unique copy, enriched with designs. That shall be the votive offering of the pardoned one. Well, forget lmy fault, but I shall never forget it myself. Do not fealr, madame, that Zulma-lDudevant will ever see ime attached to her chariot.... I only speak of this becCulse more celebrity is fastened on that woman than she d(eserves; which is preparing for her a bad autum1n. Madame de Berny does not like "XVolupte;" she condeinns the book as full of rhetoric and empty of feeling. Slhe was revolted by the passage where the lover of Madame de Cotuaen goes into evil places, and thinks that character ignoble. She has made nme come down from my judgment; but there are, nevertheless, fine pages, flowers in a desert. "Jac(ques," Madame Sand's last novel, is advice given to husbands who inconvenience their wives to kill themselves in order to leave them free. The book is not dangerous. You could write ten times better if you made a novel in letters. This one is empty and fa'se from end to end. An artless young girl leaves, after six months of marriage, a steperior mall foi a popinjay; a man of importance, passionate and loving, for a dandy, withoutt any reason, physiologieal or moral. Then, there is a love for mules, as in '"L4lia" for unfruitful beings; which is strange in a woman who is a 208 H;tonrc de Balzac. [1834 mother, and who loves a good deal in the German way, instilnctively. All these authors roam the void, astride of a hollow; there is no truth there. I prefer ogres, Tomn Tlhunb, 1land the Sleeping Beauty. 1\I. (de... ias made a decent little failure. Those who have woii(ned me never prosper; is n't that singular? D1eeidetly, fate wills thnct I shalil not see MIadanme (lde Castries. Each time that I rustle against her gown so)11e umisfortune happens to me. The last time, I went to Lormois, the resi(lence of the tI)ue de Maill(, to see her. J came back on foot (to get thlinl). Between Lonjumeau andll Antony, a sharp 1)oint ini)side my boot pushed up and wounded my foot. It was half-past eleven at night, — an hour at whtich a road is not furrowed with vehicles. I was just about to go' to bed in a (itlch, like a robber, when the calbriolet of one of m-y friends caine by, empty. The groom pickedl me up and took ime home. I believe iit fate. it is ill their har;-shness that we judge women. This one showed ime a dry heart. As Eiugene Sue says, tile viscera were tii(ler; they would have stopped the blood instead of muakiing it circuilate. Pardon me; this is the remains of the nail in my boot. Fancy, I am goingi to (ive myseif the pleasure of seeiiig myself acted. I have imagined a buffoonery that I want to ei joy: "Pruidhlomne, bioamist." Prudhomime is mierly; keeps his wife very short; she does the houseltold work and is a servant disguised by the title of wife. She has never b0een to an Opera ball. Her neighbliour wats to take lier, and being informed of tile conjuial hlaibits of Joseph Pirudhomme, she assists the wife in makingr a lay figure resembling Madame Prudhommlne, which the women put in the bed, and go off to tlIe masked Prudhomme comes home, says his monologues, questions lhis wife, who is asleep, and finally goes to bed. At five o'clock the wife returns; he wakes, anid finds himself with two wives. You can 1834] 1Letters to Aiadarme Ilanska. 209 never imagine the fun our actors will make of that sketch; but I swear to you that, if it takes, Parisians will come and see it a hunidred times. God grant it! It will only cost me a morning, and may perhaps be worth fifteen thousand francs. It is the best of buffoonery! But all depends on so many thilngs. Some one must lend me a name; the theatres are sinks of vice, and my foot is virgin of stain. Perhaps the first and last representation will be in this letter. Better one fine page not lRaid for than a hundred thousand francs for a worthless farce. I have never separated famne from poverty, - poverty with canes, buttons, and operaglasses, be it understood, and a famUe easy to carry. That will be my lot. Have I hid my real griefs? have I chattered gaily enough? Would you believe that I suffer, -that this morning I took up life with difficulty, I rebelled against my solitudle, I wanted( to roam the worldl, to see what the Landstrasse was, to put my fingers in the Danube, to listen to the Viennese stupidities- in short, to do anything but write pages; to be living instead of turning pale over phrases? I await, with impatience, till your white hand writes a few lines in compensation of my toil; for to him who counts suffrages and estimates them, yours are worth millions. I await, as Bugeaud said, "mly peck;" then I shall start off, joyous once more, on a new course across the fields of thought. Who will unfasten my bridle and take off my bit; who will give me my freed(lom; when shall I begin to write '"Philippe le Diseret," to work at my ease - to-dclay, a scene; to-morrow, nothing, - and dclate my work Wierzchownia? Do you know what a doublion is? It is thle key of the fields,- it is freedom! Come, come! another dclay, my sadness! to-day the moujik is all gaiety at having kissed the hand of llis lad(ly, as in church they kiss the 14 210 Hof oIr de ( BI, lzac. 1t8:34 golden pax the priest holds out. I am well of opillion of those who love Musset; yes, he is a poet to p1ut above Lamartine and V. IHugo; but this is not yet the gospel. I place on you the care of thanking M. IIanski for his last letter. But I am sorry in lmly joy. 1 wish it had been any other cause than the (dear little Annia's illness that detained you in Vienna. Kiss her for me, on the forehead, if that proud infant suffers it. And finally, remember nme to all about you. You cannot have the bound "Sdrapllita " until New Year's day. I would like to know if I may send Anna a little souvenir without fear of the inquisitive nose and hands of the German custom-house. Adieu; I have given you my hours of sleep so as not to rob Werdet, or Mad'am( e 1,eIhet; a thousand respectful affections, and deiga to accept my 1)rofound obedience. Sunday, 19th, three in the morningl. I have not slept; I had not read all my letters. lMy last two dilficulties are arrangeable. Two thorns less in my foot. I have read over my scribblings. I amn afraid you cannot read themi; what shall I do? Have I told you. all? Oh! no. There are many things that are never told. My mother is very proud of the "'Absolu;" my sister writes that she wept with joy in reading it and in saying to herself that I wvas her brother. Madame de B1erny finds some spots upon it. Sle does not like tlhat Claes should turn out his daughter; she tlhinks that forced. Madame de Castries writes me that she wept over it. I am sorry for the distance between Paris and Vienna. I would have liked to have your opinion first. Ah! I may go to Englslnd for a few (days (in all, ten, to go and return). My brother-in-law has just invented 1834] Letters to Madame Hanska. 211 something wonderful, he says, relating to railroads, which might be sold for a good little million to the English. I shall try. Did I speak to you of Prince Puckler-Muskau, and of my dinner with him at the house of a species of German monster who calls herself the widow of Benjamin Constant, but has all the air of being a good woman? Well, if I did not speak of it it will be the subject of a conversation when I am on the estates of your Beauteousness. On my way to England I shall stop one week at Ham. The illustrious Peyronnet has expected me there for six months, and the trip has always been delayed. The Due de Fitz-James writes to invite me to Normandy; refused. lion Dieu! forty letters read; it is a sort of drunkenness. Among them are two unknown ladies. One modestly asks me to make her portrait and write her life. She has green eyes and she is a widow -that's the physical and the moral of her. The other sends me execrable verses. At last I understand the cachets of Voltaire. They were not vanity; they were simply to avoid any but the letters of friends. This is what it is to have - I, a poor devil - neither Ferney, nor two hundred thousand francs income, nor one hundred francs for postage. Sandeau will be lodged like a prince. He can't believe in his luck. I embark him on a career of masterpieces by a thousand crowns of debt, which we hypothecate on a bottle of ink. Poor lad! He does not know what duty is. He is free. I chain him. I am sorry for it. He is at this moment loved. A pretty young woman casts upon his wounds the balm of her smiles. Re-adieu. PARIS. October 6, 1834. I have been for the last few days so busy in settling Sandeau and furnishing him with everything, for he is 212 Ifonore' de( Balzae. [1834 a child, that I have not been able to write to you; and( now I shall have to do so by fits and starts, aecording to the order of my ideas and not that of logic. All! in the first, place, can you conceive that they are finding fault with me for the name tMARI(t U:iI:TE in the "IRecherllc (le l'Absolu." It is a Flemish name, and that is all there is to say about it. 1 must be very irreproachable when they have to find fault with me for that! Next Saturday I give a dilnuer to the Tigers of my opera-box, and I am preparimng sumptl)uosities out of all reason. I slhall have Rossini and( Olympe, his eati'(, (d[on(a [afterwards his wife], who will preside. Next Nodier; then five t/gt,s, Sandeau, and a certain Victor Iohain (a man of great political talent, unjustly sinirched), thle most exquisite wi1.es of Europe, the rarest flowers, the best cheer; in short, 1 intend to (distillrguish myself. I don't know who told me tlhat your bitter-sweet cousin extected me in Geneva! 2lfon )Die! how qucer! If I wanted to be gallant I should tell you that I would not cross the Jura in winter for any one in the world after havingo had the Mlaison Mirabaud [inme. Ilanska's house] for joy during that stay in Geneva. Well, believe it. I have worked much at "P/ere Goriot," which will be ini tle " Revue (le Paris " for November. My first lpart of the "I'Etudes Philosoplhiques," the pieces of which have been corrected with excessive severity, will appear iii a few days. I slhall then busy myself with the "'\1emoires d'unie jeune Mariee," a delightful composition, and with "Cesar iBirotteau," which is taking, immense proportions. Also Emmlanuel Arago and Sandeau are going to (lo a great work in five acts, in which I have a third, -a uine subject, which will pay Sandeau's debts and mine; a dranma, entitled "Les 1834] Letters to lfladame ffanska. 213 Courtisans." It will go first to the Porte-Saint-Martin; but it will certainly get to the Francais. It is Inagnificent! (I am a little like Perrette and her jug of milk.) If we win the stage, and our anonymous society, under the title of E. J. San-Drago (Sand-Arago), is successful, I shall be free all the sooner, and Sandeau, trained by me to keep house, xvill allow me to travel. It is impossible that a man who destines himself to politics should not see Europe, not judge fundamentally of manners, morals, and interests. The struggle between France and other countries will always be decided by the North. I must know the North at any cost, and, as M. de Margonne says, one has to be young to travel. Therefore, my liberty! oh, how I long for it! I shall go to Ham about November 5, and, perhaps, from there to England; but I shall return for the 15th in Paris. My life is varied only by ideas; physically, it is monotonous. I speak confidentially with no one but Madame de Berny or with you. I find that one should communicate but little with petty minds; one leaves one's wool there, as on bushes. I am vowed to great sentiments, unique, lofty, unalterable, exclusive, and it is an odd contrast with my apparent levity. I assure you it would take at least five or six years to know to what point solitude has made me susceptible, and of how many sacrifices I am capable without ostentation. What of sentiments, feelings, I have made visible in my work is but the faint shadow of the light tlhat is in me. Up to the present time one woman only, Madame de( Berny, has really known what I am, because she has seen my smile, always otherwise expressive, never cease.1 In twelve years I lhave had neither anger nor impatience. The heaven of my heart has always been blue. Any other attitude is, to my thinking, 1 Probably misprinted in the French; but I leave it verbatim as it is given. - TR. 214 2Honore de BBalza<c. [1834 impotence. Strength should be a unit; and after having for seven years measulred myself with misfortune and vanquished it, and riseln, to gain literary royalty, every night with a will more determined than that of the night before, I have, I think, the right to call myself strong. Thus i-nconstancy, infidelity are incoi;'c/iensibilities for ine. NothliLng wearies men; neither waiting nor happinless. My friendship is of the race of the granites; all will wear-out before the feeling I have conceived. Madame (le Berny is sixty years old; her griefs have changed and withered hier. 3My affection has redoubled. I say it without pride, because I see no merit in it. It is my nature; which God has made oblivious of evil, while ceaselessly in presence of the good. A being who loves me always makes me quiver. Noble sentiments are so fruitful; why should we go in search of bad ones? God made me to smell the fragrance of flowers, not the fetor of mud. And why, too, should I entangle myself in meannesses? A1ll witlhin inc tends toward what is great. I choke in the plaiins, I live on the mountains! And then, I have und(lertaken so much! We have reached the c)?(t of iMt,:l/ac;re. Material monarchs, brutal forces are passing away. There are worlds intellectual, in which Pizarro, Cortcz, Columbus must applear. There will be sovereigl>s in the kingdom of thought. With this ambition no baseness, no pettiness is possible. Nothing wast-es time like petty thingas; and so, I need somethino very great to fill amy mind outside of tlhis circle where I find the iniinite. There is but one thinl - to tlhe infinite, the infinitean immense love. If I have it, shlould I go in search of a Parisian woman, a Madame (de -? (Some one told ime yesterday that she wished a scandal; that her husband left her free, but her vanitv is suchl I believe it- that she wants to be talked about.) 1 have such a horror of the women of liaris hllat I camp upon my work from 1834] Letters to Madame HIans7ca. 215 six in the morning till six at night. At half-past six my hired coupe comes for me, and takes me one day to the Opera, another to the Italians, and I go to bed at midnight. Thus I have not a minute to give to any one. I receive visitors while I dine; I talk of our plans for the plays during dinner. I correspond with no one but you, Madame dle Berny, my sister, and my mother. All other letters wait till Sunday, when I open them, and all that are not on business are handed over to Sandeau, who offers me his hand as secretary. So doing, I shall end by extinguishing this fire of debt and accomplishing my promised work. Without it, no salvation, no liberty. The deuce! you will get the proof of what I now have the pleasure of writing to you, and of my firmness, when you see my books; for a man can't coquet and amuse himself, and bring out such publications. Toil and the Muse; that means that the toiling Muse is virtuous, - she is a virgin. It is deplorable that in this nineteenth century we are obliged to go to the images of Greek mythology; but I have never been so struck as I am now by the powerful truth of those myths. Do not think that what I have been writing is a roundabout way of telling you that, whatever be your age and face, my affection for you would be the same. I should not take circuitous ways to tell you a thing it would give me pleasure to express if I did not think you had enough perspicacity to have felt it, divined it. No; I was examining myself in good faith without any intention of showing myself off. I wish to be so great by intellect and fame that you can feel proud of my true friendship. Each of my works, which I want to make more and more extended, better thought, better written, will be a flattery for you, a flower, a bouquet that I shall send you! Distance alone admits of flowers of rhetoric. My brother-in-law has just discovered a process which, 216 Hi onor, de Balzzc. [1834 in his opinion, solves on railways the problem of inclined planes, and will save great costs in construction and traction. It is possible to sell this invention to the English; here le has talen out a patent, and the English )purchaser call take out an export patent. My brother-in-law does not want to go to London, and I am going to attempt this affair in the interests of my sister. That is the history of my jourliey to London. We are not satistied with our brother in Normandy. His wife is p)regnanit. lie has complicated, still further, the difliculties of hlis life, pool creature. lMy mother is not well; I wish I could see her inl good health to enjoy what I am )preparing for her. But, good God! she has had many trials. To-(lay she turns to me, and heartily; she seems to recognize, without admitting it, the great wrong of tier slight affection for my sister and me; she is punished in the child of her choice in a dreadful way. Henry is nothing, and will be nothing. Hie has spoiled the future his brother-in-law or I might have made for him by his marriage. All this is horribly sad. Yesterday I re-read your letters. As I was putting them away, pressing themn together to arrange them better, they exhaled a fragrance, I know not what, of grandeur andl distinction tlhat could not be mistaken. Those who talk of your forehea(l are not in error. But what is surprisingo in your letters is a turln of plhrase, all your own, which issues from your heart as your glance from your eyes; it is our lano'uae written as Feneloi wrote it. You must have read F(nelon a great deal, or else you have in your soul his harmonious thougllt. When these letters come I read them first like a man in a hurry to talk with you; I (10o not really taste them till the second reading, which happens capriciously. When some thought saddens mne I have recourse to you. I bring out the little box in which is my elixir, and I live again in your Italian journey. I see l)iodati; I stretch 1834] Letters to MIadame -Ianska. 217 myself on that good sofa of the Maison Mirabaud I turn the leaves of the "Gotha," that pretty "Gotha;" and then, after an hour or two, all is serene. I find something cool within me. My soul has rested on a friendly soul. No one is in my secret. It is something like the prayer of the mystic, from which he rises radiant. Will you think me very poetic? But it is true. My Sandeau has brought out a book which is already sold. It is "Madame de Sommerville." Read it, this first book of a young man. Hold out your hand to him; do not be severe. Keep your severities for me; they are my privilege. Madame de Berny pays me no more compliments. From her, criticisms. Criticisms are sweet when made by a friendly hand; we believe them; they sadden because they are, no doubt, true, but they do not rend. Well, adieu. You ought to be reading my last letter at the moment I am writing this. If you wrote to me so that I should receive your letters on Sundays, I would answer on Mondays. We should gain by not crossing each other. I shall send, without letter of advice, to Sina's address, the first part of the "Etudes Philosophiques." You know all that; but let me believe that you take an interest in these enormous corrections a la Buffon (lie corrected immensely), which ought to make my work, when completed (" Etudes Sociales," about which I told you), a monument in our fine language.1 I believe that in 1838 the three parts of this gigantic work will be, if not wholly finished, at least built up, so that a judgment can be formed of the mass. The "Etudes de Mcours" will represent all social effects, without a single situation in life, physiognomy, character of man or woman, manner of living, profes1 He changed the title to "La Comedie iHumaine,' which is indeed a monument, and his monument. - Ti. 218 Ifonor(' dc(e Ba(lz(aec. L 1834 sion, social zone, French region, or anything whatever of childhood, maturity, old age, politics, justice, or war, having been forgotten. That done, tlhe history of the human heart traced thread by thread, the social llist)r'y given in all its parts, there is te(ie )tse. The facts will lot be imaginary; they will be what is hlapp)enilng everywhlere. Then, the second structure is thle "Etudes Philosophiques;" for after the effects will come the causes. I shall have painted in tie "Eltudes de Mliurs " sentiments and their action, life and its d(lep)rtment. In tlie "Etudes Philosop)liques" I slall tell wc// the sentiments, on 7 iw(tt the life; what is the liine, what are thle conditions beyondl wliclh neither society nor iman exist; and, after having surveyed society in order to describe it, I shall survey it ag'ain in order to judge it. So, in the "lEtudles de' Mcxurs" ind(ifduatlti'es are t1)ified; in the '"Etudes Philosiphiques" t/ypes are inllividualize(!. Thus I shall have given life everyvwlhere: to the type by individualizing it, to tile indivi dual by typifyi:g him. I shall have given thollught to the fragmene1t; I shall have given to thought the life of tile individual. Then, after effect. a:nd catses, will come tlie " Ettudes Analytiques," of which the "Pllysiologie du Mariae" ' is a part; for after fe(cts and ca(uscs we must searclh for otpic'iplves. l[atIes and,oils [na-n's~; ] are tile play; ca'uses are the coulisses and the m'c/<,)', /C. P)',icipbJs are the m/aker. But in proportion as tile work winlds spirally up to the hleights of tlmought, it draws itself in and condenises. Though tweinty-four volmumes "ee required for the 'Etudes de aJeLiurs," only fifteen are needed for the "lEtudes Phllilosophiques," and only nine for the "Eltudes Analytiques." Thils m1an, society, humanity will be describled, judged, n nalyzed, without repetitions, an(l in a work which will be like an "Arabian Nights" of the West. 1834] Letters to Madame Hanska. 219 When all is done, my Madeleine scraped, my pediment carved, my last touches given, I shall have been riyht, or I shall have been wrony. But, after having made the poesy, the demonstration of a whole system, I shall make the science of it in an Essay on Human Forces ["Essai sur les Forces Humaines"], And, onl the cellar-walls of this palace I, child and jester, shall have drawn the immense arabesque of the "Contes Drolatiques." Do you think, madame, that I have much time to lose at the feet of a Parisian woman? No; I had to choose. Well, I have now shown you my real mistress; I have removed her veils. There is the work, there is the gulf, there is the crater, there is the matter, there is the woman, there is she who takes my nights, my days, who puts a price on this very letter, taken from hours of study-but taken with delight. Ah! I entreat you, never attribute to me anything petty, low, or mean, - you, who are able to measure the spread of my wings! Well, re-adieu. Recall the carver, the founder, the sculptor, the goldsmith, the galley-slave, the artist, the thinker, the poet, the - whatecer you will, to the memory of those about you who love him, and think of the power of a lonely affection, that of a palm-tree in the desert, a palm-tree that rises to the skies for refreshment, if you would know the part that you have in it. Some day, when I have finished all, we will laugLh heartily over it. To-day one must work! PARIS, November 222-DIecember 1, 1834. Mon Dieu! I have to bear the burden of my own giddiness. I have not been to London; my brother-inlaw changed his mind. You think inme in England and you have not written. I am here without knowing what has become of you, or what you are doing. A thousand anxieties have seized me the last few days. Are 220 HiorI, (' (7d Balzc,.. L1834 you ill? Is M. Ilanski ill? Is Anna? In short, I am making dragons for myself about you. I expected a letter, and the letter not coming I began to search out /'hy,. The why is your belief in my departure. I have no good things to tell you. I am mortally sad. In spite of the consolations of work and the forced activities of poverty, there is a void in my life that weiglhs upon me. In moa;eints of depression I am solitary. Madame de Berny still suffers cruelly, ati(l she remains in the country. I have been to see her for a few days. Those few d(lays are all I have bten able to give her for live months. You ctan judge by that what my life lias been, - a desert to cross. 81hall I reach the happy land where streams and verdure and the gazelles are? My poor mother is extremely ill. I expect her here to-morrow; consultations as to ler heatlth are necessary. My brother's household is mlore an( more disheartening, and toward the close of every year ttbusiness affairs are generally difficult. You see that all conspires to sadden ine. We have, Sandean and I, begun a great comedy: "La Grande Mademoiselle," history of Lauzuin, his marriagTe, and, for culmination, "Marie, pull off my boots." But with a slubject of this kind we may fail before a public blasd with horrors. W hatever is merely witty seems pale. However! I was writing this when your letter came, and I will answer it point by point. You know my character very little if you think that I ever abandon a sentiment, or an idea, or a friend. No, no, madame; it takes many wounds, many blows of the axe to cut down what is in my heart. Borget is in Italy; Porget is roving, paintin(,, and does not write to me. I have lhad news of him only indirectly; nevertheless, lie is always fresh in my thoughts, though we have known each other for several years. 1834] Letters to Madame Hanska. 221 I am not infatuated about Sandeau; but I held out a pole to a poor swimmer who was going under. Where you are right is in believing firmly that I will let no one penetrate to the depths of my heart. For that, the "Open, Sesame" that you have uttered is necessary. Few persons know those sacramental words. I should be the most unhappy man in the world if the secrets of my soul were known. Conjectures, however, are not lacking. But I have too great a power of jesting to allow of anything I wish to hide becoming known. In France, we are obliged to veil depths by levity; without it we should be ruined here. Your letter re-animates me a little, much, extremely. You have put a balm into my heart, like the Fosseuse. I will send you, immediately, the five volumes of the "Etudes Philosophiques," my "Lettre a la litterature," and "Le Pere Goriot" in manuscript; together with the two numbers of the "Revue de Paris" in which it will appear. "Cesar Birotteau" is getting on, and the "Memoires d'une jeune Mariee" are on the ways. I work now twenty hours daily. Luxury will never prevent me trom realizing my project of solitude at Wierzchownia, tor I see plainly, on one hand, the impossibility of being here in presence of the literary discussions about me which are beginning to arise violently, and the need of preparing, far from pin-pricks, two great bludgeon blows, - the tragedy of "Philippe II." and "L'Histoire de la succession du Marquis de Carabas," in which the political question will be plainly decided in favour of the power of absolute monarchy. But without this reason I should still have the keenest desire for travel; and even without this cause, again, there is a greater reason than all others, which would make me surmount every obstacle. Do you know it? Will you have it? Do you care for it? Well, I know nothing sweeter, 222 I2lonore de Balzac. [1834 more endearing, grander, more delightful than your friendship. To go in search of it, to enjoy it for eight days, one could well travel eight hundred leagues and not mind thle labour of the journey. No, no, the tiyers will not pervert ine. Alas! they are too stupid. I am compromised. I must give up imy box on account of that ncighbouihood. It is a stable of tigers! I saw at the Opera, in a box near mine, Delphine P... poor thing! withered, changed, faded, mistress of M. de F... 31iT Dieu! what a skeleton! AWhat a wearied and wearying air! with a species of dead-leaf skin! No, that woman is not a woman! She looks like a corpse about to fall into putrefaction. On the other hand, behind our box is that of the Comtesse Comar, or Komar, or Komarek, for it was Zaluski who told me the name, and I don't know the spelling of it; never did I see a more amiable, more seductive old woman. She is Madame Jeroslas... plus heart and frankness. She had two pretty creatures with her. Zaluski is to present me. You don't know how I like to be with persons of your country. A name in ka or ki goes to my heart. Oh! if you are kind, if yomt lore nwe (I wish I could say that gracefully and irresistibly, as you say it), you will never leave nme fifteen days without a letter. Whether you be in Vienna or at Wierzellownia, you do not know how sweet a true friendship is to tlhe heart of a poor toiler wlho lives in the midst of Paris like a labourer in the Swedish mines. I have cut loose from everything. I have no duty to fulfil to society. I have a horror of false friends and grimaces. I am alone, like a rock in mid-ocean. My perpetual labour is not to the taste of any one. My poor sister Laure is angry at not seeilg me. I want to triuml)ph over the remainder of the distresses tliat envelo) ime; and I have not Leen 1834] Letters to Madame Hanska. 223 strong, constant, and courageous for five years to fail in the sixth. Should I get a month to myself at the beginning of the year, you will not be displeased if I bring my -New Year's gifts to the pretty little Anna myself, inasmuch as the Custom-house is so malicious? I shall have the pleasure of going five hundred leagues to dine with you. But so much work must be done to attain this result that I only speak of it as one of those impossibilities that spur me to work and redouble my courage; something results from it. The "Recherche de l'Absolu" was only written through a hope of this kind. The compromise with Gosselin took the profits of that arduous labour. Oh! you do not know me. In your letters there are complaints, doubts, and polite accusations that dishearten me. "Le Pere Goriot" is a fine work, but monstrously sad. To make it complete, it was necessary to show the moral sink-hole of Paris; and it has the effect of a disgusting sore. Wednesday, 26. I must tell you that yesterday (my letter has been interrupted) I copied out your portrait of Mademoiselle Celeste, and I said to two uncompromising judges: "Here is a sketch I have just flung on paper. I wanted to paint a woman under given circumstances, and launch her into life through such and such an event." What do you think they said? - "Read that portrait again." After which they said: - "That is your masterpiece. You have never before had that la isser-aller of a writer which shows the hidden strength." "Ha, ha!" I answered, striking my head; "that comes from the forehead of an anafll,'St." I kneel at your feet for this violation; but I left out all that was personal. Beat me, scold me, but I could 224 Honore de Balzac. [1834 not refuse myself the enljoyment of this praise; and I tasted the greatest of pleasures, - that of secretly hearing a person praised who is unknown and to whom one bears a deep affection. It is enjoyment twice over. I am convinced of the immense superiority of your mind, and I am confoun(led to find in you such feminine graces, together with the force of mind which Madame Dudevant has and Madame de Stael once had; and I say this very loud, tlhat you may not make yourself small behind that tall steeple you. have so often boasted of to me. The opinion that I express upon you is a matured opinion. I amin here, far from the prestige of your presence. I go over in my mind, impartially, your sayings, your opinions, your studies, and( I write you these lines with a sort of joy, beecause Madame Carraud and Madame de Berny have made other women seem very small to me; and because, in the matter of grace, amenity, and the science hidden under thle frivolity of smiles, I am a great connoisseur, having lovingly inhaled those flowers of womanhood, and what I say of you is conscientious and true. Besides, you are too yramle dame to be proud of it. What you should be proud of is your kindness, and those qualities which are acquired only by the practice of Christian virtues, at which I never jest now. Forgive me the disconnectedness of my letters, the incompleteness of my sentences. I write to you at night before I begin to work. My letters are like a prayer made to a g(oo(d genius. Go to the Prater with M. Hanski! i~on Dice! you trample the world underfoot, and you do not set in the light that which is good! Ah! I must tell you that literature, seeing my cane, my chiselled buttons, has decided that I am the Benjamin of an old English woman, Lady Anelsy (I write the name badly), whom I met at Madame (d'Abrantes, and 1834] Letters to MaCdfame Hanzska. 225 who has a box at the Opera, near mine (she separates me from Madame Delphine P...), and to whom I bow. I have answered friends (friends who are tigers in the guise of doves) that, not being able to bear the features of the old lady in my heart, I have had them carved on the knob of my cane. You have no idea what a fuss my movable property creates. I have much more success through that than through my works. That. is Paris! My dinner? Why, it made an excitement. Rossini declared he had never seen, eaten, or drunk anything better among sovereigns. It sparkled with wit. The beautiful Olympe was graceful, sensible, and perfect. Lautour-Mezeray was the wittiest of men; he extinguished the cross-fire of Rossini, Nodier, and Malitourne by an amazing artillery vigour. The master of the feast was the humble lighter who put the match to each sun in this array of fireworks. Ecco. I told you that "La Recherche de l'Absolu" would astonish you; well, you will be as little prepared for "Pere Goriot." After that will come the glorious end of "Seraphita." Never will imagination have been in so many different spheres. I do not speak of the perfumer Birotteau, or of the "Medmoires d'une jeune Mari6e;" those will be supporting the battle with fresh troops. Do you know for whom is this success? Well, I want you to hear my name gloriously, respectfully pronounced. I want to give you the sweetest enjoyments of friendship; I want to have you say to yourself: "He laughed like a boy at Geneva, and he made campaigns into China!" For you think he is a moralist, a toiler, a cynic, a -I don't know what. But he is a child who loves pebbles, and talks nonsense, and does it; who reads "Gotha," plays patience, and makes M. Hanski laugh. Geneva is to me like a memory of childhood. There 226 J]l;;orc de Baiz,(ac. [1834 I quitted my chain; there I laughed without saying to myself, "To-morrow! " I shall always remember having tried to dance a,galop down the long salon at I)iodati, where Byron got drlunk. And the country about la Beilotte! I must not think too much about all thlat; I should go to Vienna! I have such superstition, suchl veneration for per)soins with whlom I can he is'c,,l'. I w has that come about amnong us? 1 (do't know, but so it is. 1 can talk of my griefs, my joys, 1efoic you and Monsieur Ilanlski; here I am mnyseif cnly with nmy sister an(l Madame (le Brny,- prolatbly be-cause you resemble the latter, and are very mch!(ll 1m sister. At this moment I would fain tell you, hon)ourallyv, all graceful and sweet thlings, and send you, gathered one by one in the fields of friendship, tlhe prettiest flowers, those you like best; for I wishl never again to lie for one moment under your (lispleasure. If you ordain it, Iuclluts will retreat into the sl in of l)iogenes in order not again to reald 1thcl-e words: "Ylr1 goings-on as Lucullus will retar'd your freedom." I dine to-day with one of those wlho tool Algiers, tlhe commissary-general Denni(e, who for the last three years is in love with an admired crcrature (rathecr,, fool), Maldemoiselle Amigo, of the Italian Opera. There, camne Rossini, in dishabille aind not sarcastic. Yesterday, at tle first represenlation of "Eranii,'" (.ilympe said to mae, motioltning to Rossini: - "You cannot iniagine how beautiful and slublime tlhe soul of that beineg is; howw kind he is, and to what point he is kind. To reserve his heart and its treasures for her he loves, lie wraps hlimiself in siarcasm to 11ie eyes of others; he makes himself prickly." I took Rossini's lhand and( lressel1 it joyfully. "''lio) m7 (,estro," I s.aid to hli; "'then we can understand each otlher." "What, you too '!" lie said, sm ii )g. 18341 Letters to Madame HIanskca. 227 I lowered my head; then I showed him all that brilliant Paris which was present, and said: - "To cast one's diamonds and pearls into that mud-" And at that moment my eyes fell upon "Delmar's" box. Monday, December 1. My letter has remained for eight days on, in, and underneath "Le Pere Goriot." I have had a thousand money worries, but I am getting out of them. Never have I been so powerful to get through this business by my firm will. Another few months, and I am saved. Within a few days a little joy has come to me. After much pressing, and receiving no for an answer for the last three years, they have consented to sell me "La Grenadiere." So I shall have a retreat for study, and the furniture, books, and arrangements I should make will remain mine. I could live there six months, incognito, without seeing any one. So here I am, very happy - so far as a material thing can give happiness. You have been proud of "Pere Goriot." My friends declare that it is comparable to nothing, and is above all my other compositions. Do you know that I am uneasy on what your last letter said relating to depth of heart, to which no man could ever attain. Those few words make me think you (o not know me well, and it grieves me, because you cannot love me as well as I might be loved if I were known better. Mon Dieu! I am the object of a thousand calumnies, each more ignoble than the others, and I pay no more attention to them than he who is above the Jura listens to Pictet. Is that a merit? But a word from you puts alarm into my brain, into my heart. Well, adieu. It is now eight days that I have been conversing with you. I will write a little more regularly in future. The doctors have obtained that I shall change my way of life. I am going to bed at midnight 228 tIonore de dl Balzac. [1834 to rise at six in the morning, and work from then till three in the afternoon. I shall have from three to live for my pleasures, and I will write you each day a little line. After which I am ordered to go and amlise myself for six hours til midnighllt. Jlon, LDieu! I have the same difliculty in quitting my pen tlhat I had in quitting the Maison Mirabai(l whenl tlhe master forced me to go by go(ing to bed himself. A thousand prettilesses to Anna, im1y friendly regards to 3i. Iiauski, if y'ou don't keep themn all for yourself. P'ARIs, D)ecem}ber 15, 1834. Ohl! how long it is since 1 have seeln your writing! Have I fallen agoainl into disgrace? Are you (lispleased with my long letters written at intervals? I can only give you - offer you a (lay here and there; it is a (lay of respite in the midst of my long confbat. It is tlie moment when I, poor (love without a branch, rest llmy feet beside thle living spring, thle source where she dips her thirsty beak into the pulre waters of affection. Yes, all is enlargiig' - the circus and the athlete. To face all, I must imitate tlle French soldier (durilng the first campaigns in Italy: never recoil before impossibilities, and find in victory the coura'ge to beat back the morrow's enemy. Last week I took in all but ten hours' sleep. So tlat yesterday and to-day I have been like a poor foundeted horse on his side, -iII my bed, not able to do anything, or hear anytihinog. Tle fact is, thle first number of "Pere Goriot" made eighty-tlmree pages in tlie "Revue (le Paris," equivalent to hlalf an octavo volume. I had to correct the proofs of those ei'ghty-three pages three times in six days. If it is any glory, I alone could make that tremen(lous effort. But mnonme tile less must my other works be carried on. Forgive me, therefore, tile irregill'arity of 'lmy corre 1834] Letters to Madame Hanska. 229 spondence. To-day one flood, to-morrow another flood sweeps me along. I bruise myself against one rock, 1 recover, and am thrown upon a reef. These are struggles that no one can appreciate. No one knows what it is to change ink into gold! I have begun to tremble. I am afraid that fatigue, lassitude, impotence may overtake me before I have erected my building. I need, from time to time, good little words said out of France, some great distractions, and the greatest come from the heart, do they not? However, "Pe're Goriot" is an unheard-of success; there is but one voice: "Eugenie Grandet," the "Absolu," are surpassed. I am, so far, at the first number only, and the second is beyond that. 'iyeuilles has made people laugh. I return you that success. But you, what has become of you? No letters! nothing! A few (lays more, and I hope my work will be rewarded by reaching your ear like a reproach. I did believe you would periodically cast me a smile, a letter, a gracious dew of words written to refresh the brow, the heart, the soul, the will of your moujik. Which of us can dispose of our time? You. Who writes oftenest? I. I have most affection, that is natural; you are the most lovable, and I have more reasons to bear you friendship than you have to grant it to me. There is but one thing that pleads for me; misfortune, misery, toil; and as you have all the compassions of woman and of angel, you should think of me a little oftener than you do. In that, I am right. Write to me every week, and do not be vexed with me if I can only answer you twice a month. This torrential life is my excuse. Once I am freed, and you shall judge of me. Yes, forgive much to him who loves and toils much. Reckon to me as something nights without sleep, days without pleasures, without distractions. Madame Mitgislas... invited me, but I did not accept; I have 20 ]olnorC (C I3altZ(ac. L1[i4 neither the time nor the wish to do so. Society gives so little and wants so muchl! and I am so ill at ease in it! I am so embarrassed on receiving silly compliments, and tiU(e sounds of the heart are so rare! Since I wrote to you there llhas been othing but work in mly life, slashed with a few little go(od debauches of music. We have had "'Moise" and "Sellmiramide mounted and executed as those operas have never been before, and every timle that either is given I go. It is my only pleasure. I do not meddle ill polities. I say, like some granmmarian, I don't know who, "Whatever happens, I have six thousand verbs conjugated." I bring daily, like an ant, a chip to my pile. There are days when tlhe memory of the Ite Saint-Pierre gives me frenzies; I thirst for a journey, I writhe in my chains. Then, the next day, I think that I ha.ve fifty ducats to pay at tle end of the month, and I set to work again! Will you like me with long hair? Everybody here says I look ridiculous. I persist. M!y hair has not been cut since my sweet Geneva. Inl order that you may know what I mean by "my sweet Geneva," you ought to see Charlet's caricature on "nmy sweet Falaise " a conscript on Monut Blanc, not seeing an apple-tree, calls it " Land of evil!" At this moment I am working at two thlinlgs: "La Fleur du Poix," and "Melmoth rdconcilie." Then I have also to (ldo the counterpart of "Louis Lambert," "Eccle 1H-omno," and the end of the "Enfant Maludi t," besides that of "Seraphita " (which belonags to you), and that of "Le Pere Goriot," which will endl the year 1834, just as the end of " S6raphita " began it. You understand that all my time is fully employed, nights and (days; for, besides these thi)ngs, have proofs of my reprints whlich are always goin1g, on. Sandeau is horrified. He says that famile can never pay for such toil, and that lie would rather die than undertake it. lIe 1834] Letters to JmlTdame Jlanska. 231 has no other feeling for me than the pity we give to sick people. I shall see you, no doubt, in Vienna. I have very solidly determined within myself to go there in March, so as to be able to make a reconnoissance of the battlefields of Wagram and Essling. I shall start after the carnival. Did I tell you that I am to have the Grenadiere? Mon Diemu! I return to your silence; you do not know how uneasy I am about you, your little one, and M. Hahski. It would not cost you much just to say: "We are all well, and we think of you." Well, I must say adieu, send you a thousand gracious thoughts, and beg you to offer my respects to 21. Hauski, keeping my homage at your feet. 232 Ti lno r' ( lc i alzac. [1835 III. LETTERS 1)[tRING 1335. PAlIS, January 4, 1835. [ HAiVE had the hapl)piiess to receive two letters from vyol wvithin a few days of each other, while you have d()1u1tlcess received b)oth mine. I return to imes moutons by assertilio that you can write to me regularly, and that it is not pe)rmissible in you to del)rive Ile of my sun. Blah! have not see either K or P... ain. Why (do you s(old me? Don't take my magic-lantern views for realities. All is much changed since my last letter. Alas! I had tile ambition to be near you on the 2(;th of January, and I 1)eguan to w,,rk eighteen hours a day. I stood it for fifteeln (ays, fromn my last letter till I)eeember 31; then I risked tan inlsonnia; andl I am now w'akiig from a sleep (of seveniteei houzrs, taken at intervals, which has saved me. What hlas the public ogined? 'e Pre Goriot," oil wihiech these stulpid Parisians dote. " Pere Goriot " is lput a)bove everything else. I wait till I have tinished " Seraphita " to send it at tlie same time as thle manuse:l)pt of "' S-'rapl)ita," in its binidingo of cloth ad(l silk as you wished, simple and mysterious as thle book itself; also the manuscript of " Le Pere Goriot " with tlie printed b)ook, tlie first Part of the "Etudes Philosophiq(ues," and the fourth of the " Etudes (lc MaI(Vurs." 18i5] Letters to lIMdamle Ifaiska. 233 My works are beginning to be better paid. "Pere Goriot" has brought me seven thousand francs, and as it will go into the " Etudes de Moeurs " in a few months, I may say that it will bring me a thousand ducats. Oh! I am very deeply humiliated to be so cruelly fastened to the glebe of my debts, to be able to do nothing, never to have the free disposal of myself. These are bitter tears, shed (lay and night in silence; they are sorrows inexpressible, for the power of my desires must be known, to coimprehend that of my regrets. So you fatigue yourself by going into society, -you, flower of solitude, and so beauteous in worldly inexperience! Your letter brought the whole social life of Vienna into this study where I work without ceasing. I became a worldling with you. Alas! I am threatened with a grief that will spread over all my life. I went for two days to see Madame de Berny, who is eighteen leagues from here. I was witness of a terrible attack. I can no longer doubt it, she has anenrism of the heart. That life, so precious, is lost. At any moment death may take from me an angel who has watched over me for fourteen years; she, too, a flower of solitude, whom the world has never touched, and who has been my star. My work is not done without tears. The attentions due to her cast uncertainty upon any time of which I could dispose, though she herself unites with the doctor in advising me some strong diversions. She pushes friendship so far as to hide her sufferings from me; she tries to seem well for me. You will understand that I have not drawn Claes to do as lie did. Great God! what changes in her have been wrought in two months! I am overwhelmed. To feel one's self well-nigh mad with grief, and yet to be condemned to toil I To lose that grand and noble part of my life and to know you so far away from me is enough to make one throw one's self into the Seine! The future of my mother which 234 IIono;'C e (llei,. [ 1 835 rests upon me, and that hope which shi~nes afar., so far! are like two branches to which I cling. Therefore your scolds about the K.s and t e P.s anl my dis.~ipations make me smile sa(lly. Nevertheless, I have Ipul yo(lur letter next to my heart, with that profounled sense of egotismn which makes us clasp tle l;ast friend who is left to us. You will be, if tils person is taken from me, thle only and sole person who has op)ene(l my lheart. You alo)c will know the Sesamlille, for the feeling of MadaIIme C(tarraud of lssoud(lu is in sone sort the doutlle of that cf my sister. You will never know with what power of cohesion I have recourse to the memories of that yonng friendshiip, wlhile weeping to-day over a feelillg which (leath is abl)out to destroy, leaving all its ties behind it in me. The reading of tlle second number of " P're G(oriot gave Madame dl Berny such pleasure thlat she lad lan attack of the heart. So I, who (lid not suspect the goravity of the harm, was thle innocent clause of suffering. I beoan a letter quite gaily, after ihaviing received yours of the 12th; but I threw it into the fire. Its gaiety hurt me. You will forgive le, will you not., for that chastity of feeling?- you, so like to /,,cr! you il whomn I tind so many of the ideas, graces, noblenesses, which have lla(le me name that person: my copnscience. Between this sorrow and thle distant liglit I love, whant are men, the world, society! There is llothillo possible but the constant work into which I throw myself - wor k, my saviour, which will give me liberty, an-lld return to mne my wings. I quivered on readinllr your reasoningi: ' No letters; he is conmingl." That idea naturally cane to you; I have too often been tortured by it. I amll seized with periodic furies to leave all!behind me, to escape, to spring into a carriage! Then tlhe chains clang down; 1 see the thickness of my d(Ingeon. If I come to you it will be as a surprise, for I can no) longer make decisions oil 1835] Letters to 3Iadame Icanscka. that subject. I must finish for Madame Bechet the fifth Part of the " Etudes (le Moeurs," finish the second part of the "' tudes Philosophiques " for Werdet, finish " Seraphita," and provide the necessary money to pay all here in my absence, and I have not a single friend of whom I can ask a farthing; it has all to be drawn from my inkstand. There is my Potosi; but to work it I must do without sleep and lose my health. Poverty is a horrible thling. It makes us blame our own heart; it denaturalizes all things. In my case it is necessary that talent or power of writing be as punctual to time as the falling due of my notes. I must not be ill, or suffering, or ill-disposed for work. I must be, like the scales of the Mint, of iron and steel, and coining always! Yet I exist only by the heart. And so I suffer! Oh! I suffer, as much as any creature can suffer who is all independence, feeling, open to happiness, but clogged and groaning under the iron weight of the chain withl which necessity crushes him! At this time last year I was without my chain, far from my worries, near you. What a looking back to the past! Then I did not think about being al)le to release myself, I was thoughtless about my debts. To-day I believe in my liberation; I have nearly reached it. Six months more of sacrifices and I am saved, I become myself, I am free! I shall go and eat with you the first bit of bread that belongs to me, that will not be steeped in tears and ink and toil. I do not want to sadden you, I only want to tell you that if I am oppressed I feel as keenly the happiness there is in being able to tell of it. But you neglect me as if you were nothing to me; you write me seldom. Why will you not give me, to me alone, one day in the week for a letter. Suppose I were in Vienna and went to see you every Sunday, I, poor workman, you would give me that day. Well, I declare to you that if I am 236 Ilowqor de Balzac. [1835 not in Vienna in the body I can be there in thought. Write me therefore on that day. I shall then have a letter every week when this rolling of letters is once established. 1 will answer you. You have not written me a single letter to which I have not instantly replied. I offer you no special New Year's wishes. Those wislies I make daily for you and yours. I shall send by diligence to-day the first Part of the E 1tudes Philosophiques " so that you may not wait but may always keep the run of my work. You will easily guess that the Introduction has cost me as much as it has M. Felix D)avin, whom I had to teach and recorrect until he had suitably expressed my thought. I do not know if the "Revue de Paris " reaches Vienna. You will have seen in it a 'I Letter " of mine to tlle French authors of our century, in which I expose our ills. If you have not seen it, tell me, and I will send you a copy. The end of " S;raphita " is a work of great ditliculty. The (;ermanes have sent translators to Paris to get it hot. Adieu; do not leave nme again without letters, or I shall tlink myself abandoned for society, which returns you nothing. To whom (lo you think I should rel)eat your judgment on 5M. Anatole de Tll...? You alway thlink that I go and come and belono in tle world of idlers. That is an opinion rooted in your mind; and because you are going and coming yourself you want me to be your accomplice in that grand conspiracy of ennui. All your ju(lgmenlts on Vielnna have been confirmed by Alphonse Royer, who stayed tllere. Thanks to you, I know Vienna by heart; but as long as you are there nothing could disgust me with it, were it a hundred times more stupid and more gluttonous. Ahl! they still have reserved sofas, but they reserve nothing in their hearts. 18351 Letters to Alladame Hanskca. 237 PARIS, January 16, 1835. In spite of constant work and the greatest efforts of concentrated will, I have not been able to finish what I ought to do in order to have the power to leave to-day, to profit by this mild weather (which reminds ine of the winter of Geneva), and reach Vienna on the 26th. Everything is against it. Tile '" Revue de Paris " would not double its number so that " Pere Goriot" could be finished. I have still my " Cent Contes Drolatiques" on my hands, the purchase of them being delayed for a few (lays. I have not failed about anything, but men have failed me. If I finish all by the middle of February I shall count myself lucky, and have about a month during which the journey will be to me the sweetest of necessities. I have, however, sacrificed everything, even writing to you, to that object. You will receive, by diligence, the manuscript of " Pere Goriot" and the two numbers printed in the " Revue." Here, every one, friends and enemies, agree in saying that this composition is superior to all else that I have done. I know nothing about it. I am always on the wrong side of my tapestry. But you will tell me your opinion. Now I have to finish '4 L'Enfant Maudit" and " Seraphita," which will appear during the first ten days in February. Next, to finish "La Fille aux yeux d'or," and do " Sceur Marie des Anges." The latter is a female " Louis Lambert" [it was never written]. You will read it. It is one of my least bad ideas. The abysses of the cloister are revealed; a noble heart of woman, a lofty imagination, ardent, all that is grandest, belittled by monastic practices; and the most intense divine love so killed that Sceur Marie is brought to no longer comprehend God, the love and adoration of whom have brought her there. Then I have to do " La Fleur des Pois" and the counterpart of " Louis Lambert," entitled "Ecce Homo." 238 Jlonorc de Balzac. [1835 I am much fatigued, much tormented, much worried, especially about money. That wire, which pulls one back at every moment from on high into this heap of mud, is intolerable; it saws my neck. I have dined with Madame Delphine P..., but I left nothing there of my sentiments. A pretty little creature was present, a Princess Galitziln, and I made her laugh by telling her there was a silly, stupid creature at Genthod who did her great wyong by synonymy. I thought Madame Delphine neither affectionate, nor kind, nor granlde dame. I made a rapid turn to you and burned incense before you, recallting to mind certain of those perfections about which you will not let me speak to you. A few intonations in M. Mitgislas... 's voice, vaguely reminded me of yours and made my heart )ceat. How cold society is! I came home joyfully to my hermitage, of which you will find a (irawillg some (lay at Wierzchownlia; for did you not tell me that you had subscribed to " Les Maisons de p)ersonnages celebres "? Well, I am in it; which does not prove that I am:a personagoe or celebrated, when you see what silly folk are there made famous. A year without seeing you! How many times the desire has seized me to drop everythilng, to laugh at l)ublishers, and flee away Then I said to myself that though you might be glad to see me, you might, perhlaps, blame me also, and that what makes us worthy of esteem and graInd, ought never to make us less friends, you and mne. Reassure me, tell me that you do not love ncme less because I have not been able to find a month in a year. The proof of my seclusion is in what I have doac, which astonishes even publishers. Yet there are people who still say, " Ile brings nothing out." But all this labour will seem nothing, so long as it gives me liberty, independence. When I think that I still need seventy thousand francs for that, and to get them 1835] Lette'is to Jlatdame H-nska. 239 I must spread six bottles of ink on twenty-four reams of paper, it makes me shudder. They offered me yesterday twelve thousand francs 'for the "MAmoires d'une jeune Mariee." But I prefer the four thousand of the " Revue de Paris " and the four thousand for a thousand copies bought by a publisher, to putting the three thousand copies on the public miarklet. I tell you my little affairs. Madame de Berny is better. She declares that the worst symptoms have ceased, but I am going there to assure myself of the truth of what may be a divine lie, of whicll I know her capable. To help nme bear my burden she would fain take from me all anxieties and dry my tears. Oh! she is a noble angel! There is none but you to continue her to me. So, all these dlays, during my grief, my eyes, my hol)es turn ever to you with a force that might lnmake me believe you have heard me. Oh! leave me, to me so far away from you, the sad privilege of telling you how sweet and good and precious your friendship is to me. What proud courage it gives me here against many a snare, what a principle of laborious constancy it has put into my life! But I lack a collar on which is printed, " Moujik de Paulowska." Well, adieu; thlink a little of him who always thinks of you, of a Frenchnman who has the heart of which you are all so boastful across the Danube, who never forgets you, who will bring you from here his white hairs and(l his )i, milonk's face subdued by a cloister regimen, -a poor solitary, who pines for the talks, and would like to cast at your feet a thousand glorious crowns to serve you as floor, as l)illow! Well, re-a(lieu. Kiss Anna's forehead for me; remember me to all about you and those I had the pleasure to know. They seemn to me so happy in being near you. Remind MI. IHaski of his lively guest, who has now laid up a fine stock of hearty laughs, for he has been sa(d enough this long time. Write me always a little. I don't 240 Honore de Balzac. [1835 know how it is I have not had a line these ten days. Does society absorb you? Alas! your moujik has been himself fI, pocO into that market of false smiles and charming toilets; lie has made his debut at Madame Appony's, for the house of Balzac must live on good terms with the house of Austrit, - and your moujik had some success. lie was examined withl the curiosity felt for animals from distalnt regions. There were presentations on presentations, which bored him so that lie went to collogue in a corner withl Russians and(l Poles. But their names are so difficult to pronoulnce that he cannot tell you anything about them, further than that one was a very ugly dame, friend of MIadalme IIahn, and a Countess Schouwalof, sister of IMadame Jeroslas... Is that right? The motljik will go every two weeks, if his lady permits him. Among tlle autograplhs sent, have I included one from Bra, who is one of our present sculptors? lie is a curi(ous man ill this, that lie was led to mysticism by the death of his wife, and for two months he went to evoke her from her grave. iIe told me that lie saw lier every evening,. ie has now remarried. Here is a saying of Stendhal: "' We feel ourselves tlhe intimate friend of a womna when we look at her portrait ill miniature; we are so near to her! Butt oil-painting casts us off to a great distance." What shall we say of sculpture? PARIs, January 26, 1835. To-d'ay I have finished " Le P;re Goriot." I leave to-morrow for a week, to work beside my dear invalid. She is better, she says, but I shall not really know anything until I have been with her a week. On my return, I hope that " Pere Gorlot " will be reprinted. " Sdraphlita " will come to you later. But perhaps I shall bring you these things myself, accompanying the pomade, Anna's ring-case, and all the other things with which you have deigned to commission 1835] Lctters to l(tadlamsze lcanskao,o41 me. I have accepted too much of the sweets of hospitality that you should hesitate to use me as you please. Yes, I have the possibility of resting for a month from March 2 to April 2. 1 must; and b)esides, my money affairs are becoming less hard. I shall have won this month of freedom by tive monthls' exorbitant labour. But, if I have been sa(l, troubled, without heart-pleasure, at least my efforts hlave all succeeded. ' Le Pere Goriot" is a bewildering success; the most bitter enemies have bent the knee; I have triumphed over all, friends as well as enemies. When " Seraphita " has sprea(l her glorious wings, when the " AMmoires d'une jeune Mariee " has shown the last lineaments of the human heart, when " Les Venddens" has snatchled a palm from Walter Scott, then, then I shall be content in being near you; you will not then have a friend without some value. As to the man himself, you will never find him anything but good, and a child. I will not speak to you of the sadness mingled with joy that took possession of me this morning. To be at once so far off and so near! \That is a year? This one has b)een long, agonizing within the soul, short through work. If gleams of a promised land dclid not shine as through a twilight, I think that my courage would abandon me at the last effort. It need(s my sober, patient, equable, monkish life to resist it all. A womian is much in our life when shle is Beatrice and Laura, and better still. If I had not had a star to see when I closed my eyes, I should have succumbed. I have been, out of curiosity, to the Opera masked ball for the first time in my life. I was with my sister, who had committed the imprudence of going there against her husband's wishes. Knowing this, I went to fetch her and bring her home without givinic her time to go round the hall. As I was leaving, and waiting for the carriage, a very elegant gentleman with a mask on his arm stopped 16 2-1 fnorC dle Balzac. [1835 me, and putting himself between me and the door whispered that the masked lady he had on his arm wished to speak to me. I rebuffed the mask; I think a woman has little dignity to come down to such trickery, and 1 said to the gentleman: - "You know the laws of a masquerade; I obey the mask you see here, I am bound to do so." The masked woman then said, in French mangled by an English tongue: - " Oh Monsieur (le Balzae! " But in such a lamentable accent that I was struck by it. Then she turned to my sister, who was laughing heartily, and said: - '~ Well, then, between you and mie, lna(lame." My sister told me afterwards that this mask was neither well dressed nor well shod. There's my adventure, the sole and only one I shall probably ever have at a masked ball; for I have never before gonie to one, and, doubtless, shall never ogo to another. I do not see what good they are. If two people love each other, the ball is useless. If they go in search of what are called bones forttces I think them very bad, and I ask myself if it is n't rather Jeroslas, that is to say, Jesuitical (this between ourselves), to satisfy, under a mask, a passion we will not own. If I can leave on the first days of March, the sovereign of Paulowska will have had letters enouglh from me to let her know it. God grant that for one month more I m'ay not be ill or ill-inspired! I shall make my prel)arations joyously. Be kind enough to write me a line in answer to the following: I should like, in order to go quickly and without care, to have no luggage. If I clear in the custom-house here for Vienna, to the address of Baron Sina, my l)ersonal effects, books, manuscripts, etc., will they be opened in Vienna without my presence? Will they get there without being opened o n the way? Can I, 1835] Letters to McUadame HIanska. 243 without fear, put in all the things I want for my own use? And finally, how many (lays does it take for packages to go from Paris to Vienna? I would like to travel without stopping, and have only my own person to fling from one carriage to another till I get there. Adieu; forty days are almost nothing to me now, and I tell myself that forty days hence I shall be in the mailcart for Strasburg. I shall see Vienna, the Danube, the fields of Waogram, the island of Lobau; I don't say anything about the Landstrasse. As a faithful moujik I know nothing that is grander than those who inhabit it. Do you still go into society? But of us two, the one who is busiest and the least rich in time is the one who writes oftenest. I growl, like a poor neglected dog, but to whom it suffices to say, " Here, Milord! " to make him happy. PARIS, February 10, 1835. Though I have scarcely time to write, I cannot be silent about the pleasure I felt yesterday at a fete given by Madame Appony, when Prince Esterhazy, having asked to see me, began to talk of a certain Madame Hanska, ne'e Rzewuska, whose mind, graces, and knowledole had astonished him, and who had given him the desire to see me. With what joy I said before seven or eight women, who all have pretensions, that I had never met in my life but two women who could match you for learning without pedantry, womanly charm, and lofty sentiments - I will not tell you all I said; I should seem to be beogging a favourable glance from the sovereign of Paulowska. But all the women made faces, especially when the prince agreed with me about your beauty, and told how everybody knew that your wit did not make you spiteful, for you were graciously kind. I could have hugged that good little prince! Well, a few days more, and I shall have the pleasure of seeing you. 244 Hono or de Balzrac<. [1835 1 have just returned from Nemours. Alas! Ma(lame de Berny is no better. The malady makes frightful progress, and I cannot express to you how that soul of my life was grand, and noble, and toucehing in those days measured by illness, and with what fervour she desires that another should be to me what she has been. She knows the inward spring and nobility that the habit of carrying all thlings to an idol gives me. My God is on earth. I have judged myself hourly by her. I say to myself in everything, " What would she think of this?" and this reflection corroborates my conscience, and prevents me from doing anything petty. However violent attacks an(l calumnies may be, I march higher pl). I answer nothing. Oh! madame, there was a memory, and a sense of horrible pain wh]ich rent me during, the ten days I rested after "Pbre Goriot." I will tell you that that work was (lone in forty (lays; in those forty days I did not sleep eighty hours. But I must triumph. I am going once more to risk, as the doctor says, my " intellig'ential life " in order to finish the second (lelivery to ~Werdet, the fourth to Mladame Bechet, and 'Seraphita." As soon0011 as that is (lone, I shall buy La Grenadiere, alnd, tile (leeds signed, I shlall fly to Vienna, see the battle-field of Essling, and from there, something of tlhe IEandstrasse, where you are. I shall come in search of a little prlaise - if you think that my year of toil deserves any; and you know that the words that escape you are put where I put tlhose of lt, (lilecta. Though she is ill, her children will stay with her during my absence, and she could not have me then, so I make this journey without remorse. Besides, she knows it is necessary, as diversion, for the weariness of my head. So, unless I am ill between now and the 20th of March, which is not probable, I shall work with the sweet interest of g'oing, 11y work accolnmplished, toward that Vienna 1835] Letters to Madame Hanska. 245 where all my troubles will be forgotten. The atmosphere of Paris kills me; I smell toil, debt, enemies! I need an oasis. On the other hand, "Le Pere Goriot" has created an excitement; there never was such eagerness to read a book; the booksellers advertise it in advance. It is true that it is grandiose. But you will judge. As for the " Lettre aux Ecrivains," alas! I cannot look at it without pain, for la dilecta thought it so fine, so majestic, so varied, that she had palpitations of the heart which injured her, and I don't like those pages any more. You know that one of the qualities of the bengali is illimitable fidelity. Poor bird of Asia, without his rose, without his peri, mute, sad, but very loving, the desire seizes me to write his story. I have begun it in the "Voyage 'a Java." Adieu; this scrap of a letter is scribbled on a pile of proofs that would frighten even a proof-reader. A thousand homages, and kindly present my obeisances to M. IIanski. I return to my work with fury, and I wish you the realization of all the wishes you make. Find here the expression of the most sincere and most respectful of attachments. PARIS, March 1, 1835. I have received, madame, the letter in which you announce to me your departure for your lonely Wierzchownia. I shall therefore not see you in Vienna. I shall delay my trip to Essling and Wagram till the end of the summer, so that when I go, I can push on to the Ukraine. Well, you will be accompanied by the sincerest prayers for your happiness and for that of those about you. As for me, after a few days' diversion, necessitated by lassitude, I have just returned to the deepest seclusion, in order to finish up my two agreements with Madame Bechet and WVerdet, and to grow, to enlarge myself, to raise my name to the height of the esteem you give to it, that 246 Hono rJ de Balzac. [1835 you be not proud in vain of having granted me a few (lays of gracious friendship; my pride, mine, will ever be legitimate enough. I tell you once more, with a sort of religious emotion, that you are, together with her of whom I have so often spoken, the most beauteous soul, the noblest heart, tie most attractive p)erson tihat I have seen in this world, the most superior mind and( the best instructed. Let me tell you this that I think, at the moment when you are about to put as great a dlistance of time between us as there is already. I have been measuring the amount of work that re. mains for me to (ldo; it will take six months to finish it. For six months, therefore, I shall try to rise higher, to send you fine works, the flowers of my brain, - the only flowers that can cross that great dlistance unwithered, - which will reach you, like those I have sent 'already, in their coarse germ and their first dress. Accept the) always as a proof of my respect and admiration, as s proof of that constancy that you yourself advise, as tlhe pIledge of a pure and holy friendship, anl(d as a testimony in favour of calumniated France, accusedl of levity, but where are still to be found chivalrous souls, lofty. strong, who do not treat ligltly true affections. You have given me the desire to raise, to improve myself; let me be grateful in my own way. On returning to my retreat, I found Grosclaude on tlhe thresholl. lHe asked me to let him make my portrait, full length, in my workillg-dress. IHe told me tliat in case he did it, you and Monsieur HIanski liad asked for a copy. You will not refuse the person painted( when you alreadyv possess the first impulsion of hlis thotught in manuscript. I am so hap)y in this friendship of which you an(d M. Ilanski do not reject the proofs. We are so far off! Let me approach you as materially as I can. You will say yes, will you not? I have just broken all the threads by wlhich Lilliput 1835] Letters to Madame Hanskca. 247 Paris held me garoted; I have made myself a secret retreat, where I shall live six months [rue des Batailles, Chaillot]. I was seized with profound emotion on entering it; for it is here that my last battle will be fought, here that I must grasp the sceptre. If I succumb! If I should not succeed! If (in spite of a regimen prescribed by doctors who have traced me a manner of living so that I may struggle without danger through my work), if I fall ill! A crowd of such thoughts seized me, inspired by the gravity of the things I am undertaking. At last, in the early morning, I went to the window, and I saw, shining above my head, the star of that delicious hour. I had confidence, I was joyful as a child, after being feeble as a child; I went back to my table, crying out the " I-a, ha! " of the horse of Scripture. Then I determined to begin by writing you these lines. Bring me luck, you and the star, will you? The second thing I have to do is the end of "Seraphita," an immense work, that I have meditated for three or four months, and which rises ever higher. I have now only to write it. You know it belongs to you. You ought, at this moment when I am writing, to have read " Le Pere Goriot." How shall I send you my manuscripts when you are in Russia? You must tell me. As for the books, it will be equally difficult. You must give me your instructions. Mine to you are that you shall be well in health, that M. Hanski be gay, have no black butterflies, that his enterprises shall prosper, that Anna shall jump and laugh and grow without accidents; and that all about you be well and happy. At the beginning of the autumn, therefore, if it please God, and if I have fruitfully worked, you will see a pilgrim arriving and ringing at your castle gate, asking for a few days' hospitality, who would fain repay you by laying at your feet the laurels won in the literary tournament -as if glory could ever be anything else than a grain of incense on the altar of friendship! One word is 248 Hfonorc de Balzac. [1835 worth more than these puffs of wind; and that word of gratitude I shall ever say to you. The inclosed autograph is that of a friend of mine who may become something some day; there is one remarkable thing about him which will recommend him to your herad(licoaniCacal favour; he is descende(l from Jeanne d'Are, through her brother Gautier. His name is Edouard Gautier d'Arc, Baron du Lys, and lie bears the arms of France, supported by a woman, on his shield. Is not th'at one of the finest things in the present day? Well, of a man whom we ought to make peer of France with a fine entailed estate, we have made a consul at Valentia! IHe has ambition. 'ARIS, March 11, 1835. I have just receive(1 your good letter of the 3rd instant. It has given me pleas;ure and pailn. Pleasure, you are better; pain, you have been ill. You see, I had the time to go to Vienna, and 0now I cannot. I shall go and(l see you at 5Vierzchownia for after takinc measures for '" La Bataille " at Wagramn, I shall not think anythliiig of a few hundred imiore leagues to say good-day to you. You are always so goo(l you will let me take you for confessor, tell you all, be confiding, and have in you a soul? You will find inclosed the dedication of "' Seraphita." hlave tle kindness to answer me by return courier, that I may know if you approve it. In a thing of this kind there must be no point left to object to; dedications cannot be cobrrected. 'i Seraphita " will be finished by the first Sunday in April, therefore you have time to throw a "yes" into tlle post on reeeiving this letter. Your silence will mean disapproval. Thle " Revue (le Paris" is horribly anxious to get this end; it has received complaints without number. When thle number is out I will send it to you through Sina; but I own that I (lo not like to risk the manuscril)t. What shall I do, therefore? You will receive the fourth 1835] Letters to I7cadame Hanska. 249 Part of the (" Etudes de Moaurs," the second edition of "Goriot," ' Melmoth reconcilie," the manuscripts of "' La Fille aux yeux d'or," and the " Duchesse de Langeais," and, perhaps, that of " Seraphita; " perhaps also the second Part of the " Etudes Philosophiques." What shall I tell you about all this? The finishing of "Seraphita" kills me, crushes me. I have fever every day. Never did so grand a conception rise before any man. None but myself can know what I put into it; I put my life into it! When you receive this letter the work will have been cast. There never was a success equal to that of;" Goriot." This stupid Paris, which neglected the "Absolu," has just bought twelve hundred copies of the first edition of "Goriot" [in book form], before its announcement. Two other editions are in press. I will send you the second. Here I am, with piles of gold, compared to my late situation; for I still have seven thousand ducats to pay [70,000 frs.], but in three months '" Goriot" gives one thousand ducats. During the last three months I have regularly paid off four thousand ducats a month with the product of my pen! 1 Besides " Seraphita," I am finishing " L'Enfant Mandit," remaking " Louis Lambert," and completing t" La Fille aux yeux d'or." I have finished a rather important work, entitled, " Melmoth reconcilie," and I am preparing a great and beautiful work, called " Le Lys dans la Vall6e," the figure of a charming woman, full of heart and having a sulky husband, but virtuous. This will be, under a form purely human, terrestrial perfection, just as " Seraphita " will be celestial perfection. The " Lys dans la Vall6e " is the last picture in the " Eltudes de MIours," just as " Seraphita " will be the last picture in the I" Etudes Philosophiques." Then, the third dizain. 1 Ducat: gold coin, value from ten to twelve francs, according to country (Littre). - Ti. 250 Howorc de Bazac. [1835 You will have received the letter in which I tell you of my seclusion. It is deep. No one comes here. No, no more Lormois. Why do you trouble yourself about things I pay no heed to? I have renounced pleasures. No more Opera, no more Bouffoincs, no more anything; solitude and work. Seraphita! There, will be my great stroke; there, I shall receive the colhl mockery of Parisians, but there, too, I shall strike to the heart of all privileged beings. In it is a treatise on prayer, helad(led "The Path to God," in which are the last words of the angel, which will surely give desire to live by the soul. These mystical ideas have filled me. I am the artistbeliever. Pygmalion and his statue are no longer a fable to ime. ' Goriot " could be done every day; " S6raphita" but once in a lifetime. So, then, since my last letter I have had no events in my material life, but many in the life of my heart, because my heart is involved in this majestic occupation. I have to do the '" Memoires (l'une jeune Mariee," a work in filagree, which will be a wonder to the little women who find the pinions of "' Seraphita " incomprehensible. No, I cannot buy La Grenadiere as yet; I need seven or eight thousand francs for that, which I don't possess. Though my caine with its ebullition of turquoises has made me notorious as a new Aboulcasem, I have lotlling but debts. When I am free of those, I will see about getting the money for La Grenadiere. If I were in Vienna, I would make you laugh; oh, yes! I don't laugh now except with those who love me. Judlge, therefore, how precious our friendship has become to me. Other laughs are compromising. I am taken seriously; so much so that Dantan has caricatured me. Would you like to see it? I will send it with the volumes I have for you. I have never lost any time in transtmittiing to you tlhose of my poor works that you have the goodness to like. 1835].Letters to MIadame Hcancska. 251 My sobriety and regularity of life can alone save me under the ardent work I have to complete to win that liberty so longed-for. It is now twenty days that I have risen at midnight and gone to bed at six o'clock. I shall persevere until I am delivered from the Bechet contract, and the fourth Part is given to Werdet. I hope I can send the box to you April 17. I shall address it, in ally case, to Baron Sina. Madame Delphine P... was at the Opera Sunday, and gave'birth to a child Monday. I thank you for your glimpses of Viennese society. What I have learned about Germans in their relations elsewhere confirms what you say of them. Your story of General HI-... comes up periodically. There has been something like it in all countries, but I thank you for having told it to me. The circumstances give it novelty. I-respect your wishes in sending you the manuscript of "Goriot" in its dirty condition. It bears the trace of many worries and much fatigue. Madame de Berny is a little better, but alas! this is only obtained by digitalis. I hope I may still keep that light of my life, that conscience so pure, that tenderness so delicate. Madame Carraud is safely confined of a son. I saw Borget this morning, returned from Italy, and I have your letter; so this has been a good day. Well, I must say adieu; but remember that while writing a book that bears your name, I do not quit you. The Emperor of Russia has prohibited " Goriot;" probably on account of Vautrin. There is pleasure in breaking all one's bonds to society; one has no remorse; society does not cling to you, and one can only pity those who cling to it. I am happy. I can march on in solitude, led by a beautiful and noble thought. 252 JIonoJr' de Balzac. [1835 I nam1 sorry you lhave not seen thle satirical preface I put to k (loriot;" you shall have it later. I won't make a package of that only. I have a hunldred thousand thinlgs, to say, but when I begin to talk with you I seem to see you I forget my ideas. However, I intend to beogin a journal-letter, and put in every day some of my ideas. At this moment I am a little drunk with work; my hand is tired; the heart is full, but the head is elmpty; you will get neither mind nor gaiety, but all that attfeetion has of truest, all that memory has of freshest, and the tenderest gratitude. You ask me what becomes of Madam( e (de Nucingen. She will be, and so will her husl.)anl, a1 most comic dramatic personage in 1' Jie Vue du MIonde " long advertised by the "Revue de Paris." It is called "La Faillite (le M. (le Nucingen." But I need time for all these conceptions, and especially for their execution; above all when (as for SCraphita) I work often a year or two in thought before taking a pen. Adoreemaus io cetcr'lnuml means for me, t' Toil ever." You speak of the stage. The stage might bring me in two hundred thousand francs a year. I know, beyond a loubt, that I could make my fortune there in a short time; but you forget that I have not six months to myself, not one month; and if I had I should not write a play, I should go and see you. Six months of my time represent forty thousand francs; and I must have that money in hand before I can do either I' La Grande Mademoiselle " or '' Philippe le Discret." Where tile (levil am I to get it? Out of my ink-pot. There is no Leo X. in these days. Work is the artist's bank. If you knew the annoyances that Madame Bechet's business embarrassments cause me. She cannot pay unless my numbers appear. So, when I am inspired for "Seraplhita," when I listen to the music of angels, when I am 1835] Letters to' Madame Hanskca. 253 sick with ecstasy, I must come down to corrections, I must finish that stupidity " La Fille aux yeux d'or," etc. It is horrible suffering. I would like to do the comedy of "La Grande Mademoiselle," but no! I must work for Werdet, who is ripping himself open to give me the money for my payments, my livelihood. Honesty has made a galley of my study. That is something you ought to know well. I have not a minute to myself, and I never take any distraction except when my brain comes down like a foundered horse. You know all that my heart contains of affection and good wishes for yours. Affectionate compliments to M. Hanski, and take all you will for yourself of my most devoted feelings. Grosclaude is coming to make my full-length portrait. I have never dared to ask for a sketch of yours. This is the dedication: - " MADAME,- Here is the work you asked of me; and to you I dedicate it, happy in being able thus to prove the respectful and constant affection which you permit me to feel for you. But read it as some bad transcript of a hymn dreamed from my childhood; the fervent rhythm of which, heard on the summits of the azure mountains, and its prophetic poesy, revealed here and there at times in Nature, it is impossible to present in human language. If I have risked being accused of impotence in thus attempting a sacred book which demands the light of Orient beneath the translucent veil of our noble language, was it not you who urged me to the effort, by saying that the most imperfect drawing of that figure would still be something that would please you? Here, then, it is, that something. I could wish that this book were read by none but minds preserved, like yours, from worldly pettiness by solitude; such as they alone know how to complete this poem; to them it may be, perhaps, a stepping-stone, 254 Itonore de Balzae. [1835 or else a rough and humble flag on which to kneel and )ray within thle temple! "I am, with respect, your dievoted servant." PAKIS, March 30, 1835. Do not be vexed with me for the irregulnrity of my letters. I am overwhelmed with work, land I feel the necessity of getting through witlh it if I want my dear liberty. Madame Bechet has become singularly illnatured and will hurt my interests much. Iii 1)avyig me, she charges me with corrections which amount on the twelve volumes to three thousand francs, and also for my copies, which will cost me fifteen hundred more. Thus four thousand five hundred francs less, and my discounts, diminish by six thousand the thirty-tllree thousand. She could not lose a great fortune more clumsily, for AVerdet estimates at five hundred thousand francs the profits to b)e made out of the next edition of the " Etudes de Mwurs." I find Werdet the active, intelligent, and devoted editor that I want. I have still six months before I can be rid of Madame Bechet; for I have three volumes more to do, and it is impossible to count on less than two months to each volume. Thus you see I am held here till September. Between now and then I ought to ogive Werdet three Parts of the "' Etudes Philosophiques," and (do much work for tlhe Revues. For the last twenty days I have worked steadily twelve hours a day on "' Seralphita." The world is ignorant of this immense toil; it only sees, and should only see, results. But I have hlad to master tlhe whole of mysticism to formulate it. "' S6raphita" is a consuningwork for those who believe. Unhappily, in this sad Paris the Angel may chance to furnish the subject for a ballet. I shall meet with sareasm, but I will not go into society. I will stay here tranquilly and do " La Fleur des Poix," 'L'Enfant Maudit, I' S(paur ILlarie des Angles, and "Les Maemoires (l'une jeune Mari-e." 1835] Letters to iadame Hanska. 255 What has tired me horribly the last few days is the reprinting of " Louis Lambert," which I have tried to bring to a point of perfection that would leave me in peace as to that work; and Lainbert's thoughts when he was at Villenoix remained to be done. I had put, as it were, a hat on that place to keep it, or the cover on a dish at a meal. Iowever, it is all done now; it is a new formula for humanity, which is the tie that binds " Louis Lambert" to "' Seraphita." Next, I have twenty days' work in remaking the t" Comtesse ha deux Mars " [" Colonel Chabert "]. I think it detestable, wanting in taste and truth; and I have had the courage to begin it all over again on the press. It was in that way I did my last work on the " Chouans." At this rate my hair turns frightfully white. No, you will never recognize me. Madame de Berny is rather better, - much better, she says. But she still has sudden attacks which show that the cause is there. I have wept much over her; I have prepared myself for a grief which will act upon my whole life. In May I shall go and spend a month with her. I need seven or eight thousand francs to buy the Grenadiere, and I cannot yet put my hand on that sum. If I finish " La Fleur des Poix " in April and go to Touraine in May, I may possibly return with the sacred title of land-owner. On the 20th of May (my birthday) or the 16th of May (my fete-day) we shall baptize my brother's child. I am godfather, with my niece Sophie as godmother. I always swore I would never be godfather to any child; but my brother is so unfortunate it is impossible to refuse. I should like to complete the fete by buying the Grenadiere. It would be a first sign of prosperity. I will put into my parcel of April 17th the two caricatures of me in plaster by Dantan, who has caricatured all the great men. The chief point of mine is the famous 256 Honore de Balzac. [1835 cane bubbling with turquoise on a chased gold knob, which has had more success in France than all my works. As for me, he has caricatured my stoutness. I look like Louis XVIII. These two caricatures have had such success that I have not as yet been able to get them. It is true that I go out little, and sit at my work for twenty hours. You can't imagine what success this jewelled cane hlas had; it threatens to becolne European. Borget, who has returned from Italy, and who did not say he was nmy friend, told me he heard of it in Naples and Roine. All the dandies in IParis are jealous, and the little journ ls have been supplied with items for six months. Excuse me for telling you this, but it seems to me it is biographical; and if they tell you on your travels that I have a fairy-cane, which summons horses, erects palaces, and spits diamonds, (lo not be surprised, but laugh as I do. Never did the tail of Alcibiades' dog wa'g har(ler. But I have three or four other tails of the same kind for tlie Parisians. Our exhibition of paintings is quite fine this year. There are seven or eihlit leading masterpieces. G(rosclaudle's l)icture is much like(l. Iie is honlourably liihung in the large Salon. But they think he has only colour and drawinlg, an(l lacks soul and compol)sition. Gcrard, however, thinks lie is really a man of talent. IHe told him so sincerely; and repeated tlhe same to me, adding tllat there was nothing for a man like him to (lo but to produce; le calls this a good and fine picture. There is much good luck for him in a)ppearing without disadvantage in tile large Salon, where tlhere are ten or twelve splendid pictures, There is a landscape by Brascassat in which is a bull, whllich could be bought for six thousand francs, and may be worth a hundred thousand. It is, like Pagnest's "Portrait," the despair of artists. Brascassat is, like Pagnest, a poor young consumptive. IHe is a shepherd, taken, like Foyatier the sculptor, from his flocks, and, if 1835] Letters to Madame fanskca. 257 he lives, he will be a great painter. Our nineteenth century will be great. AVe cannot doubt it. There is a deluge of talent here. I regretted you much. I should have liked to see you in Paris this winter. The Exhibition, and the Italian opera have offered an unheard-of combination: Lablache, Tamburini, Rubini. Then Beethoven, executed at the Conservatoire as he is nowhere else. Besides which, Paris is being cleaned and completed, thanks to LouisPhilippe's trowel. But there's a hundred years' work still to ldo at the Louvre. When I pass along the quay of the Tuileries, my artist-heart bleeds to see the stones placed by Catherine de' Medici, corroded by the sun before being carved - and this for three hundred years. Adieu! it is two in the morning. Here is an hour and a half stolen from '" S6raphita." She groans, she calls; I must finish her, for the " Revue de Paris " groans too; it has advanced me nineteen hundred francs, and "Seraphita" must settle the account. Adieu! imagine how I think of you in finishing the work that is yours. It is time it appeared. Literature here has decided that I shall never finish that work; they say it is impossible. Graceful things to Anna, my respects to Mademoiselle Sa'verine, my regards to M. Hanski; and to you nothing, for all is yours. It would be giving you a bit of your own property to send you anything, and I have, in this low world, too few friendships to diminish the truest of them all. PARIS, May 1, 1835. MADAME, - I greeted M. le Prince de Schonberg as I never did any one, for he came from you. " Seraphita exacts more work. I had hoped to send you the manuscript by the prince, but it cannot be finished before my fete-day, May 16, and the prince starts to-day or tomorrow. I cannot even profit by his journey to write 17 258 Honore de Balzct. [1835 you in detail about my life and occupations. I have perhaps presumed too far upon my strength in supposing I could do so many things in so little time. I shall be lucky indeed if I can get off and divert myself in September. IBut nothing shall hinder me when my obligations lhave been met. When I have finished with AMadame Bechet and Werdet, yes, then I shall have six months before me. On that (lay I shall owe nothing to any one, for the approaching reissue of the "i Etudes de Mo(urs" enlarged by what will be added to them, will release me of all, even my debt to my mother. Wealth will come both for her and for me, in 1837, when my works will be issued as the " Eftudes Sociales." There 's my future sketched out. There 's my hope and my toil. If sometimes the grief of not possessing the happiness that I dream saddens and consumes me, the hope of one day seeing my mother happy through me. and my fortune built up, all by myself, without help, sustains me. But what are thle hopes of material life compared to tlle disappointment of the pravers of the heart? And so, now that I advance toward the graver life, and doubt at times of affections, finding' myself so changed by toil, there come moments of cruel melancholy and gray hours. Thlen tlhe weather clears; tlhe azure sky we saw upon the Alps comes back; l)iodati, that image of a happy life, reappears, like a star for a moment clouded, and I laugh - as you know I can laugh. I tell myself tlhat so much work will have its recompense, and that I slall some (lay lhave, like Lord Byron, my Diodati, and I sing in my bad voice: " I)iodati! l)iodati! Whtat grief for me to delay that (lorious apparition of S' Seraphita." I tremble lest you sliontld have left Vienna before thle prince arrives there. But if so, Sina will forward all. Be happy on your journey; may no untoward event 1835] Letters to Madame Hanska. 259 distress you; return to your penates, and I, under my pressure here, I see that dwelling as an object [The letter is unfinished.] PARIS, May 3, 1835. I have this instant received yours of April 24. I have written you by the Prince de Schonberg, who was to carry to you all that remains of the manuscript of the " Duehesse de Langeais," of which part was lost in the printing-office, the part I cared for most, that which I did in Geneva beside you, laughing and explaining to you proof corrections. How many things I have to answer in your last letter. But before doing so I must tell you something that is the best of all answers. You do not leave till May 15th; well, don't leave till the 25th. I have my passports, and you will receive my farewells. I cannot let you plunge back into your desert until I have pressed your hand. I will not commit to any one the manuscrtipt of " Seraphita." I shall bring it to you myself. I want ten days more to print the rest. The 16th, my fete-day, I shall start for Vienna; I can get there in ten (lays; I shall be there on the 25th or 26th. If I can arrive sooner, I shall be there sooner. Wait for me; give credit for ten days to a friend. I shall stay four days in Vienna, see Essling and Wagram, and return. I cannot tell you more, for I must spend the days and nights in getting all things in order here, and in finishing the books begun. "Seraphita" must have eight days and nights for herself alone. I say nothing to MI. Hanski, as I shall see you all so soon. 'I am joyous as a child at the escapade. Quit my galley and see new lands! Well, well, 'a bientot. I send my things to Sina. Ask him, if they arrive before me, to wait till I come before opening my trunk at the customhouse. It is proper that you should see the cane for which vou blame me, and I confide it to the customs. 260 2fHoor c de Balzawc. [1835 Addio. Kiss Anna on the forehead for her horse. VIENNA, May, 1835. Can you lend me your Valet cle p/oecr again this morning? - for I still have not obtained one. I think you have not read "' Oberman; " I send it to you; but I shall want it in two or three days. It is one of the finest books of the period. A thousand heart colnpliments. VIENNA, May, 1835. My cold is precisely the same. It is nothing at all. I have just received a letter fronm M. Hammer. I thiink he is annoyed, for he uses towards me that wealth of civility which is often the irony of great souls. Did you know that the French are very costls(1 iers to the fact of bartering Austrian uniforms against victories, but tlhat this ruins young' empires? I shall stay in town only the time necessary to fulfil your Majesty's orders. I entreat you (lon't worry about mre. People are never ill when they are halppy. I do nothing; I let myself go to the halppiness of living, and that is so rare with me that when it is so 1 don't know what could hurt me. A thousand heart assurances. VIENNA, May, 1835. The heat lias so prostrated me that I don't know what will become of me; but as for the illness itself, it has ceased. A thousand thanks for your kindness. I shall rush with the celerity of your valet, who is a veritable kid, and this is difficult for a Mar [Balzac's nickname among his friends was 1)om Mar] whose paunch is worthy of all the illustrious paunches your cousin used to lau1'gh at. I have dreamed to, I have dreamed fi, I have dreamed 1835] Letters to Aladamse IHanska. 261 telef, and of his casalba. I have come to breathe in the Walter-garten, and I send you "Lauzun" to convince you of the reality of the comedy that could be made of his amours with Mademoiselle, for I think you do not know the book. VIENNA, May, 1835. You know, madame, that if anything can equal the respectful attachment that I feel for you it is the will that I am forced to display to keep within the limits that my work imposes on my pleasures. Here, as in Paris, my life must be completely inharmonious with the life of society. To get my twelve hours of work, I must go to bed at nine o'clock in order to rise at three; and this truly monastic rule, to which I am compelled, dominates everything. I have yielded something of my stern observance to you, by giving myself three hours' more freedom here than in Paris, where I go to bed at six; but that is all I can do. However sweet and gracious are the invitations, and however flattering the eagerness of which I feel the full value, I am obliged to be the enemy of my dearest pleasures. You know that the persons who love me, and who have every right to be exacting, conform to my ways of going nowhere2 and treat me as a spoilt child. These explanations have a conceited aspect which I dislike, and which would make me ridiculous if you did not constrain me to give my true reasons. So, I count upon your precious friendship to explain them, and save me from their accompl)anying dangers. You have long known that I am a soldier on a battlefield, swept onward, without other liberty than that of fighting the enemy and all the difficulties of my position. You will give-will you not? - what value you can to my regrets, and I shall thus have another obligation to add to the hundred thousand I already owe you. But 262 ]torior('r de Balzac. II3 55 you aie so noble there is no fear in 1;eing indebted to Yes, I am altogether better. I have recovered from the fatigues of the journey, and 1 thank you from tlhe bottom of my heart for your dear atnd delicate attentions. A thousand affectionate complliments to 1M. Illaski. As for you, I should have to express t(oo mllay Ihilns, and, as you see, paper is lacking. Here begin the thlings of the heart. VIENNA, ]Mar, 18:35. It is impossible for lme to woik if I have to go o(tit, and I never work merelyv for an hour or two. You arranged so well that I did not o'o to bed till one o'clock. Consequently, I (lid not rise till eight; so from nine till one I have only time to pay yotl:a visit in ordler to put the visit to the prince between two good things which may weaken the diplomatic inllfience. I want to go andl see tle Prater in thle il(ornin,, in its solitude. If you will, it would be xery graionts; for l)y not beginning on the "'1vs dans la Vallde " till to-morrow I must theni work fourteen hours to make up) for time lost. I have sworn to myself to (ldo that work in Vienna, or else - throw myself into the Dllanube. So, in twenty miniutes I shall l)e willi you to ask counsel. As for tlIe sedt(ctions of the. prince, lie caught mne once, but I have too much pride to be caught again-; I should pass for a ninny. A thousand heart-felt regards. - VILNA, May, 1835. I amn incapable of writing the nothing's tlhat I see come naturally to very intelligent persons; 1 simply put down just what comes into my lhead; tand what came into my head was one of tlhe things that I have at heart. Excuse me to tlIe countess, and assure her that this is the second time I have failed over an album, and tlat 1835] Letters to Ailadame Hanvska. 263 not having the habit - and even having a horror - of them, I hope she will be indulgent to me. Though I am not dirty, I am decidedly stupid, for I don't understand a word of what you do me the honour to say about Madame Sophie. I entreat you, have pity on my mental infirmities, and, when you make romances, put them on the level of my intellectual faculties. This *may seem impertinent -it is only artless. I have still another hour to work, and then I will come. I am busy with planning rather than writing, and I can see you while thinking; which is not the same as thinking of other things than you while seeing you. A thousand gracious and humble thoughts before your August Despotism. VIENNA, May, 1835. I cannot wait till one o'clock to know if you are better, whether your hoarseness and oppression have lessened, whether the foot-bath was efficacious- in short, whether all is well. IHave the charity to send me a word on these important matters - for it is important to subjects to know how their princes are. Affectionate compliments, and accept my obeisances VIENNA, June, 1835. You know well, my dear beloved, that my soul is not narrow enough to distinguish what is yours from what is mine. All is ours - heart, soul, body, sentiments, all, from the least word to the slightest look; from life to death. But do not ruin us, for I should send you back a hundred Austrians for your one, and you would cry out at the folly. My Eve, adored, I have never been so happy, I have never suffered so much. A heart more ardent than the imagination is vivid is a fatal gift when complete happiness does not quench the daily thirst. I knew what I 264 IT64J 10iI o (<I BaLZ([1 [1835 came to seek of sufferings, ad I have found them. In Paris, these sufferings seemned to me the greatest of 1leasures, and I was not mistaken. The two parts are equal. For this you liad to be, more lovely, and nothing is truer. Yesterday you were enough to render mad. if I did not kniow that we are bound forever, I should die of grief. Therefore, never abandon me; it would be' murder. Never destroy the confidence which is our sole complete possession in tills love so pure. Have no jealousies, which never halve foundation. You know how faithful the unhlllppy are; feelinlgs are all their treasure, their fortune, and we cannot be more unhapp)y than we are here. Nothiong canl detach ine from yov); you are my life, my hapl)ilness, aIll my lot)es. I beliitve in life only with you. What can you featr? My toil proves to you my love; it was preferrilng tlhe presellt to the future to coImie here now; it was the folly of impassioned love, for by it I postponed for many months, that I might enjoy this moment, the days when you think we shall be free more free, for oj'', loh! I dare not think of that. God must will it! I love you so munch, and all things unite us so truly tltat it mutust l)e; but when? A thousand kisses; for I have a thirst those little sudden pleasures but increase. 5We have not an hour, nor a minute. And these obstacles fan sulch ardour that, believe me, I do right to hasten my departure. I press you oml all sides to my heart, where you are held but mentally. Would that I held you there living! t 1 This letter in itself shows tihe falseness of those which purport to have been written in January, February, and March. It is that of a man true to himself in one of the e'reatest strn(g-les of humanity; for, it nmust be rememl)ered, such trials were not negative in a man of Balzac's nature. - Tu. 1835] Letters to Mladciae HIanska. 265 MUNICH, June 7, 1835. I arrived here in Munich at eleven o'clock last night,; but I might have come in thirty-six hours instead of forty-eight if it had not been for three bad postilions, whom no human power could make go, and who, each of tlhem, lost me three hours apiece. I slept seven hours. and have just waked to keep the promise I made of writing you a line. Then, at ten o'clock, after seeing the exterior of the public buildings, I shall start again with the same celerity. I have nothing romantic to tell you of the journey, always sad on leaving kind friends. I had no other adventure than two horses accustomed to fetch sand, who nearly flung me into a quarry, the postilion being unable to prevent them from keeping to their habits. I jumped out in time, and began, like the horses, to go back to Vienna; but it was proved to the horses, by the whip, that they had to go to Hohenlinden, and to me, by necessity, that I had to go to Paris. The postilion was afraid I should scold him. But he did not know that the horses and I were equally faithful to our habits in spite of duty. I made many sad reflections on the manner in which horses and men have no liberty, on the various curbs that are put upon them, on the blows of fate, and the lashing of whips. But I spare you all that. You will tell me that my sadness is too humorous to be believed; whereas, in me, great disappointed affections turn always to a sort of rage, which I express by expending it on some one, as I did Thursday evening at Prince R...'s, where, because I could not do what I wished, I talked magnetism. In heaven's name, don't forget, I entreat you, to explain to M. Vatischef how it happened that he received neither my card nor my visit; you do not know how much I care about fulfilling the duties of politeness punctually. 266 lloI o 'c de1e,Baiz ac. [1835 Though I did not like your aR let (le place, he was useful to me on several occasions. I gaxe money to all, except to him, and he was not there. Do me the kindness to give him a ducat for mne. I will return it in my next letter. One shou(l be neither unjust nor forgetful. Otherwise, nothing is ever (great. I should have liked to go through Munich without stopping; but you asked me to write you a line from here, and so I have stopped. I don't like to stop in tills way. The noise aI(l motion of the carriage, the business of paying, and of makinlg the postilions get on, all divert and excite mne. But to stop is to think; and there are but sad thoughlts on leaving you. D)on't you recognize me, the man of debts, in my leaving two behind me for you to 1)ay - Koler and tlhe valet de pla ce? Ask M. llanski to tell tlhe carriagemaker not to take me for a swindler, an(l to give me credit till my return, an epoch at which I will order a carriage. You see I mean to return soon. Well, adieu until Paris; there, I will give you my news. Meanwhile accept a thousand tender thanks. PARIS, June 12, 1835. I arrived on the 11th, att two in the morning. So, deducting the time I staye(l in Munich, I did tlhe journey in five days. But I am sure now that it can be (done ill four, and that I can go in eleven days to WierzchowJia. I arrived horribly tired, brown as a negro, aind onlly able to fling myself on a b)ed and sleep. I write to you this evening, according to promise. You will receive from M. de Ia Rochefoucauld (to whom I beg you to write a line) by tile first embassy opportunity, - that of Austria, if M3. le Conte IMaurice Esterhazy is a good fellow, and will (1o inme tllis service, -a parcel containing, first, "Le P're Goriot," third edition, in the first volume of whiclh you will find a p1n 1835] Letters to Madame Hanska. 267 holder worthy of you, and in the second volume a paperknife to thank you for the one you gave me; second, a copy of the "Livre des Conteurs," in which is "Melmoth reconcilie." I will attend to your pearls at the earliest moment. I find my affairs in horrible disorder. Werdet had paid the bill of exclhange, but he had not been able to pay my notes falling due on the 15th and the 31st of May, so that my sister, to whom such affairs are not familiar, being terrified, took -not my diamonds, butmy silver-ware and pawned it. So now I must work night and day to repair the stupidities they have done me. I have therefore three or four months at "hard labour," during which I must ask you to have indulgence for me. I can't write to you as often as I would like. I must produce, one after another, "Le Lys," "Les Memoires d'une jeune Mariee," the Part for Werdet, and that for Madame Belhet. They are all complaining of me horribly. But feel no remorse; I shall never regret the journey, however short it was, nor, above all, the time, brief as it was, society left us to ourselves. I am not pleased with Munich. There are too many frescos, aid too many bad frescos. Those of the upper ceiling of the Pinakothek, and those of the lower halls of the K(enigsbaugh(?), are alone of value. All the rest is not above the level of our cafe decorations in Paris. Adieu, for to-day. Kiss Anna's pretty little knuckles for me, offer my regards to M. Hahski, and recall me to the memory of all about you. You will find the ducat for Jean, the valet de place, in the first volume of "Pere Goriot." 268.Honore de Balzac. [1835 CIAILLOT [rue des Bataillcs], July 1, 1835. What I send you will decidedly be subjected to the chances that politics may have of sending a courier to M. de la Rochefoucauld; for the lucky attach6 was married and gone before I knew it. Since 1 last wrote you time has elal)sed; but that time was taken up by enormous troubles, such as whiten or thiin the hair. The person who is with my mother writes me, confidentially, that it is a question of savin her life or her reason, for that if she does not die, grief may make her crazy. My brother, incaplable in every way, reduced to tlie deepest distress, talks of blowing out his braisns, instead of trying to (ldo something for himself. AIy sister is in a state that grows worse; her illness had made frightful advances. All this is killing my mnother. So, in four (ldays there is added to the ditficulties created by my journey, lly tinancial crisis and delayed work, thlat of two existences to guide 'and providentially manage! It is a gloomy evening. I am seated at my window; I have gazed th1rolghll space at tlme lands I have just quitted, and where I Awent to seek, near you, youth, rest, stren-th - to ref reshl both heart andl head, to forget the hell of Paris; and sitting here. a few tears fall. I measure the extent of tlhe abyss; I weilgh the urlden; I seek in the depthls of my heart tlhe cornrer where lies the prineiple of my power; and I resign myself. Of these geat scenes, tlie secret lies between God and ourselves. My God!- If you could see me you would know wlly I was so sad in leavingl you, you would comprehend the meaniing of what I said when I cried out with aupparent gaiety: "I go to plulnge back into tlhe vat and renew my miseries." By what sweet destiny is it that for t wo years past I owe to you the only calm am1d peae eful iltervals ill my life? 1835] Letters to 1ladame Hanska. 269 Now, I have begun to raise a barrier, not to be surmounted, between my mother and her children, between her and the world of self-interests that come roaring round her. I have secured to her the peace and calmness of her retreat. Next, I have formed a plan of liquidation for my brother, and another plan to provide for two years for his family subsistence. In fifteen days all this will be settled. Then in the course of those two years I shall be able to find him a position. If you will think for a moment that small interests are more complicated and more difficult to handle than great ones, you will divine the goings and comings, the difficulties,, the conferences of all this. I had my own financial crisis to overcome. The coltinual calumnies in the newspapers piling lampoons upon me -that I had absconded, that I was in Sainte-Pelagie - found credence in the stupid part of Palis; and that belief has paralyzed the resources of credit that I had. But, at the hour of my present writing I have vanquished all for myself as well as for my mother and for my brother. Still a day or so, and I shall be astride of the prettiest winged courser I ever mounted in the fields of the classic valley; and I shall fire away in both Revues in July and August, while my two Parts - of the "Etudes de alwurs" and th'e "Etudes Philosophiques"- will appear simultaneously. The purely pecuniary damage done by my journey will be repaired. Then I shall work deliciously once more, thinking that my reward will be the journey to Wierzchownia without a care. It was under tlhese circumstances that I busied myself -about your paper-knife and your pen-holder; I thought those trifles would be the dearer to you, and that M. Itanski would suffer friendship to impinge upon his rights. So, into the midst of my troubles a sweet thought glided when I went to Lecointe, the jeweller. Oh! preserve me, very pure and very bright, that affec 270 Jionore (e CBalzac. [1835: tion which, you see, is a source of consolation amid the tortures of life. I presulme your long silence comes from your jo1l1rney to Ischl. Nevertheless, I had news of you yesterday. It was not good. From the 27th to the 2,<th you were ill, harassed. You saw MIadame de Lucchesi-Palli [Du)elesse de Berry]. A somnamlbulist whom I had put to sleep told me that. She must have told the truth, for she spoke of certain annoyances which you feel, an(l of which she could know nothling except from you. The last experiments that I have made here in Paris since my return decide me to always have somnainbulists at hand. This one told me that you wrote to Paris (or intended to write to Pari-3) for information about me. But she saw this so confusedly thlat it proved nothing clearly. Slhe thought your heart was laiger than it ought to be, and tadvised me earnestly to tell you to avoid l)ainful emotions and live calmly; but she said there was no danger. Your heart is, like your forehead, an organ largely developed. I was much moved when she said to me with that solemn expression of somnambulists: "These are persons very much attached to you, who love you very truly." What an imposing and awful power! To know what is passing in the soul of others at a great distance! To know what they (1do! I will try to give you a proof of this. Tell MA. HaIIski to write me a letter, calculate tlie (lay I shall receive it, and then remember all lie says, anld does, and thinks on that day, so that lie may know whether I, in Paris, have seen Ischl. It will be the finest of our experiments. A month hence I shall have several somnambulists. It is one means not to be cheated by any one. I have nothing of Anna's, so I cannot know anything about her. If you are curious to consult, send me a little piece of linen or cotton, wlicll you must put on her stomach during the night, and 1835] Letters to Madame Hanska. 271 which she must put herself (without any one touching it) into a paper which she must put inside your letter. I have to-day resumed my great labours. Madame de Castries seems satisfied with what 1 did for her; but I did well to put my relations with her on the footing of social politeness. If you have read, or if you should read "Le'one Leoni," you must know that Madame Dudevant has been far beneath d'U..., the husband of the Wallachian. I have heard strange things about that household, but I cannot write them; they go beyond the limits of a letter. I will keep them for an evening at Wierzchownia. Good God! what a life! Yesterday the most horrible thing happened to me. You know, or you don't know, that waiting in expectation is dreadful torture to me. Sandeau went to the rue Cassini, and there heard that a package had come by post from Vienna, and, the postage being thirty-six francs, Rose had refused to take it in, not having the money. My head gave way. I felt that no one but you could be sending to me from Vienna. I sent Auguste off in a cabriolet, told him where to get the money, and to bring me the package, living or dead. Auguste was gone four hours. I was four hours in hell, inventing dramas. What do you suppose he brought? That copy of "Pere Goriot," which I asked you to give to any one who might like it, and it was returned to me from Vienna! -by the post! They may refuse me entrance to paradise, "Philippe le Discret" may be a failure - such would be mere misfortunes, but this! I did as the possessor of slippers did in the Arabian Nights, -I burned that copy lest it might cause me some other misfortune. I have had another g'rief. A little Savoyard, whom T call Anchises [Grain-de-mil], who was zeal, discretion, nonesty, intelligence personified,- my little groom, to whom I was singularly attached, - died at the Hotel 272 2Honor de Balzac. [1835 Dieu on the twenty-first day after an operation performed by MA. Roux, Dupuytren's successor, and done with great success, - the removal of a large tumnour on the knee. The-putrid reaction of so large a wound set in violently. I am grieved. lie decided on the operation, which became necessary in my absence, in order that I might find him cured and relieved of an infirmity which would in the end have carried him off. Poor child! all those who knew him regret him; he'pleased every one. After a few more words to you I must go and put myself to finishing" l' Enfant MIaudit." I am in a suitable frame of mind to do tlhat work of melancholy. Now that I have returned to my life of eighteen hours' daily toil I shall write you a species of journal every day, and send you the whole weekly. This is written Sunday, June 28, twenty-four days after leaviing you, and fifteen days since I last wrote to you. But these fifteen days have been fatally full of griefs, occtlupationIs, and difficulties of all sorts; such tilings cannot be told. It would need volumes to explain what is done and thou(ght in an hour. You have it in bulk. Werdet hlas been to London to see about our counterfeits and translations. Monday, 29. It was mni(illigllt when I finished(. I said adieu to you in my heart and wenlt to bed. I should like to change sometlhing in my way of life. I should like to get up at four in the morning, and go to bed at nine in the evening. I would then sleep) seven hours and work fifteen. It is difficult to change, for my hours are so inverted. Here Au(guste comes in and tells me that all the arrangemenets I had made for my payments to-morrow, 30th, are overturned by a discounter who sends me back, not accepting it, a note of Spachimann's for one thousand francs. So I must dress and rush out. Conceive 1835] Letters to Madame Hanska. of such a life! I was about to begin, in peace, a work of melancholy, and here's a bonmbshell fallen into my study! But it is not a despatch I have to write, and I can't say, like Charles XII.', "What has a bombshell to do with L'Enfant Maudit? " Adieu, for to-day. Tuesday, 30. I got to bed late, but I managed my affair and shall have the money, less a few ducats, to-day. In my tramps I went to see a somnambulist; she told me you were on the road to Ischl, thus contradicting the other, who said you lhad seen Madame Lucchesi-Palli. But I know how this happened. It would take too long to explain it to you. I have, unfortunately, too little time to myself to study these effects according to my new ideas, and to classify my observations. The difficulty of geting subjects, the necessities imposed on a magnetizer, all interfere with what I would like to do. Here, as in the case of writing a play, one must have time and quiet; now time and quiet are for ime the two causes of fortune, and fortune is that which stops me in all things. Recapitulation made: I must have a year of toil and much luck in that toil to be entirely free and liberated. Well, adieu; I have before me one whole month of tranquillity, for I have nothing to pay before July 31. Mon Dien! how I wish I had two good somnalnbulists! I should know every morning how you are, what you are doing; and this small satisfaction joined to my constant work would keep me happy. July 1st. Yesterday I had to rush about to complete the payments, which was only done this morning. These 30ths of a month bring strange commotions! To-night I am very sad. The east wind blows, I have no strength. I have not yet recovered my power of work; I have neither inspiration nor anything fructify18 274 Hoitore de Balzac. [183s ing. Nevertheless, the necessity is gre.it. I shall take to coffee again. When one has no illusions as to famne and looks for one's reward elsewhere, it is very grievous to be alone with one's work. A thousand tender affections. Write me often, for your writing is a talisman. You know what belongs to all those about yotu. Don't walk too much, only a little. At Ischil the air suflices. 1lesides, a carriage in any case suits you best; I have observed that; so the great doctor says: " No more walking." CIIATLLOT, July- 18, 1835. I have no time to write to you. Calumny has ruined my credit. Men who would never have thought of coming to ask for money and everybodely else have swooped down upon me. MAy omnipotent pen must coin money; and yet nothing must be sacrificed to necessity at the expense of art. Do you know what I am doing? 1 am working twenty-four hours running. Then I sleep five hours; which gives me twenty-one hours and a half to work per day. Your letter grieves me, for you make me responsible for Liszt's letter. Mon Dieu! how is it that with such a sl)lendid forehead you can think little thlings. I (o n(,t understand wlhy, knowing my aversion for George Sand, you make me out her friend. You have not given me your address at Ischl. I sendl thllis to Sina. Pray let me know how long you stay there, that I may send you a package of books. " Louis Lambert" is finished. I have also finished a volume for Mad'ame B6chet, and in eioht days more I slall have only two to finish. Werdet will also get his two Parts of the "' Etudes Philosophiques " within twenty days. I go on by the grace of God; when I fall - well, I shall have fallen; but one must fight and grow greater. 1835] Letters to Madame Hanska. 275 You tell me to write to the Countess Loulou.1 But how can I? Explain to her yourself my involuntary tardiness. T can't attend to my own affairs, I do not go out, I only write pages. In all conscience, I cannot seek for the impossible. No one here would accept the small salary the prince offers and three hundred francs for the journey! A reader who knows how to read is not an ordinary man, and yet the prince denies him a seat at his table. A man of intelligence can earn more here than three hundred francs a month by literature, and to read well is literature. I do not undertake the impossible. Every one, even those who die of hunger, laugh in my face. Leave Paris for Vienna for such pay as that! They had rather die of hunger in Paris, with hopes, than live without cares elsewhere. I will write to the princess and to the countess when I can, but I must provide for the defence of all points attacked, and I am firing from the three batteries of the Revues and my " Etudes." Tell the countess that the novel by Madame de Girardin, " The Marquis de Pontanges," is worth reading. It is the only one in six months. Adieu; I will write when I have done something, and obtained results which will put your soul at rest about my works and my vigils. These stlivings of a man with hig thought, ink, and paper, have nothing very poetic about them. It is silence; it is obscurity. Lassitude, efforts, tension, headaches, weariness, all go on between the four walls of that rose-and-white boudoir which you know by its description in the " Fille aux yeux d'or." And I have nothing to console me but that distant affection, -which is angry with me at Ischl for a few words written foolishly while I was in Vienna, - and the prospect of going to seek harshness at Wierzchownia, when 1 1 Countess Louise Turheim, chanoinesse, whose brother-in-law, Prince Rasunmofski, had asked Balzac to send him a reader from Paris. 476 2I7oirec' de Btalzac. L1835 shall be, in six or seven months, dyilng as a result of my efforts! I ought to say, like some general, I (loI1't know who, " A few more such victories and we are beaten." Adieu; I kiss Anna on the forehead, and selld you and M. Ilanski a thousand assurances of affection. Think of ine as amuch as I think of you; that will content me. But from you no letter siiice June 26, and here it is July 18. You are punishintg ne. P'xriIS, August 11, 1835. I have just returned fronr Berry, where I went to see Matdamne Carraud, who had something to say to me, and I fillnd on my return your last letter, the one in which you speak of the visit you paid to MAIAME [the l)uchesse de Blerry] at tlle moment when our aewspapers were repl)resenitil)ng her as invelltimlg the illnfernal machine of Fiescldi an(l awaiting its slleceess at Aix, where she conferred about it with Berryer! Try to govern a pleoplle wlo, for tweilty-foulr hours and over two ulm(lred( square leagues, can be made to believe such thlings as thlat! You complain very amiably of the rarity of mny letters, but you know I write as oftei as I can. I work now twenlty hours at day. Can I endure it? I (1o not know. I do not unlderstaand why you did not receive my parcel. The Austrian embassy took it uinlder their pro(tectionl, and it is a(l(ddressed to A. de la Rochefoucauld. Inquire for'it, I beg of you. I ami surprised at your enthusiasm for Lherminier. It is )lai{n that you have not read his othler works. They have preveni-ted me from reading " Au dela dtu Rhin," tl1e fraginenits of which pub)lished in thle " Revue des Deux Monides " did not seem to ine very strong. I)o not confound Lherminier and Capefigue with the roses and lilies. Leave them among the thistles, which are dear, for more reasons than one, to their Excellencies. You will oblige me to read " Au del.t du Rhin;" but I fear - in spite of your fine forehead. 1835] Letters to Mladame Hanska-. 277 I did not "chant marvels" to you about Madame de Girardin's book. It is better than what she has so far done; it is not a very remarkable work, but it is literature, and not dogmatic politics. Mon Dieu! have I not already written to you that the two somnambulists forbid you to walk? Why, then, do you walk? Your letter saddens me; it seems cold and indifferent, as if the ice on which thrones rest had invaded you. I like it better when you quarrel with me, find fault with me. If you do not stay long in Vienna, how shall I send you the manuscripts of "i Seraphita," and the " Lys dans la Vallee"? The end of " Seraphita" will not appear in the " Revue de Paris " till the third, or perhaps fourth Sunday in October. If you leave, give me some certain address at Brody; you will there find the precious package. JIlon Dieu! I need an almost exaggerated tenderness on the part of my friends, for I assure you that a cruel conviction is laying hold of me: I do not hope to bear up under such heavy toil. One may indeed be broken down by violent efforts in art, sciences, and letters, and in this increase of labor which has come upon me, driven as I am by necessity, nothing sustains me. Work, always work; nights of flame succeeding nights of flame, days of meditation to days of meditation, execution to conception, conception to execution. Little money in comparison with what I need, immensity of money in relation to the thing done. If each of my books were paid like those of Walter Scott, I could bring myself safely out of this. But, although well paid, I do not come out of it. I shall have earned twelve thousand francs in August. The "Lys" has brought me eight thousand,- half from the " Revue des deux Mondes," half from the publishers. The article in the I" Conservateur " will receive three thousand francs. I shall have finished " Sraphita," begun the " Memoires 278 lionlore de Balzae. [1835 d'une jeune Maride," and finished the last Part for Madame Belchet. 1 don't know that brain, pen, and hand have ever done such a feat of strength. And there exists a dear person, sacredly beloved, who Compl)ains that the correspondence languishes, although I answer scrupulously all her letters. It is impossil)le for me to speak to you in letters of Fieschi and his machine. The wise menl in politics, aal I myself, who am not without a certain gift of seconedsight, believe that it is neither the Relublic nor Carlism which is the author of the attempt. J'i.sc/ /i has told noti - ing; of that you may be sure. HIe will probably never speak. Lisfranc, the surgeon, who is taking care of liln in prison, told this to my sister whom lie is attendlin,g. lie has had much money given him. Perhaps he himself does not know who made him act. I am on the eve of beginning a political existence. I am cowardly enough to wislh to hold back in order nolt to risk my journey to Wierzehownia. The two Revues form a large party, for the 'k Revue des Deux AMondes" hlas fifteen hundred subscribers, five 1:hundr{1(ed being ifn Europe; it becomes, therefore, a power. 'They unite in me, take me as lhead, for I have vanlquished many mlei and tiliings by my J~douck! They support me. I shlall make two other newspapers. That will give us four, and we are to-day in treaty for a fifth! We think of calling ourselves the party of tIle Intel/i ~eti, 1.is, a name which lends itself but little to ridicule, amid will constitutte a party to which many will feel flattered to belong. To be head of this in France, that is worth thinking of. For a long time these principal lines of our work have been discussed between me and a man powerful by his will, who org(anized four years ago an(ld directed the " Revue des l)eux Mlondes" [Charles Rabou]. We have had several conferences. The two newspapers, tlhe two Revues enable us to skim the cream of the salons, to assimilate them, 1835] Letters to Madame franska. 279 to unite the seriously able intellects; and nothing can resist this amicable league of a press which will have nothing blind, nothing disorganized about it. You see that as I advance in my own work I act on another and parallel line, important and broader; in a word, I shall not stop short in politics any more than in literature. Time presses, events are complicating. I- should have been stopped for want of a hundred thousand francs; but I think I am about to write a drama, under the name of my future secretary, to procure them. I must be done with this money question which strangles me. You see that, in spite of your coldness, I keep you informed of the great operations of your devoted moujik. But if the law passes, the new law which requires that political articles be signed, I shall have to renounce a great deal in order to go to Paulowska. In short, we cannot have intellect for nothing! To speak to you of my every-day affairs would be to tell you of too many great miseries. I have always an infinite number of errands, goings and comings to pay my notes and meet my engagements, without ever being able to end them. In Paris everything involves a frightful loss of time, and time is the great material of which life is made. So, when I am bending over my paper in the light of my candlles in the salon of the '" Fille aux yeux d'or," or lying, weary, on the sofa, I am breathless with pecuniary difficulties, sleeping little, eating little, seeing no one, - in short, like a republican general making a campaign without bread, without shoes. Solitude, however, pleases me much. I hate society. I must finish what I have begun, and whatever turns me from it is bad, especially when it is wearisome. You ask me, I think, about Madame de C... She has taken the thing, as I told you, tragically, and now distrusts the M... family, Beneath all this, on both 280 Ifonorge de Balzae. [1835 sides there is something inexplicable, and I have no desire to look for the key of mysteries which do not concern me. I am with Madame de C... on the proper terms of politeness and as you yourself would wish me to be. I)o not make any comparison between the affection which you ilnsl)ire, a(id that which you grant; for in tlhat, those who love you f:have the ad(lvantage. Never believe that I cease to think of you, for even thoullgh I be occupie(l as I am now, it is impossible that in hours of fatigue and (lesl)air, hours when our energy relaxes, and we sit with pendent arms an( sunken head, body weary and nmin( distressed, the whings of memory should not bear us back to moments when we refreshed our soul beneath green shades, to her wlho smile(d to us, who has nothing in her heart that is not sincere, who is to us a spirit, who reanimates us, and renews, so to speak, by distractions of tlhe soul, tliose powers to which others give the name of ta:leint. You are all tlhese things to me, you know it; therefore nlever jest albout my feelings; I fear lest there mingle in it too mulch of gratitude. Adieu. At Wierzechownia! I mlnlst cross Europe to show you an aging(' face, blut a heart that is ever deploral)ly young, which] beats at a word, it a line ill-written, an address, a perfume, as tlhough it were not tllirty-six years old. 1 hope when you are regultarly settled in your Wierzchownia, that you will write me the journal of your daily life and be to me more faithfully a friend, so that we shall be as if we had seen ourselves yesterday when I arrive. A thousand kind thilngs to M. Ilanski. Write me whether the p)arcel is lost or you received it. I am afraid it went to Ischl after you had left. Also write me by return of courier, incelosing in your letter a seal in red wax of your arms, which are to be engraved on the titlepage of I' S(raphita," in the edition of the II Etudes 18351 Letters to lladame IHan.ska. 281 philosophiques " and " Le Livre Mystique." Is n't it a piece of gallantry to sound the heraldic chord which you have within you, I know not where, for it is not in your heart? Kiss Anna on the forehead for me. All tender sentiments, and recall me to the recollection of the Viennese, to whom I owe memories. PARIS, August 24, 1835. 3My letters are becoming short, you say, and you no longer know whom I see. I see no one; I work so continually that I have not a moment for writing. But I do have moments of lassitude for thinking. Some day you will be astonished at what I have been able to do, and yet write to a friend at all. Listen: to settle this point, reflect on this: Walter Scott wrote two novels a year, and was thought to have luck in his labour; he astonished England. This year I shall have produced: (1) " Le Pere Goriot; " (2) "Le Lys dans la Vallee; " (3) "Les Memoires d'une jeune AMariee; " (4) " Cesar Birotteau." I have done three Parts of the " Etudes de Moeurs " for Madame Bechet; and three Parts of the " Etudes Philosophiques " for Werdet. And, finally, I shall have finished the third dizait, and '" S6raphita." But then, shall I be living, or in my sound mind in 1836? I doubt it. Sometimes I think that my brain is inflaming. I shall die on the breach of intellect. These efforts have not yet saved me from my financial crisis. This fearful production of books, involving as it does such masses of proofs, has not sufficed to liquidate me. I must come to the stage; the returns of which are enormous compared to those we get from books. The intellectual battle-fields are more fatiguing to work than the fields where men die or the fields where they sow their corn; know this. France drinks brains, as once she cut off noble heads. 282 -0onore dec Balza<. [183;). Yes, I caln only write you a few pagies, and soon I may only seld you despairing onles; for courage is begilillng to desert me. I am weary of this struggle without rcet, of tllis constant production without productive success. A fine thing truly to excite moral sympathies when a mother and a brother are nee(i, br ead! A fine thing to hear silly compliments onl workl tihat are writtell with one's blood and (1o not sell, while M. Paul (le Kock sells three thousand copies of his, and(l the 1' i1iagasin Pittoresque " sixty thousand I We shall see each other again if I triumph, but I doubt success! Monday, 24. Forgive me for having uttered tlhat cry of plain, and (ldo not be too much allarmed by it. But if I perish, carried off by excess of toil, it must not surprise you. Thie end of I" Seraphita" cannot appear inl the " Revue de Paris " before September. The corrections, the efforts are crulshing'. Alreadly there have been one hundred 'and sixty hours' work In tlle first proof; and I don't know what the others will cost. If you are kind you will write me oftener. It seems ias though the air were fresher about me, mly brain cooler, as if 1 were in an oatsis. when I have read your letters. They make me thilk I am at some wayside haven. Fifteen (lays llad )passed without one when I receive(d the last from Ischl. I ami well advanced in corrections of tlie ' Lys dans la Vallee." It will appear in the " Revue des Deux MAlondes" while you are travelling. I think I have not done a finer work as painting of an interior. I have rewritten and finished "' Grobseek." In " La Fleur des Pois " I have swung round upon myself. Hitherto, I have painted the misfortunes of wives; it is time to show also the sorrows of husbands. Here is something singular: it is that I was composing this work while you were thinkihing of its leading idea, and 1 83:)] Letters to ladtdame HEanska. 283 during the time it took your letter in which you spoke of tile sufferings that fall upon men to reach me! Is it not enough to make one believe that space does not exist and tl.at we had talked together? Adieu, I have no more time to write. But, as I told you, I have time to think, and I think of you in all my hours of recreation. I must earn money to go to the Ukraine, for in order to travel tranquilly I cannot owe anything here. Adieu; remember me to all about you. CHAILLOT, October 11, 1835. Do not be surprised at my silence; it is easily explained by the abundant work I have done. For the last forty days I have risen at midnight and gone to bed at six o'clock. -Between tlhose periods there has been nothing but work, ardent, passionate work, -the desperate struggle of battle-fields. Do me the favour not to believe that the friendship you grant me is the common friendship of women; consider quand meme to be the noblest of mottoes. Yes, I shall not perish; yes, I shall triumph! But you ought to have received two letters through Sina, one of which carried to you the dedication. By the first of next March I shall owe nothing to any one. And thus will end this horrible battle between misfortune and me. My wealth will be my pen and my liberty. Yesterday, returning along the quays on foot, meditating the corrections of " S'raphita," I saw, in a carriage that went by rapidly, Madame Kisseleff. Imagine my astonishment! She was returning no doubt from Bellevue, the residence of the Austrian embassy. Another piece of news. By getting up at midnight and going to bed at six o'clock for forty days I am beginning to get thin during my eighteen hours' vigil and toil. I wish the " Lys " and " Seraphita " and the new " Louis 284 2H o,4r J,,'( e SBalzac. [1835 Lambert" to be the culminating points of my literary life so far. We are reprinting the "I Medecin (le campagne." I am havin(g a travelling-Carriage )built; and 1 thinlc of butying a house, so that wlhen you come to Paris I can offer you a whole one to yourself, in thanks for the hospitality you promise me at Wierzchownia. MI. de Custine is in Paris, faithless man! Will you permit ime to have a watch ma(le for you in G(eneva? I will bring it to you withl tile malnuscripts that belong to you. I will thus repair the disaster of your journey; you are too far from Geneva to do it yourself. Take care of yourself. Play Grandet and Benassis. I will be your critic when I come, as you are mine on my works. Oh! I entreat you, have confidence in lme. I)o not be vexed with me for anything, neither the brevity, nor the careless scribbling of my letters. I imust work on, - nothing can be allowed to wait; andll I have always around me three or four volumes ill proofs to read; and besides this, financial matters. In trutil, I (lo not live; but, in my most weary hours, I can rest my head upon the mantel-piece and lose myself in dreams, like a woman. A thousand kind memories to all, and to y/ou all the friendships. I expect to hear from you on " Le Lys dans la Vallee." I worked lolg over tlhat book. I wanted to use the language of Massillon, and that instrument is heavy to wield. Ardent wishes for all that is dear to you; my friendship to the Grand Marshal. CliAILLOT, October, 1835. I have received your letter from Brody, and thank you from tile bottom of my heart. The more you forbid me to go to Wicrzchownia, under pretext of too great fatigue, 1835] Letters 'to Madame Hlansika. 285 the quicker I shall go. But be easy; I cannot breathe the air of liberty, or feel myself free of chains, before April, May, or June. But I shall surely go and do "Philippe II." and "t Marie Touchet" at Wierzchownia tranquilly; or a few good works which will give me my financial independence, - the three francs a day that the dethroned Napoleon wanted. Yes, Madame Kisseleff is in Paris. Happy Monsieur E...! I am out of society; until my liberation I see no one, and I work as I told you. You will not read till you reach Wierzchownia " Le Livre Mystique," which is composed of my new " Louis Lambert" and " Seraphita." The Emperor Nicholas will not forbid those books. I should like to be able to buy the house of which I spoke to you. It would be a good investment, and I should be forced to be economical. I am getting a bad opinion of your firmness. In proportion as you approach your cara patria your sublime resolutions as to government vanish, and you are becomning once more the great lady, creole and indolent. Come, be queen of Wierzchownia; (ldo not be an unpublished Benassis at Paulowska. Be, rather, an intellectual growth, develop that fine forehead where shines the most luminous of divine lights. I wish to reach Wierzchownia by travelling through Germany, - that country worthy of the renown against which we lie so much. From now to seven months hence I shall have accomplished great works. " Cesar Birotteau" will have been followed by many others. But the " Lys"! If the " Lys" is not a female breviary, I am nothing. The virtue in it- is sublime, and not wearying. To be dramatic with virtue, to be ardent and use the language and style of Massillon, - let me tell you, that is a problem, to solve which, in the first number, cost three hundred hours of corrections, four hundred francs to thQ 286 Honore de Balzac. [1835 " Revue" and to me a trouble in my liver. Dr. Nacquart put me into a bath for three hours a dlay, on ten pounds of grapes, and wanlted ine not to work; but I do work all nighlt. Madame (le Berny is much better; she has borne a last shock, the illness of a beloved sonl whose brother has gone to bring him home from lelgiumn. 1 was there to lessen her sorrows. She told ime she could say but one word about my " Lys": that it was indeed the Lily of the Valley. From her lips that is great praise; she is very hard to satisfy. The first number is finished and I have two others; at twenty (lays apiece, that makes forty (lays. Sainte-Beuve worked four years at " VoluptS." Compl)are that! I send you many heartfelt wislhes, a(nd beg you to recall me to the memory of all. Your paper-knife broke in my hand; it almost cut me; I felt grieved about it. Besides which, I don't know where the little pencil-case of Geneva has hid itself; I am grieved about that also; but it may be found in some pocket. I am so full of ideas and work that here is distraction beginning. But the heart has none, only the head. CIIAILLOT, Novcimler 22, 1835. Do not be surprised at the rnumber of (ldays since I have written to you. This interruption is due to the sharl)ness of the conflict, the necessity of a work that takes days and nights. I am in fear of succumbiig. Also, events have become very serious in my family. Something had to be done about my brother, - get him off to India, or induce him to go. You, so little concerned about money, you will never know, until I relate them to you by the lireside in your steppe, the difficulties there are in paying ten thousand francs a month, without other resource than one's plei. Still, I have almost thle hope of arrivig, if not free, 1835] Letters to Madame laTnska. 287 at least with honour safe and no misfortune, at December 31. You will comprehend nothing of these two months until you see the frightful labour on " Seraphita" and the " ILys" bound in green and placed upon your bookshelves. Then you will ask yourself, seeing that mass of proofs and corrections, if there were years in those months, days in those hours. Madame Bechet has paid us our thirty-three thousand francs; and we are offered forty-five thousand for the thirteen following volumes, which will complete, in twentyfive volumes, the first edition of the " Etudes de Mceurs." That is how our affairs stand now. We owe thirty-five thousand francs, and we possess, in expectation, fifty thousand. There's the account of our household. The sole point now is, not to die of fatigue on the day when the burden becomes endurable! To-morrow, Sunday, 22, the first number of the " Lys dans la Vallee" appears in the " Revue de Paris." But learn from one fact the nature of my struggle and my daily combats. Since my return from Vienna the " Revue de Paris" made immense sacrifices for "Seraphita." After six months of toil and money spent, " Seraphita," finished, was to have appeared to-morrow. Suddenly the director told me it was incomprehensible, and that he preferred not to publish it on account of the long interruption which had occurred between the first numbers and the end, with a hundred other reasons which I spare you. I at once proposed to pay him his costs and take back my article. Accepted.. I rushed to Werdet, and told him about it. Ile rushed to Buloz with the money; and the wrath of publisher and author is such that ' Sraphita" has gone from one printing-press to the other and that the " Livre Mystique," will appear on Saturday, 28th. The literature of the periodical press will seize upon the singular anecdote of this refusal; it 288 Hlonore de Balzac. [1835 will make such an uproar, inasmuch as the editor of the " Revue " is not liked, that AWerdet feels sure of sellilng " Seraphita " in a single day.' There is a copy on Chinese paper for you, besides the collection of manuscripts and proofs. But such displays of force require prodigious efforts: they are like the campaigns of Italy. You understand that in a literary caimpaign like mine society is impossible. Therefore I have openly renounced it. I go nowhere, I answer no letter and no invitation. I only allow myself the Italian opera once a fortnigllt. Thursday last I saw Madame Kisseleff there. Alas! how little effect her beauty made! If you only knew how everything becomes be!ittled in Paris! In spite of her protectillg passion for Poggi, she understands what I tried to tell her in Vienna, and Po,,ggi now gives her the impression of a full stop in the Encyclopl)edia after hearing Rubini. I cannot tell you the memories that assailed me when I found myself beside some one from Vienna, a friend of yours, and listening to the "Somnambula" whlich recalled to me two of our evenings. The Princess Schonberg was tlhere also. I paid a visit of politeness to her; and I sliall also go and see Madame Kisseleff once. So, my life is a strange monotony, and your letters are so rare that I have no lonllger the regular event that varied it, - your letters, tlhat always came of a Monday. I have no longer my good MIonday. I can only 1 Werdet gives a long account of this affair ("Portrait intime de Balzac " pp. 147-169). On it, lie bases a bitter complaint against Balzac of unfairly and to his, Werdet's, injury, delaying the publication fifteen months; which charge falls to tlhe ground under the above evidence that M. Bnuloz returned " Sdraphita," November 21, 1835 (not 1834 as Werdet says), and Werdet published the book two weeks later, December 2, 1835, on which day every c(I)y was solid, and two hundrefl an(l fifty were promised. The second edition was published December 28, 1835.-Tit. 1835] Letters to Madame IHanska. 289 tell you about my work and my payments, - a chant as monotonous as that of the waves of ocean surging upon a granite rock. I am going to dine in town to get you an autograph of Sir Sidney Smith, the hero of Saint-Jean-d'Acre. I will also send you one of Alphonse Karr. Sunday, 22. I beg of you to number your letters, beginning with the year 1836, as I do myself with this one; so that we may mutually know if our letters reach us safely; and when we want special answers to any question, the mention of the number will settle everythiing. I have had, and I still have, violent griefs on the side of Nemours. Ma(lame de Berny was decidedly better; her dreadful palpitations were relieved. There were hopes of saving her. Suddenly, the only son who resembles her, a young man handsome as the day, tender and spiritual like herself, like her full of noble sentiments, fell ill, and ill of a cold which amounts to an affection of the lungs. The only child out of nine with whom she can sympathize! Of the nine, only four remain; and her youngest daughter has become hysterically insane, without any hope of cure. That blow nearly killed her. I was correcting the "Lys" beside her; but my affection was powerless even to temper this last blow. Her son (twenty-three years old) was in Belgium, where he was directing an establishment of great importance. His brother Alexandre went to fetch him, and he arrived a month ago, in a deplorable condition. This mother, without strength, almost expiring, sits up at night to nurse Armand. She has nurses and doctors. She implores me not to come and not to write to her. You know how at moments, when all within us is tension, the slightest shock, whether it comes from tried affection or from clumsiness, breaks us down. 19 290 1jonuor6 de Bailzac. [1835 What a situation! So that I have a double anxiety in that direction, where I live so much. alMy mother and my brothelr give me other anxieties of so cruel and disastrous a kind that I (ldo not speak to you of them, for they are not of a nature to be written. One must have much faith in the future to live thus, - to take up, every morning, one's heavy burden. \My friends have all limited means, and cannot relieve nmy financial situation, which twenty-five thousand francs would render endurable, were they only lent to me for six months. 1 must still march on to the last moment in triple distresses, - those of my family, those of my work, those of my finances. I don't speak of calumnies or of the wretches who throw sticks between my leg's when I run. That is nothing. That which would kill an artist I scarcely consider an annoyance. I have of late been twenty-six hours in my study without leaving, it. I get the air at tlmat window which commands all Paris, which I will some (lay command. I have received your last letter written from your desolate land. I reckon that 'by tllis time you have reached VWierzchownia, reviewed your wheat-fields, resumed your habits, and tllat you can surely write to me twice a month. Following your custom, you have given lne your address very ilperfec(tl, tiand that of the Chanoinesse with a per'fection quite hieroglyphic. Write and tell her thiat for me it is as impossible to write to her as it would be to take the moon in my teeth. Society people, the rich, tlhe idle, imagine nothing of the busy lives of artists and( poor men. It is humorous to a degree. Especially do they 1)elieve in our ingratitude, our forgetfulness; they never view us as toiling night and (lay. To explain myself wholly, think of those seventeen volumes manufactured by me without help; compu)te tlhat that makes tlhree hunl(red feu;,illes '1(}OI) octavo pages], each read moire than ten times, 1835] Letters to Madame Hanska. 291 and that makes three thousand [48,000], besides the conception and the writing; and also that beyond the will to do I must have du bonheur [the luck of inspiration]. So, whatever they tell you of me, laugh at it, and think of this, the proof of which exists. One of my bitterest literary enemies says of me: " Talent, genius, his incredible. power of will, I can understand, I can believe it; but where, and how, does he 'manufacture TIME?" Ah! madame, I have brought myself, I, such a sleeper, to do without sleep; I sleep only four hours; and I, so eager, so much a child, I have resolved my wh6ole life into dreams of hope. I live by suffering, work, and hope only. My fortune will be made by three months spent at Wierzchownia without care, without anxieties, in writing two fine plays. By the singular will of Providence your friendship is joined to the three halts I have made during the last three years. Neufchatel, Geneva, Vienna, have been to me three oases. There, I thought of nothing; I renewed my strength. You will see me arrive dying at Wierzchownia, and I shall leave it living. Adieu; my friendly regards to the Benassis of Wierzchownia. My compliments to the three young ladies. A kiss on Anna's forehead. Be without anxiety as to the manner in which I shall make the journey. I shall come alone, without anything to contest at the custom-house, without books, without papers, - only linen and clothes. I will write you, in advance, the names of the books I shall need, to see if you have them in your library; that is the only tax I shall place upon you. I shall not bring a score of heavy books. I have all my intellectual riches in my head, and all my treasures in my heart. You must have indulgence for my one coat, my poet's wardrobe. I shall go light as an arrow, rapid as an arrow, but heavy with hopes, 292 Honor de Balzac. [1835 with pleasures to take in that chimney-corner by which you entice mne. CIIAILLOT, November 25, 1835. If "Seraphita" is not for sale oin Saturday there will be no winter for me in Russia; W erdet is ruined if " Seraphita," that is to say, " Le Livre Mystique, " is not a great success, and if the second and third Parts of the "Etudes Pllilosop)liques " do not appear in December Land January. I lose six thousand francs with Madame Bechet if her last Part does not appear in February. Keep the above before your eyes so that you may not blame me. I mlust fulfil my engagements or I (lie, killed at last by grief. To write a letter is impossible. People who lead a fixed life, by whom thle want of moiney is never felt, are unable to judge of the lives of those who work night and day, and have to beg for the money they earn. I had forty thousand francs to pay after my return from Vienna, and before this coming I)ecembler. Therefore judge what efforts and resources I needed to make head against that without credit; so that what you say to me in thle letter I received to-day seems to me very singular. You (lo not know thle bitterness of tle epligrain which your fear has made upon a poor artist, in hidinc on account of the National Guard, who for five months has gone to bed at six o'clock (with rare exceptions) to rise at midnight, and who is working superhumanly to earn a few months' freedom in order to go and see you. To ask me for letters under tliese circumstances is as if you had been a Frenchiman and asked some colonel to write to you during the retreat from Moscow- with this difference, that the warmth of my soul can never lessen, and triumph will take thle place of (lefeat. ron,, Dift u! I can't foresee any peace under three months, unless through fortunate events that ar e impos 18351 Letters to MIadtame fanska. 293 sible: exhausted editions that would give me money, or falling ill myself. Then I would write to you. But would you not rather have my silence, which tells you I am working fruitfully, and bringing nearer the happy day of my freedom? Have I made you too great in counting on your intelligent friendship to divine these things? Here comes Werdet with ten feuilles, one hundred and sixty pages, to correct! I have, since I wrote letter No. 1, now on its way, quarrelled with the Revues, for the same causes that I quarrelled with Pichot; you know them. Well, adieu. I have lived a few minutes with you in the pretty home of your sister, for you are indeed a good painter. Though I am not ill, I am horribly fatigued, - more than I have ever been. I have not been able to go and breathe my native air of Touraine, which would revive me. A thousand caressing things. Never doubt your poor future guest again. P. S. I have lost in a diligence my Geneva pencilcase with the Aice. I did not have the luck that you had with your watch. I have not recovered it. CHAILLOT, December 18, 1835. I receive to-day the letter in which you tell me you have read the first number of the "Lys." When you receive this letter you will doubtless have read the second. (Shameful cheatery has sold them to Bellizard, and I shall prosecute such thefts; that is, if I have the courage to protest against a fraud which hastens the enjoyment that you say you take in my things.)1 You 1 The publication of "Le Lvs (das'la Valle " in Russia. See " Memoir of Balzac," pp. 160, 161, 231-237. - TR. 294 2I4l[onor (c talzac. I1S;5 will understand better the three hundred hours. I leave the enervating corrections of the third number to write to you. You are right in your philological criticisms. I perceive my faults every day, and correct them. You will find, some day, a great difference between the acknowled(lged work and all preceding editions. Imagine my happiness! Thomassy [a collaborator of Augustin Thierry] came to embrace mne after reading. "Se'raphita." Ile told lme that lie regarded the 'Livre Mystique" as one of tlie masterpieces of the French language, and that lie saw no fault to find with it. There must be some faults still in "La G renadiere;" but these last stains upon the white robe slhall be reloved by the soap of patience and the wash-board of courage, which love of art for art's sake gives. It is useless to tell you what the "Lys" has cost me. I lhave now spent fifteen (lays on the thlird number, and I need ei'ght more. A dreadful misfortune has happened to nce. Th'le fire in the rue du Pot-de-Fer destroyed the hundred and sixty first pages, printed at my cost, of the third diil^zia of the "Contes I)rolatiques," and five mhundred volunmes, wlich cost me four francs each, of thle first and second (/tz,fins. Not only (ldo I lose an actual amount of tl1ree thousand five hundred francs in money and( interest, but I also lose an agreement for six thousan(l francs, oil wlhich I counted to pay my expenses at tlie end of the year, which is now broken, because I have nothing to oive Werdet and an associate in tllis affair who bought the three dl'izeis. I must face this misfortune, which comes at tlie moment when lhope was no longer a vain word, when gleanms of blue were lilghting up my heaven, beside thle lovely form so rarely seen there. \Yell! I lave always shown an iron front to trouble; there 's nought but hap 1835] Letters to liiacdamne IHanska. 295 piness which breaks me down - for I ill know how to bear it. Madame de Berny has kept'silence since this fatal event. That is another trouble. And my journey to Wierzchownia recedes. You have no idea of our civilization; the trouble it is to do business; what distances, what visits wasted on moneyed people; their caprices, which make the promise of one day withdrawn the next! My life is a torrent. I sleep only five hours. To go and see you would be a rest, no matter how fatiguing a rapid journey might be. I have few events to tell you. I have dined once with Madame Kisseleff; and once at the Austrian embassy, and I went to a rout at the latter place. One must keep up relations there. I have seen Princess Schonberg. But I do no more than is necessary. I am to have two secretaries, two young men who espouse the hopes of my political life, which, alas! is dawning. I am embarrassed how to tell you when, how, and why, because you have forbidden the subject;1 but you will guess all when I tell you that five days ago I bought a political newspaper. These young men are: (1) The Comte de Belloy, friend of Sandeau, nephew of the cardinal; twenty-four years old, face happy, wit abundant, conduct bad, poverty dreadful, talent and future rich, confidence and devotion entire, nobility immemorial. (2) A Comte de Gramont, one of whose ancestors went security for a Due de Bourgogne. He does not belong to the family of the Dues de Grammont. I know him less than I do de Belloy. These are my two aides-de-camp. You will be surprised to see Sandeau excluded. But Sandeat is not, like these gentlemen, legitimist; he dloes not share my opinions. That says all. I have done 1 All his political interests and occupations were excluded from his letters to Russia, in fear of the censorship. - TR. 11onorc" de, IBal —ac. [8l35 everything to convert him to the doctrines of absolute powVer. lie is as silly as a propagandist. You see that here is a second mine; a second cause for arduous work. You see also that JBcdoluc/ is not a talisman without force in ime. But it needs much money, and still more talent. I don't know where to aet the mon(ley. lYou are very righlt to economize; and I (lo not understandlll why you do not beat I. Hlallski into sendiln away forty out of his eighty workmen. Shiekler and all our great seigneurs here do not employ more than forty. lReserve your sulblimle analytical thoughts to act like your neighbour, tlie Countess Branicka. Money can do everythingr to vanquish material obstacles. le miserly by juxta)positioll; miserly with an obj-ct. My brother-in-law is negotiating tlhe purchase of my house. I desire it extremely. It fulfils all the conditions that you reIquire in a dwelling. How I wish that you couild so arrange your affairs that you might be in it three years hence, without 1\. Ilanski havinlg one anlxiety. Is not M. Mitgislas P... happy as a kil)ng? lie hlas all the wealth that he wants, and possesses enougll il tlie public funds to bring down the stock by a sale! Nothiing is easier to administer tld(l collect than such revenues, nothing larder than liUt'tte' 'rcr,(,tcs, although they are so simple that nothing is simpler! "If you love me " (Anna's style) you will make me a )retty little daily journal, not a )eriodical one; so that every ei-ght (lays I shall receive your letter, and milne will cross yours. Can you do less for a man who writes only to you in all tlhe world? As for my preseit life, I have returned to tlie rue des Batailles. I go to bed at seven ani get ill) at two; between those two periods see me in thle boudoir of the 1835] Letters to Madcame Hanskca. 297 "Fille aux yeux d'or," seated at a table and working without other distraction than to go to my window and contemplate that Paris which I will some day subjugate. And here I am for three months, until my house is bought, and my new arrangements for lodging and living made.1 I imagine that Anna is well, that you flourish in la ca)ra patria, that M. Hanski is busy, that Mesdemoiselles Se'verine and Denise are at their best, that Mademoiselle Borel has restored her good graces to the author of "Seraphita," and prays God for him after praying for you and Anna, that all goes well, even Pierre, that the confectioner makes you delicious things, and, in short, that nothing is lacking in your Eden but a poor foreigner who glides there in thought. At night, when the fire crackles or a spark darts from a candle, say to yourself, "'T is he! " Think, then, that a too ardent memory has crossed the spaces and fallen on your table like an aerolite detached from a distant sphere. Farewell again. I would that I could say ' biesntot. When you begin the third number of the "Lys" you will know that if the first pages are bad it is because you have taken the time necessary to make them good, and that nothing is sweeter to me than to abandon for you my author's vanity and the public. 1 It seems, at first silght, rather astonishing that a man so deeply in debt should talk of buying property. But in a letter to his sister respecting his building of " Les Jardies," he says it is as an investment for his mother, who was one of his creditors. The same statement is made by Theophile Gautier in his record of Balzae. From this point of view, a purchase of real estate was safety, not extravagance. -TR. 298 Honor'd de Balzac. [1836 IV. LETTERS DURING 1836. CIIAILLOT, January 1S, 1836. IN spite of my entreaty, your letter, which I received to-day, after nearly one mo11th's intcrregium, i s neither (dated( nor numbered; so that it is impossible to answer each other understandingly at such a distance. Your letter contains two reproaches which have keenly affected me; and I think I have already told you that a few chaince expressions woul(d suflice to make me go to AWierzchownia, which woul(l be a misfortune in my p)resenit perilous situation; but I would rather lose everything than lose a true friendship. In the first place, as for letters, count up those that you have written me, and my replies; the balance will l)e much in my favour. When you speak of thle rarity of my letters you make me think that some must be lost, and I feel uneasy. In short, you distrust me at a distance, just as you distrusted me near by, without any reason. I read quite despairingly the paragraph of your letter in which you (ldo the honours of mny heart to my mind, and sacrifice mny whole l)ersolality to my brain. I laughed mnuch at yotr reckoning of my work by quantity, not quaIlity. I laug(zhed, because I thought of your analytical forehead; I tlatuhed, because I thouglht that at the moment when I was ret(ding those falsely accusing pages, 'ou, p)erhaps, were lholding in your hand 1836] Letters to Madame Hanska. 299 "Seraphita " and making me in the depths of your heart some honourable amends. Ah! cara, if you were in the secret of those worksessions, which begin at midnight and end at midday, if you knew that the new edition of the " ' Medecin de cainpagne" and the second of the "Livre Mystique" have cost me six hundred hours, that I must deliver February 1 the manuscripts of two new octavo volumes, and that I have business and lawsuits besides, you would see, with pain, that you have accused a friend falsely, that " Marie Touchet" is going on, and that-that- etc. To-day, I have so much on my hands that I am compelled to extreme rapidity. I am irreconcilably parted from the two Revues. I have in my own hands '" La Chronique de Paris," a newspaper that comes out twice a week, and expresses my royalist sympathies. I have begun the year by " La Messe (le l'Athee," a work conceived, written, and printed in a single night. I must deliver in February a work entitled " L'Interdiction," which is equivalent to seventy pages of the '" Revue de Paris." This is over and above what I have to do for Madlaime Bechet and Werdet. In two months I shall hlave ended the agreement with Madame IBechet, and be free of her. In the enumeration which you make of my works you count as nothing the enormous corrections which the reprints cost me. Is it not sad to have to count up witlh you, -to make for friendship calculations such as I ]have to make with my publishers? You took amiss what I said to you in asking you not to cause me false sorrows, because I was bending beneath the weight of real ones. To tell you those, I should have to write you volumes. They are such that the success of '" Seraphita" did not bring into my soul the slightest joy. Did there not come a moment when Sisyphus neither wept nor smiled, but became of the nature of the rocks he was ever lifting? 300 HJionore' de Balzac. [1836 My life is becoming too much that of a steam-engine. Toil to-day, toil to-morrow; always toil, and siall results. 1836 is b)egun. I shall soon be thirty-seven years old. I have six months before me, during which I have accumulated fifty thousand francs to pay. Those paid, I shall have paid off what I owe to strangers. There remains my mother. But I shall have spent nine years of life at the edge of a table, with an inkstand oefore me. I have had but three diversions, permit me to say three happinesses: my three journeys, - three recreations snatched, stolen, perilously torn from the midst of my battles, leaving the enemy to make headway; three halts, during whichl I breathed! And you find fault witlh the poor soldier who has resumed his life of ablnecgation, his life militant, the poor writer wlo has not taken a penful of ink these two years without looking at your visiting card placed below his inkstand. No, surely, I would not have you hide from me a single one of the sad or gay thoulghts that come to you; but whllile I sympathlize keenly with all that is of you, believe that I suffer horrilly from thle worries that you make for yourself about me, by suppl)osing facts or sentiments tlhat are false or foreign to my nature. Thien it is that I measure thle distance tlhat parts us, and drop my hlIed. Thle wound is (,iven, here, at the moment whenti at Wvierzcho(wnia you oulglt, on reeeiving a letter from me, to regret having been too quick to blame a heart which is wholly devoted to you. Ifere are explanations enou,'tgh. I am very desirous tlat you should have the second edition of tlIe " Livre MAystique " in which I have made some changes, but all is not done yet in. the matter of corrections. Madame de Berny sent me her observations too late, and I could not rewrite the second chlapter, enltitled " S{(raphita." She alone had thle courage to tell me tlhat the angel talked too munlch like a grisette; tliat 1836] Letters to J1d(iacme Ifan.ska. 301 what seemed pretty so long as the end was not known is paltry. I see now that I must synthesize woman, as I have all the rest of the book. Unhappily, I need six months to remake this palt, and during that time noble souls will all blame me for that fault which will be so obvious to their eyes. I send Hammer a copy of the second edition, in memory of his kind deeds and his friendly reception. Did I tell you that the Princess Schonberg has put her child here in the house where I am, on account of its vicinity to the Orthopoedic hospital? Yesterday I met her in the garden and we talked Vienna; she did not tell mc a word about you, but much about Loulou. She said that Lady... had again run away with a Greek, that Prince Alfred had prevented her from getting beyond Stuttgard. The husband arrived, fought a duel with the Greek, and took back his wife. What a singular wife! Forgive me this gossip. I was so happy in the solitude of this house, rue des Batailles! The landlord said to me one morning that a Prince Schudenberg had come. I replied, "No, there are only Counts of Schuttenberg." The next day on the staircase I saw a German valet, who looked at me, smiling, and three days later Prince Schonberg told inme, at Madame Appony's, that he had put his heir under the care of our good air and garden. If the play of "Marie Touchet" succeeds I can buy the house I have in view. With what delight I shall enjoy a home of my own! But the damned seller will not accept my terms of payment; he wants twenty-five thousand francs down, and I don't know when I shall have them. If I earn them in six months the house may then have been sold. Well, one must submit. I have still twenty days' more work on the "M decin de campagne; " only one volume is printed; I must finishthe second. I hope that this time the text will be definitive, and that it will be pure, without spot or blemish. 302 Jlonorc det Balz(a. [18:36 You see, nothing can be more nionotonous than my life in the midst of this whirling Paris. I refuse all ilnvitations; laboriously I (ldo my work; I amass - to win a few days' freedom. One more journey that I want to make! Some nights more of toil and( perhaps I can go and see you about the middle of this year. It cannot be until after I clear my debt. I would inot show you even once that anxious face that so struek you the day you were singing and I was looking out across the Waltergarten. No, you never spoke to me of that Roger. You commit little sins, which, like spoilt children, you (lo not own till a long time afterwards. At this moment I am a prey to the liorrible spasmodic congh I had at Geneva, and which, since then, returns every year at the same time. 1)r. Naequart declares tlat I ought to pay attention to it, and that I got sometlhing, whlich lie does not define, in crossing the Jura. The good doctor is going to study my lungs. This year I suffer with it more than usual. If I am at Wierzcliownia this time next year you will have an old man to nurse. I am in despair at the delay the II Revue de Paris" makes in bringing out the '" Lys (dans la Vallde." No work ever cost more labour. The "I Lys," " S('raphita," tlhe " -M(lecin (le campagne " are the three gulfs into which I have flung the most nighlts, money, and thouglhts. Thle finest part, the end, is that which has not yet appeared. We are reprinting at this moment the fourth volume of the " Scenes (le la Aie plrivee," in which I have mad(e grent clhamies in relation to the general meaninlg in " Ieme Ihistoire; " so that IEle'ne's flight with the murderer is renldered more probable. It took me a long time to make these last knots. To sum up your questions: my health is not good just now; business matters are multiplying; work also; I am 1836] Letters to Jladarme Ilanska. 303 under suspicion by you, whereas I am exterminating myself to earn money here. No pleasures, many annoyances. Nothing has varied since my last letter, neither my heart nor my occupations. I am awaiting some news. 1 have imagined a thousand evils; I fancied that Anna, or you, or M. Hanski were ill. I now learn that you really are suffering with your heart. Remember all that I have written to you about it. Avoid emotions, do not make violent exertions, and no harm will come of it. As for the cure, when you come to Paris it will be completed; we have physicians very learned on that point. It needs digitalis in doses adapted to the temperament. January 22. Since the night I last wrote to you, this letter has lain here without my having one moment in which to finish or close it. This wheel, this machine of a life must be seen to be understood. Werdet saw the mother of the woman who is near him burned on New Year's day. He tried to put out the flames and burned. his hands. The poor old woman died in ten minutes; and Werdet has had to keep his bed twenty days to cure his burns. I had to do his business for him, for Werdet is I. I had to obtain five thousand francs for myself and eight thousand for him. We have ten months' distress before us. both he and I. The last four days have been spent in marches and countermarches. What hours lost! I am never at home except to sleep a few hours. I have a dreadful month of February before me, full of work that will not return me a farthing. Well, I must bid'you adieu, to you and all those about you; work is waiting; the case of proofs is full, and I am in arrears with several folios of copy still to do. I have more work than generals on a campaign, but such work is obscure. You can imagine that a soldier on a campaign cannot write, and yet you expect a writer forced along on -11onw-C de -Bal ---ac. [1836 four lines of combat to be liberal of his letters. I assure you that the problem of my time is more than ever insoluble. When I am with you, ask me why, and I will tell you. As for writing it, it would take volumes, and I must now rely on thle confidenee that should exist between friends to take my devotion, my testimonlies of heart and soul under their silll)lest expresion; certai that that expression will sullice, in spite of distance, to make us comprehend each other. Is tlhat true? 'Say yes -" if you love cme.' Adieu; accel)t the wishes that I make for your happiness such as you wish it. If I were G(od! All! You are not ignorant of how rare lofty sentiments are; I (lo not speak here of talents; no, I mean sentiments enlightened by pure intelligence. 1)id I tell you tlhat the little silver pencil-case for which I cared so much, and on which I hiad the 1Arl elng'ravel, tlhat gracious and religious Faber, I lost from my pocket while asleep in a public conveyance? I will not have another; I earedl for that one so much! It fell from my pocket; it needed a chain; I thought of that too late. The lizard chlain of my watch is taken off. It was so easily broken; it caught in everything. I return it to you in idea; Lecointe has put a cassolette upon it. I sliall keel) it for you preciously, and you will some day wear it. Excuse me for talking of such trifles, but I wanted to explain thle absence of tile ALe, - a prayer I often make. I)ear, I would thlat when looking at your flowers you helarl the gentle words my heart is saying at this moment to you; I would( that in breatlhing their perfume you might feel the spirit that consoles; I would tliat thle silence were eloquent; that all Nature in what she has that is most endearing were my interpreter. But these, perhaps, are not all the thing's we should require; we should live too happy in their contact. We need to flee to loftier reg'ions, 1836] Letters to Mlledame LHaska. 305 to the bare and stormy summits, where all will make us humble by its grandeur and by the demonstration of vast struggles. You could find in what I do not tell you of myself something analogous. But I have not the sad courage to uncover all my wounds. Well, adieu. Like the fisherman in Walter Scott's "Antiquary," I must saw my plank without risking the blunder of an inch; I must write. Oh! cara, write! when one's soul is mourning, and when the sister-soul is mourning also, and something is lost to us of our faith in losing the soul that inspired it!- Let us bury that secret in our hearts. There is an autograph for you in the envelope of this letter. It is that of Silvio Pellico. A thousand greetings to M. IIanski and to those about you. May heaven dictate to them the honey words, the tender silences, the grace of heart, the religious efforts of the mind, which are so needed in those terrible transition days which we call bad days, sad days. Accept a very affectionate pressure of the hand. PARIS, January 30, 1836. C(ftr, I have this moment received yours of December 24 (old style), in which you speak to me of Princess Gr..., "that little stupid." I should have laughed at your suspicions, if you had not revealed your displeasure in those three furious pages, the fury of which I adore. I have never but once set foot in the house of that "little stupid," for, without having read your adorable advice relative to society, I have followed it to the letter. All that you say convinces me that our thoughts are identical. Let me repeat, for the last time, that in the situation in which I am placed I am the subject of gossip and calumnies without foundation, and that those who wish to pull me down will never know the secrets of 20 - 806 I1oJo) WiC de Balza c. [18a t, my heart. I can deliver up my WorkS to them, I canll let them say all they like about my person, and about my business affairs; but all that yo. (lto vot Ahcr directily mDow mie about the matters that trouble you, believe it to be false. I hasten to write you these few words so as not to delay this letter, so important to friendship. I saw Madame Kisseleff at the Opera, and she talked to me of you and of your brother; she be)gged me to remember her to -youl with many amiable expressions. She has never said any harm of you; on the contrary, she praised me much for my attachment to you, without saying anything to lessen it. But slhe did say of your brother what you told me yourself in Vienna. I share the grief you express to me on the fatal event; but I am not entirely of your opinion. Among s.)rc/lis/s, judgments go more to the root of things. If Count HIenry is all that you say of him, you should consider the nervous disposition of poets, of men who live in thought. Yes, the whole world wil condemn him, and especially for tihe last phases of the affair. But believe that there are some souls who, without absolving him - for a man cannot be absolved for a failure of moral characterwill pity him as they pity "Louis Lambert," of whom you speak. Without comparing your brother to a see,, there are in the nature of men of mobile and chlalngealble impressions, lacunm-, lassitudes, solutions of continuity under the lpressure of misfortunes, of which we should take account. As jiudge, I should cut him off, as you do, from communiion with the faithful; but I should open to him my poet's heart and comfort him, as you are doing. Yes, caee-, the union of talent, gelnius, poesy, love, and a great, ind(lomitable character, a rectangular will, is a miracle of nature - possibly an effect of temperament. I will not go farther on this dolorous su bject. The "Chronique d(le Paris" takes all my time. I sleep 1 836] Letters to Madame ]Hanska. 307 only five hours. But if your affairs and M. Hanski's are doing well, mine are beginning to prosper. Subscriptions are received in miraculous abundance, and the shares I possess have risen to a value of ninety thousand francs capital in one month.' It is impossible for me to go into society; I am even uncivil. I hardly see my most intimate friends. If you were a witness of my life you would pity it. But my thirst for work is in direct ratio to my thirst for independence. I have renewed negotiations for the Beaujon house. My lawsuit will be called before the court to-morrow. It is now five o'clock in the morning. I am preparing the means of defence for my lawyer. I thank you much for your good long letter. There 's a letter- a pretty letter - in which affection scolds, and caresses as it scolds, but tells me all that you are doing! I have broken the last frail relations of politeness with Madame de Castries. She makes her society now of MM. Jules Janin and Sainte-Beuve, who have so outrageously wounded me. It seemed to me bad taste, and now I am happily out of it. '"iarie Touchet" is getting on. You ought to have "Seraphita " by this time. The second edition of the "Livre Mystique" appears on February 1. I am sorry you should read the bad edition before this one, though this has faults and must still undergo some changes. Werdet is quite pleased; yesterday he sold a hundred and fifty copies to foreign countries; he hopes to sell as many more from that advertisement. I have ten days more of corrections on the "Medecin de campagne," third edition, 8vo. Ask for it; it is fine, in type, printing, and paper; except for a few imperceptib'e blemishes, the text is settled, fixed, as that of "Louis Lambert" is fixed. "Louis Lambert" is much changed; it is now 1 For a brief account of this enterprise, see Memoir, pp. 164, 165. -TR. 308 l8 njf'o (Iec dc Balza",. s1836 complete. The last thoughts accord with "Seraphita; all is co-ordinated. Moreover, the gap between college and Bliois is filled up; you will see that. The "Messe de 1'Athe " has had the greatest success in the "'Chronique de Paris." To-morrow the first chapter of the "'Interdiction " will appear. And you think I court society! I think it is 'you who are the "little stupid." A thousand pretty flowers of affection; take them, gather them, wear them on that intelligent brow, which refuses only one comprehension, that of understanding the extent of the affections you inspire. You saw them in Vienna, you doubt them in Paris. Oh! that is not right; above all, when it concerns one who is devoted to you at all points, like your poor mouljik. Do not fail to remiember me to every one about you; and M3. Haiski will find here aiTectionate compliments, and all friendly things. PARIS, March 8, 1836. Nothing can describe my anxiety. It is now more than a month since I have heard fronm you. A silence of a month can only have been caused bly some grave event. Is M. Jaliski ill'? Is it Anna? Is it you? What has happened(? Are you so busy at Kiew that you have not found a single little moment to give to so old and devoted a friendship? Has a letter been lost? Hlas some foolish story reached you, like that of a journey to Saint-Petersburg? - for, in my presence, a person who d(lid not know inme, but wlo said lie did, declared I was there.1 Others assert that I amn in Naples. 1 This story, with details quite absurd on the face of them, Werdet quotes froml M. PhlilarZ'te Chlasles; w lich sllows how even hlis friends and g'entlemen united with his enemies in creating, myths about hint. - Tt. 1836] Letters to Madame Ilanska. 309 The truth being, that I work more now than I ever did in my life; and that never before have I had such a desire for illdependence. Rossini encouraged me by te'ling me he had never breathed at his ease until the day when lie was certain of having bread. I am not there yet. My suit with the "Revue" gives me many worries. I must sustain the "Chronique," master my financial crisis, work for Werdet, and work for Madame Bechet. It is enough to die of! And, speaking literally, 1 aim killing myself. Physical strength is beginning to fail me. If I had the money I should be on my way, for there is no other resource for me than a journey of three months, at the least. You have not said anything to me of "Seraphita." Another month, and the true 'Lys dans la Vallee" will be finished and out. In the opinion of all critics, and mine, it will be my most perfect work in style, regarding "Seraphita" and "Louis Lambert" as exceptions. It appears that they are making from Dantan's bad caricature a horrible lithograph of me for foreign countries, and "Le Voleur': has published one also. This obliges me to have myself painted, and abandon my habit of modesty. After examining the present condition of French art, and in default of your dear Grosclaude, who left me in the lurch, I have elected Louis Boulanger to portray me. As you wished for a copy of that which Grosclaude desired to do, I ask you candidly if you would like a second original of the portrait which Boulanger is to make? I ask this the more easily as the price is very much less. I think he does not ask more than fifteen hundred francs, which will be full length, the size of nature. If you would like the bust only, say so. I am at this moment in a state of moral and physical exhaustion of which I can give you no idea. I have 310 Hlonorc de Balzac. [1836 even extreme sufferings. Every evening an inflammation of the eyes warns me that I have gone beyond my strength, and yet I was never so much in need of it. Never have I gone through such extremes of hope and of despair. Sometimes the affair of the "Cent Contes Drolatiques " (which would wholly liquidate me) seems to be settled, sometimes it will not be settled at all. Sometimes my money matters have an air of arranging themselves, and then all fails. Around me my friends are in trouble. Madae d(l Berny has nlot yet been willing since the death of her son to see me. She sees no one but her eldest son. 3iy heavy cold has returned. Body and soul are wrlng. The newspapers are full of redoubled hate and malevolence. That is nothing to me, but there are many men who would not be as lphilosophical. And now, to crown this poesy of ill, this sorrowful situation, you leave me one whole wlmonth without letters, to run the gamut of suppositions and believe daily that some grievous news will reach ince. For several (ays past, life, thus made, seems odious. Nine years of toil without immediate result, without means of living obtained - this kills me, in addition to all the other c'auses of (distress I have enumerated. I have not been out three times tllis winter. I dined with Malame Kisseleff, and once witl Ma(lanme Appony, and I went to a fancy 1),all given by an Engl'ishmian, and, six times in all, to the Italian Opera. But nothing distracts my mind or amuses me. Since the pleasure that I had in travelling so rapidly to Vienna I have tasted the delights of Nature seen on a grand scale; I have colnceived the mightiest of arts -that which puts into the soul the sentiment of Nature. To 'grasp vast landscapes, to see the earth under its many colours, its thousand aspects, and to have 'an object at tlle end of this kaleidoscopic vision -- I know nlothing tllat equals that pas 1836] Letters to Aifadame IHanska. 311 sage through space. There are moments when I stand with my head buried oil the chimney-piece, engaged in recalling the vast incidents of that last journey. I am going to order a carriage, and await my first bag of two thousand ducats, and my first month of liberty. I entreat you, whatever happens, never leave me a month again without news, and, if you are ill, dictate one line to A. Hanski. You don't know what troubles it puts into my poor solitary life. Jules Sandeau has been one of my blunders. You cannot imagine such indolence, such nonchalance. He is without energy, without will. The noblest sentiments in words, nothing in action, or in reality. No devotion of thought or of body. When I had spent on him what a great seigneuir would spend en a caprice, I said to him: "Jules, here is a drama, write it. And after that another, and a vaudeville for the Gymnase." He answered that it was impossible for him to put himself in the train of any one, no matter who. As that implied that I speculated on his gratitude, I did not insist. He would not even put his name to a work d'one in common. "' Well, then, get a living by writing books?" He has not, in three years, written half a volume. Criticism? He thinks that too difficult. He is a stable horse. He is the despair of friendship, as he was the despair of love. That 's over; as soon as I get the La Grenadiere, I shall leave the rue Cassini. The two young men, de Belloy and de Gramont, have not the firm will that enables a man to rise above adversity and men, and to make for himself the events of his life. They will not subordinate themselves to reach a result. In France, associations of men are impossible, partly because of individual pretensions, partly because of wit, talent, name, and fortune, four causes of insubordination. Since I have taken Diogenes' lantern to look 312 Ho1ior? de BDalzac. [1836 through this vaunted Paris for men of talent I have heard nany a cry of poverty; but when you offer to those who utter the cry money for work well done, they '" can't do it," and I have not obtained the work. Capefigue is my editor [on the I" Chronique de Paris"] and takes my directions. A good little political condottiere! M1on, Dic,u, how heartily you would lauogh if I were in the chimney-corner at Wierzehownia explaining to you what I see here daily. Well, here are piles of proof to seld off, and muchl work to finish. My spirit, one momen.t let loose to roam across your lands, must resume its yoke of misery. L am in the rue Cassini; I have no autogra)ph to send you; I camce near askilng at tlhe Court of Peers for one of Fieschi, but I tholuglt it migllt not be agreeable to you. Tlhe other day I went to Frasfcati, out of curiosity, to see a gambling-house. There 1 found a person of your acquaintance - (ne who was the devoted, in Geneva, of M[adamle Marie. Hie told me lie lhad come there for tlihe first time. ITe was playing crops [a gamo e of (lice] with incredible facility, practic(e, and cleverness; and aill tlhe women who were presenlt knew him. I laulghed in my sleeve. I)ay before yesterday he invited me to a mag'nificent dinner at tlhe Rocher (de Cancale, where were Ma(lame Kisseleff and(l IMadame tlamelin, an elderly celebrity. Among the guests was an illustrious friend of the present King of Sardinia, who hlas just returned to power. I set a trap for the friend of tle (lear Countess Marie. Oni leavilno at eleven o'clock I sai(l to him - "It is too late for the theatres, will you go and play?" We went to the '" Salon des Itran(ers." ITe was as well known in that place as Parabb)as, and, to my great astonishment, I found there all the most virtuous and ra(t!/es men of the great world. And what (lid I see a quarter of an hour later? The friend of the Kingo of 1836] Letters to lMadamc e Hanska. 313 Sardinia, who had told us he had a rendezvous to avoid coming out with us! And this dear Italian said to me, pointing to our late Amphytrion: - "' You know the Italian proverb: ' gambler like a Pole.'" The friend of the Countess Marie is henceforth to me a book in which I can read at any time. Little Komar was there also. That young man, old in the flower of his age, makes me ache to see him. I perceive that in order to understand society I must go to such places three times a year, to know the men with whom one has to do. These are the only two times in my life that I have set foot in such dens. I shall return to the Salon once more to see Hope play; he stakes a hundred thousand francs with supernatural indolence, confronting chance, as one power stands facing another power. Addio! I am awaiting a letter from you. Last night I dreamed that I saw a letter and a parcel sent by you; in the parcel were apples. I never had so real a dream. When Auguste came to wake me at five in the morning, I said, "l Where are the apples?" lie saw I had been dreaming. I wish I could explain these dreams. PARIS, March 24, 1836. At length I have received your last letter, numbered 5, a whole month after its predecessor! Being in the rue Cassini, I cannot verify whether I have received No. 4. To what you ask of me, the friend says: No. But there is, in me, another personage, too proud to answer otherwise than by a yes when the matter concerned is something that amuses you. There are two things in my nature: childlike trust, and a total lack of egoism. You are amusing yourself at Kiew, while I am interdicted even the Italian Opera. Never was my solitude so complete, nor rmy work so cruelly continuous. My health is so affected that I cannot pretend to recover 314 Ilotore de Balza(t. [18-6 that air of youth to which I had the weakness to cling. All is said. If, at my age, a man has never tasted pure, unshackled happiness, Nature will later prevent its being possible for him to wet his lips in the cup. White hairs cannot approach it. Life will have been for me a most sorrowful jest. My ambitions are faililng one by one. Power is a small matter. Nature created in inme a being of love and tenderness, and chance has constrained me to write my desires instead of satisfying them. If between now and three years hence nothi.ng is changed in my existence, I shall retire, peacefully, to Touraine, living on the banks of the Loire, hidden from all, and workilng only to fill the emp)ty hours. I sh.all even abandomn imy great work. AIv forces are being exhausted in this struggle; it is lasting too long; it is wearing me out. And vet, the affair of the "Cent Contes Drolatiques" seems as if it might be settled, and l tat would render my financial condition endurable; but it drags along in a despairing way. It will save iIe wlei I am ('lead. I have earned in the nmass this year a sum much greater than what I owe; but the debts have fixed dates for becoming due, and tlhe receipts are capricious. Around inme I have no one, or else only powerless friendships; for the nature of certain souls is to attach themselves only to those who suffer. Frightened by tliis struoggle, and not being willing even to see it, Jules Sandeau has fled from here, leaving nme his rent, and a few debts on my lhands. Ile is a man at sea, drifting, as they say of a vessel wrecked in mid-ocean, and battered by the gale. Like Medea, I have m?/self only against all. Nothing is changed ill my situation. I might write you for six monthls, and say but one thing: I toil. I have no longer any distractions, any amusements -.tle desert, and the sun! I smiled in thinking' that Madamne Eve ITanska, to 1836] Letters to Jfadame Iansklca. 315 whom "S'raphita" is dedicated, plays lansquenet, and that this solitary personage is immersed in all mundane things. Wednesday, 23. My lawsuit with the "Revue de Paris" will be tried the day after to-morrow, Friday. The verdict will enable me to fix the day for putting out "Le Lys dans la Vallee" for sale. You can only know what that book is by reading it in full in Werdet's edition, which makes two handsome volumes, 8vo. The first is printed; I have just, before writing to you, signed the order to print the last feuille of that volume. I had several sentences to re-write in a letter from Madame de Mortsauf to Felix, which made Madame Hamelin weep - so she told me. Nothing of all that was in your infamous "Revue; " nor was there anything of all my labour, which turned my bad manuscript into a work of style. You read the manuscript in Vienna. Yesterday they brought me all the writings of "Seraphita" bound. The manuscript is in gray cloth, with the inside of black satin, and the back of Russia leather, to ward off worms. I have also all the writings of the "Lys." But how can I send you these things? I can't understand how it is that you have not received my letters, for I answer all yours regularly; and I wrote you one, lately, full of anxiety, which this one, just received, has calmed. But I imagine that having always addressed them to Berditchef they are still at Wierzchownia, unless they have sent them to you in a mass to Kiew. I have been twice to the Exhibition at the Museum. We are not strong. If you had money to spend on objects of art I should have asked you to make a few fine purchases, for there are two or three things that are really beautiful, - a Venus by Pradier, and one or two 816 lIoii/ 'C dc Balzac. L1836 pictures. Your friend Grosclaude has nothiIng in it, and I hear nothing more about him. I am wholly taken up with the last work for Aadame Bechet, who, did I tell you? is marrying, and qullits publishing for happiness. Nothing will be fully decided about my poor finances until after the l)ublication of the last volume for Madame Bcehet. That is, for me, one of the culminating points of my fortune; for I can then begin the publication of the thirteen succeeding volumes, and receive about twelve thousand francs for the copies which belong to me. I know nothing of you except from you, for of the country you are now in I know nothing but that which you tell me; I ilnag~ine you welcomled, feted, as you would be wherever you went. But such pleasure, is il really pleasure? You were tired of it in Vienna, but you renew it at Kiew! You would know how I love you if you had seen me searching through your letter all at once, taking in, at a glance, each page, to see if Anna, if you, if M. Hanski, if all, were well. Then, seeing that no one but a niece was ill, and that she had recovered, I gave a great sigh of relief. You would then have known how restricted are my affections; how few beings interest me. This solitude is sad, because, believe me, one wearies of the labours that fill it, and the heart never loses its claims; it needs expansions. I often make sad elegies when, weary of writing, I lie back in my chair, and rest my head upon it, and ask myself why a soul like mine is here, alone, without other joy than a few memories, as few as they are great. And when I see that what remains to me of life is the least fortunate half, the least active, the least loved, the least lovable, I am not exempt from a sadness that slleds tears. I will Write you as soon as I have finally arranged a thing which may settle my troubles; for I have resolved 1836] Letters to Jladame Hanska. 317 to sell some of my shares in the "Chronique de Paris" in order to liquidate myself more rapidly. To-day, I am in the greatest uncertainty and overwhelmed with claims. Well, adieu. In a few days I may write to you of gayer things. But I doubt it. My health is extremely bad. Coffee no longer procures me mental force. I must be rich enough to travel. Thursday, 21. I open my letter to add several things. The first is about your cramps. Itave two irons made that you can grasp at the moment the cramps seize you; have them made strongly magnetic. Here is the shape: 0. As soon as you hold them in your hand the cramps will cease. If that does not stop them, write to me. But be sure the irons are strongly magnetized, and keep them near you, at your bed's head. Fear nothing about corrections. In our language there are incontestable things. Ask for the third edition of the "Medecin de campagne," just out; read it. You will see if it is not improved. There are still a hundred incorrectnesses. It will only be perfect in the fourth edition. Reread "Louis Lambert" in the "Livre Mystique,"-that is, if such work pleases you; if not, it becomes wearisome. No, no, style is style. Massillon is Massillon, and Racine is Racine. According to the critics, the "Lys" is my culminating point. You will judge of it. In rereading your letter I find some bitter little epigrams against life; but, surely, there are enormous sufferings which you do not know, and never can know. The openings of life are never delightful except in the matter of sentiment. I will prove to you that there is something more delightful: I mean the perfect quietude of a life beloved, of a constancy intellectual enough to destroy monotony. 318 Hfonor6 de 1Balzac. [1836 Adieu, re-adcieu — if, indeedl, that Nword is a friend's word. It should be (ti rJetvoir, for in writing to you 1 have, like all solitaries, the gift of second sight, and I see you perfectly. Kiss Anna on the forehead fromn me for the joys she gives you; have the irons made at once, so that you may no longer curse life; which is a serious insult to those who love you; amuse yourself without dissipation; for dissipation fritters away the soul, and is to the detriment of all affections. Here is a return to the lansquenet, and for that I beg your pardon; you have a soul rich enough to throw a little of it into cards if it pleases you. As for me, who live under the despotic rule of a Chartreux, I find I have not soul enough to suffice for my work and my affections. But I have not the luck to be a woman. P.nTs, MAarch 27, 1836. I receive to-day your good packet, my dlear number 7, in which you tell me of two afflicting deaths, but in which you also give me mnuch pleasure by the exact detail of what hapl)pens to you. I am goiing, therefore, to write you at length onl all that you inquire ahout; but on condition that you write to me punctually every week. Your passage about fidelity, understood(l, after the Wronski manner, as intuitive truth, mead(e my heart bound with joy. We love to find our own ide.Ls expressed by a friend and to know that the moral sensations of b)oth are of equal purity. Is not this the senltiment tlhat a fine l)assage of Beethoven makes us feel, lby representing to us, in its purest expression, a whlole sentiment, a whole nature? For myself, I am convinced that in carrying, very high our sentiments we multiply a tlhousand-fold our pleasures; a little lower, and( all would be suffering; )llt in the heaven above us all is infinite. This is what your " Seraphita" shows. HIow is it you lhave not received February 24 (ol(l style) a book published here in 1836] Letters to Mladame Hlanska. 319 December? It is no longer even spoken of in France. What grief that I cannot obtain a permit for a single parcel to Wierzchownia. I'11 go myself to Saint Petersburg and ask one of the Emperor! What! you, to whom the statue belongs, you have not seen it! It is not in the temple for which it was made! Everybody here has wondered over the dedication, and you have not read it printed, when the author is your devoted moujik. The world is upside down! You are always talking to me of that detestable "Lys" which is not my " Lys." Wait, in order to know " Le Lys dans la Vall6e," for Werdet's edition. Your poor moujik will never be impertinent or defiant. But, writing in great haste, from heart to heart, and never reading over a letter, there may have been, apropos of Roger, a little too hearty a laugh - which was not right. No, cara, Nature gave me a trustfulness unbounded, a soul that is proof against everything. I have always had in me a something, I don't know what, which leads me to do quite otherwise than other people, and it may be that in me fidelity is pride. Having no other point of support but myself, I have been forced to magnify it, to reinforce the myself. All my life is there; a life without vulgar pleasures. None of those who are near me would live it '" at the price of Napoleon's and Byron's fame united," de Belloy said to me. But de Belloy saw only the hermit on his rock with his cruse and his loaf not bestowing a glance on the siren tempters. He did not see the ecstasy in the heavens, he did not know the revery, the evenings, the chimney-corner, the poems of Hope! I am a gambler, poor to the eyes of all; but I play my whole fortune once a year, when I gather in that which others sqfuander! My lawsuit has been postponed for a fortnight. Chaix d'Estange, who pleads against me, had to plead a case in the provinces. There 's the " Lys " delayed! 320 IiTnor6 de LBalzac. [1836 You ask for details about the " Chronique de Paris." I have not given you any because it was a paper both political and literary- Bedouck! - I forget nothing that I ought to do. Did I not tell you in Geneva that within three years I should begin to build the scaffolding for nly political prepolnderance? l)id I not repeat it in Vienna? Well, the " Chronique " is the old " Globe " (same idea) but placed to the Right instead of being to the Left; it is tlhe new doctroie of the Royalist party. We make tlle Opposition, and we preach autocratic power; that means that on arriving at the management of affairs we shall not be fouind in contradiction with what we liave said. I am the supreme director of this journal, which appears twice a week, in a monstrous quarto form. It gives the amount of four fe.dilles of the 1' Revue (le Paris," which makes eight a week; and we cost only sixty francs a year, whereas tle " Revue" costs eighty, and gives only four fejilles a week. The higher criticism of politics, literature, art, sciences, administration, and a portion devoted to individual work, novels, etc., that is the scheme of the paper. We have obtained Gustave Planche, an immense and grand critic. We are going to have Sainte-Beuve, and, perhaps, Victor Iiugo. Capefigue is charged with domestic politics, and does it pretty well. I have an interest which is equivalent to thirty-two thlousand francs capital, and if the "' Chronique " goes beyond two thousand subscribers it may bring me in twenty thousand francs income, not counting my work, very dearly paid, and my salary as director. WAe have enoughl funds to go on for two years. We are between the "( Gazette de France," the "t Quotidienne," and tile Right Centre. These two newspapers are so placed that they can make no concessions to the present regime, whereas we can, ourselves, compromise. We are going to ask to be allowed to enter Russia, because we are in favour of an alliance with Russia against 1836] Letters to Madame Hanska. 821 an English alliance, and for autocracy in the matter of government. Our doctrines as to criticism of art and literature are in favour of the highest moral expression. Is there not something grandiose in this enterprise? So, for the three months that I have now directed it, it has gained daily in respect and authority; only, the costs do crush us. Each fetille pays ten centimes tax to the treasury, and we have to go into bonds for seventy-five thousand francs in specie. Extraordinary thing! It is this very operation that will financially save me. I hope to-morrow to sell sixteen of my shares (without cutting into the thirty-two). Besides which, the affair of the " Cent Contes Drolatiques," published in numbers and illustrated, appears on the point of being concluded. Louis Boulanger will do the drawings, and Perret the wood-cuts. Six thousand copies are to be struck off, which will give me thirty thousand francs of author's rights. So, in a few days from now, I shall have before me forty-five thousand francs, without counting the twenty-four thousand awaiting me on the day when Madame Bechet gets her last Part. In all, seventy thousand francs. Now, as I only owe fifty thousand (not counting the debt to my mother), I shall see the end of my miseries. But let me paint to you one of the thousand dramas of my life as artist and soldier. On my return from Vienna (you know what disasters that absence caused me), my silver-plate was pawned. I have never yet been able to redeem it. I have to pay three thousand francs to do so, and I have never had three thousand francs. I owe on the 31st about eight thousand four hundred. In order to live honourably until now, and meet all my obligations, I hlave used up my resources; all are exhausted. I am, as it were, at Marengo. Desaix must come and Kellermann must charge; then all is said. But, the men who are to give me sixteen thousand francs for mny sixteen shares in 21 322 IoInore dc Balzac. [1836 the " Chronique" are coming to dine with me. You know that people lend and show confidence to none but the rich. All about me breathes opulence, ease, the wealth of a lucky artist. If at the dinner my silver is hired, all will fail; thle man who is arranging the affair is a painter,- an observing race, satirical, deep, like Henri Molnier, in its coflp) ll'al; le will see the weak spot in the cuirass, lie will 'guess the Mollt-de-Piete - which he knows bletter than. any one. Adieu, my affair. All my future lies in redeeming that silver, which is worth five thousand francs and is pledged for three thousand. I must have it to-morrow, or perish. Is n't it curious? This is the 27th; on the 31st of March I must pay six thousand francs, and I have n't a farthing. But on the 5th of April the signing of the " Drolatiques " affair may give me fifteen thousand francs! I cannot ask a single person in Paris to lend me money, for I am thought rich and my prestige would fall, would vanish away. The affair of the I' Chronique " is due to the credit I enjoy. I was able to speak en mn<tre. Put oil on this flame by representing to yourself the perpetual fire, the ardour of a soul that is consuming itself, and tell me if that is not a drama. One ought to be a great financier, a cold, wise, prudent man; one mutst be!- I say no more, for yesterday one of my friends said truly: " When your statue is ma(le it ought to be in bronze, to rightly picture the man." My health is at this moment so greatly affectedl that Dr. Nacquart issues an edict which has to be obeyed. Coffee is suppressed. Every evening they put upon my stomach a linseed poultice. I am kept on chicken broth, and eat nothing but white meat. I drink gum water, and they give me inward sedatives. I have to follow this regimen for tell (lays and then go to Touraine for a month, to recover life and health. All the mucous membranes are violently inflamed; I cannot digest without horrible suffering. 1836] Letters to Madame Hanska. 323 If my money matters could be well done, and done quickly, instead of going to Touraine I would go and see you for a few days. Would it be possible? I desire it so keenly. A journey would restore me. In any case, do not be vexed with me; it is better to do my business and pay my debts, to recover my sacred liberty, to be able to come and go as I like, to owe neither sou nor line, and postpone the joy of seeing you. Better to put one's fortune in a place inaccessible to storm, than to discount it like a spendthrift. I may tell you now that the dawn of my liberation begins to show, and that all foretells the end of my troubles. The journey to Vienna was the signal folly of my life. It cost five thousand francs and upset all my affairs. We can laugh about it, and I do not tell it to you now to give myself the smallest little merit, but only to prove to you that if I do not go to see you it is from a wise calculation of friendship; it is a proof of attachment; it will enable me to show you a friend whom you have never yet known, the man a child, without cares, without troubles that gnaw the heart, taking from him his grace, distorting his nature, everything, even to his glance. If you only knew how, after this solitary life, I long to grasp Nature by a rapid rush across Europe, how my soul thirsts for the immense, the infinite; for Nature seen in the mass, not in detail, judged on its grand lines, sometimes damp with rain, sometimes rich with sun, as we bound across space, seeing lands instead of villages! If you knew this you would not tell me to come, for that redoubles my torture, it fans the furnace on which I sleep.1 1 Here is one of his rare revelations of the soul of his work, of that which produced it, which conceived, for instance, the " Majesty of cold," the scene on the Falberg, the breaking of the ice-bonds in " Sdraphita." The reader must have perceived how little, amid his overwhelming talk about his work, he revealed the mind behind the work. That was partly becnuse lie never thought of it as a personal thing. He did not weaken his a,ork by a study of his own mind: that is Genius. - TR. O24 Honor r de Balzac. [1836 Grant heaven that I sell the sixteen shares of the "Chronique " and that the matter of the " Drolatiques" may be decided. And then, then! Above all, if Werdet can buy back from Madame BeTchet the "]Etudes de Mceurs," then I could travel, I could go and spend a week at Wierzchownia. You woull find the heart of the intellectual moujik ever young, but the moujik himself is leteriorating physically. "No onle fights with impunity agailst tile will of Nature," I)r. Nacquart said to me yesterday, ordering me his prescriptions and wanting things I refused: such as not working, and taking much amusement — which thle Wronski theory forbids. As for me, I love the noble absolute. I don't forget how indulgent you were in your advice at Vienna; but I have intolerant superstitions. I have long thought what I wrote to you about your brother; this is not a consolation ad hoe, it is a senitiment of my own; there are none but those thlat have an iron will who can be indulgeint to such weaknesses, for they have often beenl so near, they have so often measured tile depths of the gulf! But these thoughts are not social; they can only be uttered in the ear of a friend; they would (lo us harm. One must be Walter Scott to risk Connaclhar in the ' Fair Maid of Perth." And yet, I mean to go fartherl; I shlall give in I" Les -1&'ritiers Boirouge " |llever published] a body to my thoughts. I shlall there inltrodu(le a personage of that kind, but to my mind, more grandiose. I was able to give interest to Vautrin; I shall be able to raise fallen men alnd give them an aureole by introducing common souls into those souls, whose weaktess is the abuse of strength, and whlo fall because they go beyond it. The loss of your sister's child is a dreadful misfortune, about which only mothers understand each other, for they alone are in tile secret of what they lose; but at your sister's age, such losses are reparable. Children, considered 1836] Letters to MLadame Ian ska. 325 in their vital future are one of the great social monstrosities. There are few fathers who give themselves the trouble to reflect on their duties. My father had made great studies on this subject; he communicated them to me (I mean their results) at an early age, and I gained fixed ideas which dictated to me the "Physiologic du Mariage," - a book more profound than satirical or flippant, which will be completed by my great work on "Education" taken in its broad meaning, which I carry up to before generation, for the child is in the father. I am a great proof, and so is my sister, of the principles of my father. Ile was fifty-nine years old when I was born, and sixty-three when my sister was born. Now, through the power of our vitality we have both failed to succumb; we have centenarian constitutions. Without that power of force and life transmitted by my father I should be dead under my debts and obligations. I see the children of rich families all enervated by the situation of their fathers and mothers. The mother is worn-out by society, the father by his vices; their children are weakly. But these great and fruitful ideas do not come within the epistolary domain. The question is ilmmense; it has innumerable ramifications. It often absorbs me. It is not suitable to discuss here, but I refer it to Sterne, whose opinions I share entirely. "Tristram Shandy" is, in this respect, a masterpiece. I cannot tell you anything of Paris; I live in a monk's round, directing my newspaper, writing, contending, more occupied in divining secrets of State than those surrounding me. I want power in France, and I sliall have it; but one must be well prepared for the battle, and trained in all questions. When a man of a certain compass does not absorb himself in the real and material joys of love, he must either give himself up to ambition, or vow his life to obscurity. All medium stations are ignoble and vulgar. My youth is near to extinction without ever being fully 326 llo Inor; de Balz(ac. [18s6 satisfied by the only destiny that I had; for Madame de lBerny was not young, and, believe me, youth and beauty are something. My dream of those days was always inlcomplete. If I continue my present life witlhout chanlge for only six years more, I ca11 truly say that my life is a failure. My life was D)iodati. Two years, three years woull suffice. The month of May, 1i3(;, is approachiing and I shall be thirty-seven years old; Ias yet I am nothing; i have done nothing complete or great; I have only heaped up stones. In that young Coliseum- now constructing there is no sun, or at least its rays comie from tfar, so far that the soul has neetl of ilaginalftion to give bleingL to the monument. But neither fame nor fortune gives back the grace of youth. Something sulperliuman is needed to meet with love when one is past forty. Whatt a measlre of belief in one's self - I do not say in others - to hope to escape the commonl law! And yet I am all faith. AWlien troubles have gone I shall be twenty years old once more. And then I wish to be so good. Well, adieu. I desire that this letter full of hope may be confirmed to you by the next, for as soon as the two affairs are concluded, I will write you a line. Answer me quickly albout the portrait. Louis BoMulanger is to paint it. Ile has just left me, with the intention of making a great work of it. P.RIS, 'April 23, 1836. C(,oa. I receive to-day your number 8 with twenty days' interval. how many things have happened in twenty days! Yes, I have delayed writing, but intentionally. I wanted to send you only good news, and my affairs have been getting worse and worse. I lhave none but dreadful combats to relate to you, struggles, sufferings, useless measures taken, nights without sleep. To listen to my life a demon would we'ep. Reading the last paragraphs of your letter I said to 1836] Letters to Madlame lHUskta. 327 myself, "Well, I will write to her, even if to sadden her." Sorrow has a strong life, too strong perhaps. My lawsuit is not yet tried. I must wait six days more for a verdict, unless the trial is still further postponed. The matter of the "Contes Drolatiques " is not decided. The shares of the " Chronique " are difficult to dispose of. So, my embarrassments redouble. For two months, since I have had so much business, I have done little work; here are two months lost; that is to say, the goose with the golden eggs is ill. Not only am I discourage(i, but the imagination needs rest. A journey of two months would restore me. But a journey of two months means ten thousand francs, and I cannot have that sum when, on the contrary, I am behindhand with just that money. My liberation retreats; my dear independence comes not. " Le Livre Mystique" is little liked here; the sale of the second edition does not go off. But in foreign countries it is very different; there the feeling is passionate. I have just received a very graceful letter from a Princess Angelina Radziwill, who envies you your dedication, and says it is all of life for a woman to have inspired that book. I was very pleased for you. Mon Dieu! if you could have seen how in my quivering there was nothing personal. How happy I was to feel myself full of pride for you! What a moment of complete pleasure, and all unmixed! I shall thank the princess for you and not for myself - as we give treasures to a doctor who saves a beloved person. Besides, this is the first testimony to my success which has reached me from abroad. Crra, write me quickly if you have any very trustworthy person in Saint Petersburg, because I have the means, or shall have, to send you those manuscripts through the French embassy. They can instantly reach Saint Petersburg; but from there to you, you must find the intermediary. 328 IHOnore' de Batlzac. [1836 My letter was ilterrupted by thle arrival of a commissary of police and( two agents, who arrested me, and took me to the prison of the National (Guard, where I am at this moment, and where I continue my letter peacefully. I am here for five days. I shall celebrate the birthday of the King of the French. But 1 lose the fine fireworks I intendled to go aind see! My publisher [Werdet] has come, and given me an explanation of thle noni-arrival of the " Livre Mystique" to your handlls. It is forbidden by the censor. So now I doll't klow whalt we siall (to. Is it not singular that the person to whom it is dedicated should be the only one who has n)ot read it? You must find out what is proper to do about it. I await your orders. Here are aill my ideas put to flight. This prison is horrid; iall tlhe prisonlers are together. It is cold, and we have no fire. The prisoners are of the lowest class, they are playing cards al( shoutig. Implossible to have a moment's tranquillity. They are mostly poor workmen, who e:aniot.give two days of their time to guard duty witlout losingl the subsistence of their families; andl here and there are a few artists and writers, for whom this prison is even better than the guard-house. They say the beds are dreadful. 1 Trnder Louis-l'ihilippe all citizens were compelled to leave their homes and (lo ( <urd-(duty, or, as Werd(et savs, paddle in the mud with knapsacks on their backs and muskets on their shoulders, for one or two nig'hts every month. Many were the devices of worthy citizens to escape this nuisance. Balzac retreated to Chaillot and fenced himself in with a series of pass-words that made access to him nearly iimpossible. Ile was, however, so WVerdet savys, sumllmoned twelve tinmes before the authorities, aid( escaped olyv byv rilbing the agents. But the thirteenth time lie was "empoigne" and l eked up in what was satiricallv called tlie "li otel des Haricots." Werdet's account of thlis is very anllllsiln' (pp. 247-272 of his book), lint al)solutel false, for he -ives an ac(count of how the famous cane originiated in the prison, whlereas we kl<ow that Balzac described it to Madame llanska March ~30, 1 835, more than a, year earl ier. -TR. 1836] Letters to Jcladlame Hanskea. 389 I have just got a table, a sofa, and a chair, and I am in a corner of a great, bare hall. IIere I shall finish the " Lys dans la Vallee." All my affairs are suspended; and this happens on a day when my paper appears, and almost on the eve of the 30th, when I have three thousand francs to pay. This is one of the thousand accidents of our Parisian life; and every day the like happens in all business. A man on whom you count to do you a service is in the country, and your plan fails. A sum that should have been paid to you is not paid. You must make ten tramps to find some one (and often at the last moment) for the success of some important matter. You can never imagine how much agony accompanies these hours, these days, lost. Many a time I have lain down wearied, - incapable of undertaking to write a single word, of thinking my most dear ideas! I cannot too often repeat it -it is a battle equal to those of war; the same fatigues under other forms. No real benevolence, no succour. All is protestation without efficacy. I have vanquished for six years, even seven; well, discouragement lays hold upon me when only one quarter of my debt remains to be paid, the last quarter. I don't know what to do. My life stops short before those last four thousand ducats. Monday, 25th. I have again interrupted mny letter for forty-eight hours. Just as I was writing the word detcats Eugene Sue arrived. He is imprisoned for forty-eight hours. We have spent them together, and I would not continue this letter before him. Ile talked to me of his occupations, of his fortune. He is rich, alndl sheltered from everything. He no longer thinks of literature; he lives for himself alone; he has developed a complete selfishness; he does nothing for others, all for himself; he 330 Honore de Balzac. [1836 wants, at the end of his day, to be able to say that all that he has done, and all that has been done was for him. Woman is merely an instrument; he does not wish to marry. HIe is incapable of feeling any sentiment. I listened to all this tranquilly, thinking of my interrupted letter. It pained me for him. Ol! these forty-eight hours were all I needed to prove to nme that men without amblition love no one. lle went away, without thanking me for having sacrifieed for him the concession I had obtained of being alone in the dormitory; for his admission came near compromising the little comforts a few friends liad extracted for me from the inflexible staff of grocers, anxious to club all classes together in this fetid galley. I am (oinl to bed. Saturday, 30. Great news! The bill for tle lateral canal in the Lower Loire, which will go from Nantes to Orleans, has passed the Chamber of l)eputies, and will be presenited, Maty 3, to the Chamlber of Peers, where the Marquis (le la Place, tlhe friend of all pupils of the Ecole Polytechnique, has promised my brother-in-law to have it passed. So, there are my sister and her husband attaining, after ten years' struggle, to their ends. You know I told you.at (eneva ablout that line enlterprise. Now, the only point is to find the twenty-six millions. But that is nothing after what has been done. The stock will be rated so higlh that money will not be lacking. At this moment I have a hope on my own account. That is to buy the grant of the grantee, M5. de Villeveqne, and( try to make something on it by selling to a banker. My brother-in-law has just left my prison to try and arrange this affair. If I have this luck, I might in two molnths make a couple of hundred thousand francs, which would heal all my wounds. It is especially in political warfare that money is thle nerve. Sue drew caricatures with pen and ink on a bit of 1836] Letters to Madame lianska. 331 paper to which he put his name; so I send it to you as autograph. It will remind you of my seven days in prison. Here, I am dying of consuming activity, while, from what you say, you are living in stagnation, without aliment, without your emotions of travel,. which makes you desire either travel or complete solitude. What you tell me of Anna delights me; I had some fears for that frail health, but the fears came from my affection, for I know that these organizations, apparently weak, are sometimes of astonishing power. I have just written to Hammer; he asked me for a second copy of " Le Livre Mystique." I shall send him two; and as our dear Hammer is as patient as a goat that is stranglino herself, and thinks that books can go as fast as the post, I shall request him to send you one by the first opportunity. That's a first attempt, I '11 try ten more, and out of ten there may be a lucky chance. I have the set of pearls for you. But how can I send them? When I leave,the prison I shall go and see Madame Kisseleff. That will be number two of my chances. Apropos, if you find a safe opportunity remember my tea, for there is none good in Paris. I tasted yours (Russian, I mean) a few (ldays ago, and I am shameless enough to remind you of this. " Norma " has had little success here. The gracefulness you have put into your last letter received here, to console me for the grief of knowing that tlhe " Lys " was published in its first proof [in Russia] I cannot accept as author. The French language admits nothing that comforts the heart of MA. tIonore de Balzac. You will say so with me when you 'hold the book and read it. However it be, the Apollo and the Diana are more beautiful than blocks of marble. The young man, the Oaristes, is more graceful than a skeleton, and we prefer 332 3ITonzor de Balzac. [1836 the peach to the peach-stone, though that may contain a million of peaches. I have much distress, even enormous distress in the direction of Madame de Berny; not from her dlireetly, but from ller family. It is not of a nature to be written. Some evening at WAierzchownia, when the woulndts are scars, I will tell it to you ill murmurs that the spiders cannot hear, for my voice shall go from my lilps to your heart. They are (ldreadful things, that scoop into life to the bone, (leflowering all, and making one dloubt of all, except of you for whom I reserve these sighs. Oh! what repressions there are in my heart! Since I left Vienna all my sufferinlgs, of all kinds, of all natures, have redoubled. Sighs sent through space, sufferings endured in secret, sufferings iunperceived! My God(! I who llave never (lone ill, how many times have I said to myself, " One year of Diodati, alnd the lake! " Iowv often have I thought, "Why not be dead on such a day, at such an hour? Who is in the secret of so many inward storms, of so much passion lost in secret? Why are the fine years goillng, pursuing hope, which escapes, leaving nought behind but an indefatigable ardour of re-hoping? DI)uring this burning year, when at every moment all seemns endling, and no end comes, desires lay hold upon me to flee this crater which makes me fear a withered end- to flee it to tmhe ends of the earth. I am the Wandering Jew of Thought, always afoot, always marching, without rest, without enjoyments of the heart, with nothing but that which leaves a memory both rich and poor, with nothing that I can wrest from the future. I begT from the future, I stretch my hands to it. It casts me- not an obole, but - a snmile that says, " To-mlorrow," 18361 Letters to Madame H}askca. 333 PARIS, May 1, 1836. This is the day on which last year I said to myself, " I am going there! " Last evening, I left my window for sadness overcame me. Sleep drove away the grief. I have worked much to-day. I shall close this letter this evening; I will see if I have forgotten to tell you any facts of the last twenty days, when I have been like a shuttlecock between two battledores. I am going to set to work at the difficult passages in the " Lys." I must finish the chapter entitled, I" First Loves." I think that I have undertaken literary effects that are extremely difficult to render. What work! What ideas are buried in this book! It is the poetic pendant of the " Medecin de campagne." I like all you write to me of the little events of your existence at Kiew: the name of Vandernesse, the little lady, etc. But I would like your letters still better if you would write me ten lines a day; no, not ten lines, but a word, a sentence. You have all your time, and I have only hours stolen from sleep to offer you. You are the luxury of the heart, the only luxury that does not ruin, but brings with it nature's own simplicity, riches, poverty, - in short, all! Alas! not being at home to-day I cannot enclose to you any autograph, and I have some interesting ones: Tahlma, Mademoiselle Mars, all sorts of people; I shall have one of Napoleon, one of Murat, etc. You will see that when a matter concerns the documentary treasures of Wierzchownia we have great constancy in our ideas. To-day I have worked much; I shall spend the night on the completion of the " Lys; " for I have still thirty feveilles of my writing to do, which is one quarter of the book. After that I must finish the "1 Heritiers Boirouge" for Madame Bechet, who is married and become Madame Jacquillart; and next, give " La Torpille " in June to the '" Chronique," without which we go to the bad. You see it is impossible that I should budge from here before 334 IHonor de Balzac. [1836 September; there is nothing to be said; those thiings must be done. After that I shall have no money, I shall only have fulfilled my engagements. So I don't know which way to turn; what with notes falling due, no receipts, and no friend to advance me funds, what will become of me? Either some lucky chance or perish. Hitherto luck has served me. Just now I am particularly overwhelhned because I co)unted on the conclusion of the affair of the " Ceint Contes I)rolatiques " which gave me thirty thousand francs and would have quieted everythitng. But the longer it goes, the less it ends. I am more than disheartened, I am crazy about it. There, then, are my affairs. MIuch work to finish, no money to receive, much money to pay. Am I to be stopped in the midst of nmy career? What can I attempt? 3My brother-in-law came back this morning. 3M. Lain6 (de Villev-que asks to reflect upon this sale. lie asks three days; and that is the least a maln should take to decide so important a matter. I have offered hlim twenty thousand ducats for his position as grantee, but in rea(dy money. I hope thatt Rlussini will get Aguado to lend it to mie, and that I can then resell the position to Rothschild for the double or treble, out of which those scamps will still make five or six millions. There 's a pretty smile; the first that fortune has bestowed upon me. You see that in my next letter I sliall have very interesting thiigos to tell you: the canal affair; my lawsuit anid the " Lys," and finally " Les Drolatiques," which will be either a conmplete failure or a piece of business done; in such matters I must have a "t yes " or a "' no." Adieu, ca'a; (lo not make yourself unhappy about all this. I have broad shoulders, the courage of a lion, strength of character, and if, at times, melancholy lays hold upoin mne, I look at the future, I believe in something good - though tihe years (lo pass with cruel rapidity; and 1836] Letters to Aladame Hanska. 335 what years! Ah, the beautiful years! Shall I ever again see the Lake of Geneva, or Neufchltel? Well, adieu; till ten days hence. You will know all that should be said for me and of me to those about you. FROM MONSIEUR HANSKI TO H. DE BALZAC. WIERZCHOWNIA, May 15, 1836. MONSIEUR, Having at last, after various attempts, succeeded in procuring an inkstand in malachite, I hasten, monsieur, to send it to you through the house of Rothschild. Have the kindness to inquire for it and to keep it as the souvenir of a true friendship, which cannot change, in spite of the vast distance that separates us; which thought alone can cross, for the present. If God wills it as I desire, perhaps some day we shall come to find you. Meanwhile, if your literary occupations and the distractions of the world leave you a moment at liberty, think sometimes of your friends in the North, who, in spite of their frigid climate, know how to feel and appreciate your sentiments and your talents. Your works, monsieur, make us pass many agreeable moments in our solitude. They give us even the illusion of seeing you playing with Anna, who, day by day, grows prettier. She is already a great lady, who begins to play the piano, and promises to have a distinguished talent for it. She has also a taste, a decided passion for reading; I can no longer find her books analogous to her age; we have exhausted the book-shops of Saint Petersburg. You could hardly believe, monsieur, the pleasure 1 have had in reading " L'Interdiction." I was filled with the same sentiment I described to you when reading for the first time at Neufchatel " Le MeIdecin de campagne." Give us as many as possible of such works; society expects that service of you. The picture of the judge, and that of the nobleman restoring the property which, Ifol or, de 7(Ba lzatc. [1836 accordingr to his own conviction, lihe illegally possessed, are of ilicolmparable be'auty and rare perfection. They cannot but strongvly iniluence the morals of this age. Menf of iea let, of talet, of genius, it is your mission to blast vices, to,ive the gre'tatest brilliancy to virtue, aid to repair thle evil of which tlle philosoplly of the last centilry east tle germi. Butt I perceive thlat I am out of my natural vocation, and becoiniing diffuse. That is a defect communicated to me by the Chittelaine of Wierzchownia,aiid sovereign of Paulowska,' who is quite enchanted to find herself once more in her empire of flowers an-d verdur(e, who salutes youl, and is preparing to write yo)u a long letter of I don't know how many pages. It can only be in two years hence that we shall propose to ourselves to make a journey for the e(lucation of little Anla, aii(d I have a pl)eseiitilnent, monsieur, that we shall fiind you sitting in the Chlamber, and be present aIt some of your eloquent speeches. While awaiting tle realization of that (Idrealn, accept the assurance of a true and sincere friendship. VENCESLAS AIANSK I. P. S. I send you the design of the inkstand before you receive it; that you may know if you receive the rig!lt thing. To ADLAi i (M 1IANS KA. PnRIS, May 16-June 16, 1836. One year ago to-day, I was at the liotel de la Poire, in Vienna, at one o'clock, having made the journey in five days, and not having slept for three nights! At two o'clock, after an hour's sleep, I gave myself the fete of going to the Walterische Ilaus. To-day, my only pleasure will be, in the midst of my perletual battle, a halt of two hours to write you a line, cara contessita. But instead of sending you a bouquet of rosy hopes, I 1836] Letters to ilta ltam e Ifianska. 337 have only sad things to tell you. All that I announced to you of good has failed. Nothing of that which would have freed me succeeds. However, to-day Madame B^chet may perhaps cede her rights in the " Etudes de MAeurs " to Werdet; and this is more important than you know to my tranquillity; for if I have but one publisher I can regulate my work, I can manage to obtain a month's rest, and you know what I can make of a month's rest. The "6 Contes Drolatiques " affair still drags on. During the last few (lays a great change has taken place in me. Ambition has disappeared. I no longer want to enter public life by the Chamber or by journalism. So my efforts will now tend to rid me of the " Chronique de Paris." This determination comes to me from the aspect of the Chamber of Deputies. The folly of the orators, the silliness of the debates, the little chance there is of triumphing against such miserable mediocrity, have made me renounce the idea of mixing myself in it otherwise than as a minister. Therefore, two years hence, I shall try to open, with cannon-shot, the doors of the Academy; for academicians can become peers, and I will endeavour to make a large enough fortune to reach the Upper Chamber and enter power through power itself. "Le Lys dans la Vallee " is sapping me. Neither the lawsuit nor the book is finished. I have ten more feuilles, one hundred and sixty pages, to do wholly - to write and correct. I hope to finish in ten days, though it is almost a quarter of the book; but it is the easiest quarter. All is now settled, pose. I have only to conclude. The striking character is decidedly M. de Mortsauf. It was very difficult to draw that fi(gure; but it is done now. I have raised the statue of the Emigration. I have collected in one and the same creation all the features of the emigre returned to his estates, and perhaps all the 22 338 HIlonorC de Balzac. [1836 features of thle husband; for married men (lo, more or less, resemble MI. de Mortsauf. The book will appear, I hope, by June 1. But how can I send you your copy? I could send it by the embassy, but I must know the address of some one who is devoted to you in Saint Petersburg. June 16. You could never understand what my life has been between these two dates. This letter has lain a month on my table without my being able to add'a word. I have received two letters from you and one from M. IIanski without being able to answer them, and to-day I must lock my door and take a morning to write to you. I have so many things to tell you! So many events have happened to me I do not know where to begin. Besides, it is impossiblle to tell you all; it would fill volumes. First, my lawsuit is won and my book is out. I have worked night and (lay to filish thle book in time to have it appear the very day the verdict was given. You must know that the saime sort of attack that was made against my credit during my journey to Vienna, when they declared me in prison for debt, my enemies have again made against my character and my integrity. All the most ignoble and basest calumny, all the mud tlhat could be found lIas beenl healped upon me. I had to write a defence, for the public, it a sioagle liqght. You can read it in the ' Lys," to which it forms an introduction [he suppressed it, later]. I won twice over, once before the public, and once before the judges, who were indignant. On what will they now attack me? 1 Ah! you will never know how burning my life has been (luring this month. I was alone to meet it, harassed by the newspaper people demanding money; harassed by 1 For a brief account of this lawsuit, which, though won, left cruel effects upon his life, see his sister's narrative in the Memoir of this edition, pp. 231, 232. - Ta. 1836] Letters to MJadame IHanska. 339 my own payments to meet; harassed by my book, for which I had day and night to correct proof. No, I wonder I lived through it. Life is too heavy; I have no pleasure in living. You have grieved me much by sending back to me the foolish things your aunt has said, - that I am married to a lady whose name and person I do not know, - while I am laden here with the foolish things of Paris! Those from Constantinople are too much! Keep, I beg of you your credulity for good things. I really do not know what Madame Rosalie [Rzewuska] means, or what Hammer writes me; he says you are going to Constantinople, and that he has sent your "Livre Mystique " to your aunt, who will deliver it to you in person. I am lost in all this muddle of news. Though I have won my suit and the " Lys" is out, my affairs do not prosper; it is one of the victories that kill. Another such, and I am dead. Thle production of books does not suffice to extinguish my debts; I must have recourse to the stage, and there I shall encounter such keen hatreds that they may bar my entrance, or deceive the public on the value of the works I produce there. I received Monsieur Hanski's letter (luring those days. I have a better edition of the "M ledecin de campagne" to send him. But I still do not know how to send it, therefore I keep it for him. I am so encumbered with delayed business, cares, tentatives, that I write you with a sort of inebriated head that does not allow of logic; so I hasten to close this letter and send it off. You will receive another, acknowledoing the reception of the inkstand, which from the drawing seems to me of crushing magnificence for a poor devil. Bonlanger has made a very fine thing of my portrait. It will have, I think, the honours of the King's corner in the coming Exhibition. Don't trouble yourself about 340 Ironore deC Balzaec. [lS36 the money for the copy, which will be an original, for I am to sit for yours as I did for this one. I will pay him the five hundred francs, fifty ducats, and when I go to Wierzchownia yon can, if I am not rich, return them; if I am rich I shall have no need of them. But all artists think tlhat Boulanger has donle a fine thiing, which, apart from its merit as al portrait, is great as a painting. I have had to give sitting's of seven and eight hours already ten of them -- through the storms of this month. At the moment when I am writing to you and when I need some repose to revive my brain, which drops like a jaded horse (for it is impossible not to see that there are or(ogans the strength of which is limited), the manager of our newspaper sel(ls me missive after missive to pay him thirteen thousand more francs, the last of the forty-five thousand which I owe on my purchase. These are pinpricks into one's spinal marrow. So I must leave my letter a second time and rush about the city to realize on certain shares; and I must at the same time finish the '" Ecce Homo " begun in the II Chronique " two (lays ago. Again my letter is interrupted. Oh! this time it is too much! 1Do you know by what? By a legal notice from Madame Bechet, who summons me to furnish her within twenty-four hours my two volumes in 8vo, with a penalty of fifty francs for every day's delay! I mu4t be a great criminal and God wills that I shall expiate my crimnes! Never was such torture! This woman has had ten volumnes 8vo out of me in two years, and yet she complains at not getting twelve! You will be some time withouot news of me, for I shall probably flee into the valley of the Indre an(l there write in twenty days the two volumes of that woman and get rid of her. For such an enterprise one must have no distraction, no thought other than that of the work we write. Yes, if I die for it, I must be done with these obligations. But if you only knew what an absence of 1836] Letters to Mladame Ilanska. 341 twenty days is to me in my affairs. It is conflagration. I beg of you, do not be worried. If I do not write to you, it is that I am either fighting for serious interests, or working for something urgent, ardent, that brooks no delay. Here I am, rebegilning a horrible struggle - that of money interests and books to write! Put an end to the last of my contracts by satisfying Madame Bechet, and write a fine book! And I have twenty days! And it shall be done! The "He'ritiers Boirouge" and " Illusions Perdues " will be written in twenty days! I leave you, as you see, more harassed, more persecuted, more occupied than ever. I have the sad presentiment that nothing can end well out of all this. Human nature has its limits, the strong as well as the weak, and 1 shall soon have attained my limit. Well, adieu; you, one of the three persons who might know me, have you many doubts, have you left any dark corners without penetrating them, because I have not had the happiness to be long near you? June 16, - My letter was again interrupted. Yesterday, I dined with the Abbe de Lamennais, Berryer, and I don't know whom besides. I saw the abbe for the first time; as for Berryer, we are old acquaintances. I was shocked at the atrocious face of the Abbe de Lamennais; I tried to seize a single feature to which one could attach one's self, but there was none. Berryer takes a trip to Saint Petersburg. I advised him strongly to return by land and pass through the Ukraine. I told him that I had hopes of going to the Ukraine towards September; but I dare not yield myself to any hope at all. On the 20th I start for Sache [a beautiful estate near Tours, belonging to a family friend, M. de Margonne]. The t" Chronique de Paris" is very well posed, politi 842 l2omor('C de Badlz(c. [ 1836 cally speaking. Put it needs funds. IBerryer told me how fruitful thle idea of a Right Celtre was in results. Madame de Berny is getting worse and worse. I hope to go and see her on my return from Touraiine. Blt she ecannot bear the least emotion. Adieu; you will par(lon my silence when you know all my (griefs and painls. I send you many flowers of mnemnory anl 'affeetionate li(omn'e. Present my friendly remnemllbrallces to Monsieur llanski, to whom L shall write next, and recall me to the recoleetion of those about you. SACif,:, June, 1836. I receive here your last letter in whlieh you speak to me of Ma(ldame Rosalie andi of " Srapl)lita." In relation to your aunt, I own that I am ignorant by what law it is that persons so well born and b).red can believe such base calunnies. I, a g'ambler! Can your aunt neither reason, coimbine, lnor calculate anythiing except whist? I, wlho work, even here, sixteen hours a (day, how should [ (go to a gambling-house that takes whole nights? It is as absurd as it is erlazy. I went for tlhe first time, at thirty-six years of age, and out of curiosity, to Fras'eati, where I found l1ernhard. One nigit Bler1lnard1 presented me to tile Cercle des 1 Etranogers, where the invited me to di:nner. [ went for tlie tlhird timle thle day lie gave tlhe dilner. Since tllhen, tlhough I have been invited several times, I have never returned there. Thie last time, 1 asked lernhard to include nme in his stake for a certain s:nm, which denotes tlhe most p)rofoulm( ignoran ce of tle 1)pasion. In all, dulrinog my life, I have lost thirty ducats at en(lds. So) imulch for gambling'. That vice will ever (catch me. I play for a stake far dearer and nobler. Let your aunt judge in her way of my works, of whlich she knows neither tlhe wlhole desio'l n)or thle ' eari(ng; it is her right to do so. I sutl nmit to all judlgmnents. That is 1836] Letters to Madame Iianska. 343 one of the' evils through which we have to pass. Resignation is one of the conditions of my existence. Your letter was sad; I felt it was written under the influence of your aunt. To comprehend is to equal, said Raphael; and as you yourself declare that our poor age does not take the trouble to comprehend, it follows that our equals are few. That which I can pretend to for myself and my own person is the usage of a faculty given to man, - reason. Your aunt makes me a gambler and a debauchee; she has the proofs, you say. It is now seven or eight years that I work, as I have told you, sixteen hours a day. If I am a gambler and a debauchee, the man who has written thirty volumes in seven years must disappear. Both cannot live in the same skin; or, if they do, it must have pleased God to make an extraordinary creature- which I am not. I was beginning to recover life and strength here, where I have been for the last five days. On leaving I told them with regard to the letters that might come," Send me none but those from Russia;" and your letter has crushed mle more than all the heavy nonsense that jealousy and calfimny, lawsuit and money matters have cast upon me. My sensibility is a proof of friendship; there are none but those we love who can make us suffer. I am not angry with your aunt, but I am angry that a person as distinguished as you say she is should be accessible to such base and absurd calumny. But you yourself, at Geneva, when I told you I was free as air, you believed me to be married, on the word of one of those fools whose trade it is to sell money. I laughed. Here I cannot laugh; I have the horrible privilege of being horribly calumniated. A few debates like this, and I shall retire into Touraine, isolating myself from everything, renouncing all, striving to make myself an egoist, desiring neither sentiment nor happiness, and living by thought, and for thought. 844 Ilon orc de lBalzace. [1836 Your aunt makes me think of the poor Christian who, entering the Sistine chapel just as Michel-Angelo had drawn a nude figure, asked why the popes allowed suclh horrors in Saint Peter's. She judges a work of at least the same range in literature, without )putting herself at a distance and awaiting its end. She judges the artist without knowing him, and by the sayings of nuinnies. All that gives me little pain for myself, btlt lllch for her, if you love her. l)uLt thaiit you sho11011 let yourself be influenced bly such errors, that (focs grieve me and makes me very uneasy, for 1 live by my friendships only. This is enough about that, or you will think me an angry author, a personage that does not exist in me. I forbade him ever to appear. Now let us come to what you say to inme of ' Se(raphita." It is strange that no one sees that " Sdtraphita " is all faitit. Faith allirms, and the whole is said. The angel has descended from tlhe angelic sphere to come into the midst of the quibbles of reasoning; he opl)poses reasoning with reasoning. It is not for him to formulate doubt. As to his answer, lno sacred autthor lias ever more energetically )provenl (od. The proof. drawn from thle inlfinitude of numbl)ers'has surprised learned men. They have lowered their hleads. It was beating them on their own grolund with their own weapons. As for the orthodoxy of thle book. Swedenborg is diametrically opposed to the Court of Rome; but who shall dare pronoulce between Saint Peter and Saint John? The mystical religion of Saint John is logical; it will ever be that of superior beings. That of Rome will be that of the crowd. As you say, one must try to penetrate the meaning of " Seraphita" in order to criticise 'e work, burt I never counted on a success after ", Louis lambert"7 was so despised. These are books th:l-t I make for myself and a few others. When I have to write a book for all the 1836] Letters to Madamdte Hanlska. 345 world I know very well what ideas to appeal to, and what I must express. " Seraphita" has nothing of earth; if she loved, if she doubted, if she suffered, if she were influenceable by anything terrestrial, she would not be the angel. No one in Paris has comprehended the vision of old David, when he speaks of the efforts of all the elementary substances to recover their creature with the spirit she has conquered; whereas they can have nought but her mortal remains. Seraphita is, as it were, a flower of the globe; all that has nourished her yearns after her. The "I Path to God" is a far more lofty religion than that of Bossuet; it is the religion of Saint Teresa, of F6nelon, of Swedenborg, of Jacob Boehm, and of M. Saint-Martin. But I am repeating myself. Your belief leads to it as much as mine. I thought I was making a beautiful and grand work, but I may have deceived myself. It is what it is; and it is now delivered over to the disputes of this world. At the moment when I write you have doubtless read the '" Lys dans la Vallee," another Seraphita, who, this one, is orthodox. But I will not say anything more about them. Literature and its accompaniments bore me. When a book is done, I like to forget it; I do forget it; and I never return to it except to purge its faults a year or two later. You will read the book in its flesh, not its skeleton, and I hope it may give you pleasure. I have undertaken to do here the two volumes for Madame B3chet, as I must have written you before I left Paris. Touraine has given me back some health, but at tlhe moment I was working most, with your letter came a letter from a friend, who sent me a puff of vexations. Such things dishearten one for living. HIappily. the book I am now writing, "Illusions Perdues," is sufficiently in that tone. All thlat I can put into it of bitter sadness will do marvellously well. It is one of the " novels" that will be understood. It is breast-high of all men. o46 Itiwnorc tde B(tczc[t1. [1836 I am at this moment in the little bedroom at Sache, where I have worked so much! 1 see aoain the noble trees I have so often looked at when searching out ideas. I am not more advanced in 18636 than I was in 1829; 1 owe, and I work, atlways. I still hlave in me the same young life, the heart still childlike, tlioui'h you ask me to say how many sentiments a man's existence can consume. It seems as though, like gamblers, I have an " angelique " whlich multiplies. My pretenlied successes are still another of the agreeable fables fastened on me. I don't know whichl critic it wais who said that I had kniown very intimately all my models. But 1 will never reply to tlhese exaggeratiols. 1Berryer is of my opinion, and I sl]all never forgive myself for having quitted my silent attitude to descend into this arena of mud, as I did in the Introduction to " Le Lys dans la Vallee." I have, witlin the last few (ldvs, been contemplating, the extent of my work and what still remains to do. It is enormous. And(, therefore, looking at that immense fresco, I have a g(reat mind to sell out the "' Chronique," renounce all species of political ambition, and make some arrangements which would allow me to retire to a "' cottaoe " in Touraine and there accomplish peaceeably, without anxieties, a work which will help me to pass my life, if not happily, at least tranquilly. That lmy life should be Iwpp)/, maniy other circumstances are needed. What! Anna has been ill? I)o not nurse her too much; excess of care, a great physician told me, is one of the evils that threaten tlie chil(dren of tlhe rich. It is a way of bringingo the influence of evils to b)ear upon thenm. But you knowv much already on this head. What I say is not one of those commonplaces a(lddressed to mothers; it is the cry of a deep conviction. MIy sister ad(ore(l a little girl whom she lost b;ec.ause she gave ear to everything for her. IHer little Valentine is, to-day, on the contrary, left to herself and she is magnificent. 1836] Letters to Iii(adam.e Hlalska. 347 My })rother still gives us mnuch anxiety. My mother is consulne(l with grief. But my brother-in-law is succeedii.g better. The lateral canal of the Loire has been voted by both Chambers. Nothing is needed( now but to find the capital to build it. Also lie has lately obtained the building of a bricdge ill Paris, which is all excellent affair. So the skies are brightenino, at least for him. But lie has needed, like myself, much perseverance and courage. In re-reading your letter, I think you make me out rather greater than I am, and you (lelnand more of me than I can give. The desire to do well has brought me to certain mealis to produce that result, but the exercise of intellectual faculties does not bring with it real grandlelur; one remains, humanly speaking, what one is: a poor t)eing very iinh)ressible, whom God had made for happiness, and whomn circumstances have condemned to the most wearying toil in the world. At this moment I must leave you to complete my work; in five or six days, when I amn delivered of these two volumes, which will terminate the hardest of the obligations 1 have ever contracted, I will write you at length, with a heart more joyful; for just now thinos are causing,- L'n nme more pain than pleasure. Mly soul and spirit are too strained by work. I am as nervous as a fashionable woman, but I shall, perlihal)s, recover a little gaiety when I feel myself the lighter by two volumes. Touraine is very beautiful just now. The weather is extremely warm, which has brought the vineyards into bloom. Ah! my God, when shall I have a little place, a little chaiteau, a little park, a fine library! and shall I ever inhabit it without troubles, lodging within it the love of my life? The farther 1 go, the more these golden wishes take the tint of dreams; and yet to renounce themi would be death to me. For ten years past I live by hope only. Well, adieu; a thousand kindly things to MA. Hanski. I place on Anna's forehead a kiss, full of good wishes, 348 Honore de Balzac. [1836 and I beg you to find here those pretty flowers of the soul, those caressing thoughts, which you awaken and which belong to you, sad or not; for mine is one of those unalterable friendships which resemble the sky; clouds nay pass beneath it, the atmosphere may be more or less ardent, but above them the heavens are ever blue. When you are sad, all you need do is to go up a little higher. I have thoughlt of you much during these last (lays, not receiving any letters; and now I regret having begun tllis letter with harshness towards a person you love and who loves yol, though from her portrait I should judge her very cold. Adieu again; I confide all I think to this little paper, which, unfortunately, will be very discreet. You will talk to me about the "Lys," and say a little more than you have said this time? P.xnIS, August 22, 1836. This date, c(ira, is not without significance. All will be explained to you by three events which will leave their mark within my soul and on the history of my misfortunes. Madcame de Berny is dead. I can say no more on tlhat point. My sorrow is not of a (lay; it will react upon my whole life. For a year I had not seen her, nor did I see her in her last moments. This was why: at tlie moment when I ou'ght to have been at Nemours 1 was oblioed to wind up the affairs of the I' Chronique " in Paris - in the midst of its greatest success. We could not support competition with daily papers at forty francs a year, while we cost sixty-four and appeared semi-weekly. To keep on, we needed fifty thousand francs, and no one could or would advance a farthing in the present circumstances of the press. I went to see all the shareholders and guaranteed to them the inteoral payment of what they had put in; so that at thle moment when I received the heaviest blow my heart has ever known - for never, since the 1836] Letters to Mcadcnae Hanska. 349 death of my grandmother, have I sounded so deeply the selfish gulf of eternal separation -at that moment I was meeting a loss of forty thousand francs. It was too much. Immediately after, MAadame Bechet, married, as I told you, to a certain Jacquillart, was constrained by him to sue me for my volumes; I was thus under the weight of a new suit which is all clear loss to me, for by the deed itself I am condemned to pay fifty francs for every day's delay, and I am now two months behind, since the time I received the summons. The last letter of the angel who has now escaped the miseries of life, and who in her last days was not spared them, -- for in two years her two finest children, her best loved son, twenty-three years old, he who was all herself, and her most beautiful daughter of nineteen, are both dead; her youngest daughter of seventeen, mad; and her remaining son the cause of her greatest grief, - well, her last letter came in the midst of those worries of mine; and she, who was always so lovingly severe to me, acknowledged that the "Lys " was one of the finest books in the French lainguage; she decked herself at last with the crown which, fifteen years earlier, I had promised her, and, always coquettish, she imperiously forbade me to come and see her, because she would not have me near her unless she were beautiful and well. The letter deceived me. I waited until I had, by dint of efforts, conferences, and much ability, made Werdet buy the " Etudes de AMeurs " from Madame Bechet for thirty thousand francs before I started for Nemours, and then, suddenly, the fatal news came, and almost killed me. I do not speak to you here in detail of these forty and some days. I have given you the chief features, the outline. Some day I will tell you more. I will tell you how in this intelligent Paris we succumbed; how in order to settle the affair of the " lktudes de Mc urs " and the last lawsuit by which I can ever be threatened, the devotion 350 Hronore de Baltec. [1836 of my tailor and the savings of a poor workingman were needed, - two men who had more faith in me than all the pompous admiration of men in high places. When all was over, - struck down in the dearest illusioins of my heart, ruined iln money, undergoing' a second Beresina such as befell me in 1828, and wearied out,Werdet gave me twenty days' freedoln, and we arranged for my payments till August 20. Rothschild gave me a letter of credit for Italy, and I seized a pretext of goim.g to Milan to do a service to a man with whom I had a box at the opera, 3I. Visconti [Count Guildoboni-Visconti]. In twenty days I went there by the MIont Cenis, returning over the Simplon, having for companion a friend of 3MaCame Carraud and Jules Sad(eau [Madame Caroline Marbouty, to whom he dedicated "I La Grenadiiere "]. You will divine that I lodged in your hotel Piazza Castello, and that in Geneva 1 stayed at the Arc with the Biolleys, and went to see Pr(-l'FEveque and the Maison Mirabaud. Alas! It is not forbidden to those who suffer to go and breathe a perfumed air. You alone and your memories could refresh a heart in mourning. I went over the road to Coppet and to Diodati. C(w0I, tle Porte (le Rive is enlarged, just as, suddenly, the affection) I bear you is enlarged by all that I have lost. One no longer waits to enter Geneva; we can now come and go at any hour of the nig]ht. I stayed only one (lay in (eneva, and saw no one but de Candolle, who came near dvin.', but is better. Here I am, returned, bearinLg a vwouald the sear of which will be ever visible, but whichl you alone have soothed unconsciously. You must have had much uneasiness in consequence of my silence. Forgive me, dear. It was imlpossible for me to write, or think. I could only let myself be drawn along in a carriage, led by an iinoffenlsive hand, guided like a dying man. My mind itself was crushed; for the 1836] Letters to Madame Hanska. 351 failure of the " Chronique" came upon me at Sache, at AM. de Margonne's, where I was, by a wise impulse, plunged in work to rid myself of that odious Bechet (it was that which kept me from going to Nemours!); in eight days I had invented, composed, "I Les Illusions Perdues," and I had written a TnHID of it! Think what such work was. All my faculties were strained; I wrote fifteen hours a day; I got up with the sun and wrote till the dinner-hour without taking anything but coffee. One day, after dinner, which I naturally made substantial, the letters arrived, and I read that which announced to me the crisis of the " Chronique." I went out with M. and Mile. de Margonne into the park, and fell, struck down by a rush of blood to the head, at the foot of a tree. I could not write a word, I saw all my prospects ruined. I said to myself that nothing remained for me but to go and hide myself at Wierzchownia, and, amass enough work and money to come back some day and pay all I owed. In short, I was stunned. Courage came back to me. I flew to Paris; I struggled; then the rest came unexpectedly, blow on blow. I was at Saclhe after the ' Lys " appeared and my suit was won. Touraine had cured my fatigue then and restored my brain. I was enabled there to make a last effort. The journey I have just made only did me good at Geneva. In seeing that lake, finding myself again in places where I won a friendship that is so sweet to me, I was wrapped in a delightful atmosphere which slied a balm upon the bleeding wounds. You will find all in that sentence. I wished to go to Neufehaltel; but the twenty days were too short. That is what prevented me from going to you, - the little time and the little money; for I am still in debt. All illness costs. Here I am returned, in face of my obligations. To be able to make the journey, I obtained the price of the 352 Hlionor de Balzac. [1836 "M moires d'une jeune Mari'e;" so that I have four volumes 8vo to do, on which I shall not receive another sou. I have, besides, enormous engagements; and no resources to sustain them. I must have recourse to credit; that means paying enormous interest. What a position! Oh! cear, what a life! Apathy savedl me. If I had felt it all fully, I should have Hung myself into some torrent on the Simplon. Yes, all the papers have been hostile to the " Lys;" they have all cried shame, they have spit upon it. Nettement tells me that the "' Gazette de France" attacked it "because I (lo not go to mass." The ' (Quotidienne " from a l)rivate veng'eance of the editor; in short all, for some reason or other. Instead of selling two thousand, as I hoped, for Werdet, we are only as far as thirteen hundred. Thus all material interests are endangered. There are some ignorant persons wh]o cannot understand the beauty of Madame de 5Mortsauf's death; they (lo not see the struggle of matter with mind, which is the foundation of Christianity. They see only imprecations of the disappointed flesh, of the wounded physical nature; they will not (lo justice to tlhe sublime placidity of the soul when tle countess confesses and (lies a saint. When I am thus hurt I spring toward you, - toward you alone now; toward you who comprehend me, and who judlge witlh enougll critical mind to oive value to your praises. With what happiness we feel ourselves appreciated, judged, by some one who loves us. A word, an observation from the celestial creature of whom Madame de AMortsauf is a pale representation made more impression upon me than the whole public, for she was true; she wanted only my good and my perfection. I make you her heir, you who have all her noble qualities; you who could have written that letter of Madame de Mortsauf, which is but the imperfect b)reath of her constant inspirations, you who could, at least, complete it. 1836] Letters to Jladame Hanska. 353 I must plunge into stupefying work; I can live only in that way, for where are my hopes? They are very distant. Happiness and material tranquillity are very far from me. I shall go conscientiously before me, striving to be sufficient for each day. Only, coua, do not aggravate my griefs by dishonouring doubts; belieye that, to a man so heavily burdened otherwise, calumny is a light thing, and that now I must let it all be said against me without distressing myself. In your last letters, you know, you have believed things that are irreconcilable with what you know of me. I cannot explain to myself your tendency to believe absurd calumnies. I still remember your credulity in Geneva when you thought me married. I hope to go and see you next spring, wherever you are. Perhaps some fortunate circumstances may happen. My brother-in-law's affairs are doing pretty well. lie has the building of a bridge in Paris, and of a short railway, besides which the law on the lateral canal of the Lower Loire is promulgated. It is only necessary to find the money for it. At any rate it is an acquired right, and nothinig can now destroy it. In that direction I may be able to arrange some good matter of business. The only thing which at this moment is serious is my double condition, - that of a man wounded to the heart, who has not yet recovered his vitality, and of a man garroted by material interests in jeopardy. In the midst of these storms, I have received lM. Hlanski's inkstand, which has the misfortune. of being far too magnificent for a man condemned to p)overty. It is of a style that demands a mansion, horses, majordomos. Express to him, I beg of you, my admiring thanks for this beautiful thing, which I can only use in one way, namely: by placing it among my precious things, to remind me of our good days in Vienna, Geneva, and NeufchlfItel when, seeking for ideas, my eyes may light upon it. -54 Honlorl de Ba6lzac. [1836 I do not think I commit sacrilege in sealing this letter to you with the seal 1 used to Madame de Berny. I have mislaid the key of the drawer where I keep my little articles. I made a vow always to wear this ring on my finger. I received a letter from you at Sache, of later date than a letter I have since received in Paris. Perhaps this will make some confusion in what I wrote to you about " Straph)ita" in reply to what you said in the letter received at Saclle. Consider that I said nothing, if anything,, that I did say pained you. I received your nlumlber 1. yesterday. No olle kniows what lhas become of Mitgislas... IIe has left Paris wItlhout paying his debts, haviing sold everythiing, ai(1 allowing all sorts of suspicions to hover over hliln. lBut I 1do not concern myself with such things; 1 neithler listen nor repeat. You are righlt; I have nlO more serviceable friends than my citemies. Thle violelle and al)surdity of the att.acks a(le upon ime hlave revolted all honest men. D)id I.tell you. that A. (le Belleymne calne to see me after the trial? The Court blamed the lawyer oii the other side, Chlaix d'Estanllges. It seeims to me that you have (divinied my situation in wliat you say of so(rrow, and also) in wlhat you say of tllose who, like Robert Bruce, return ever to the figlt in spite of thleir defeats. Adieu! it has done me good to write this long letter. But time does not belong to me wholly. Thle most horrible wound of my life is to be never able to give myself up to my affectionls, joyous or sad. It is always work, under painl of perisling', an(d J hlave no right to perish. My death would injure too many. I owe money to devoted( friends who give moe of their blood. Therefore I am much mlisj(udged. A(dieu; to you the most beautiful and richest flowers 1836] Letters to Iadame BHtanska. 355 of my soul and memory. I did not know all that the Pre-l'Eveque was to me, and the hill from which we see the lake and the bridge; I had to see it all again, alone and unhappy, to know the value of those memories. CIIAILLOT, October 1, 1836. Friendship ought to be an infallible consolation in the great misfortunes of life. Why should it aggravate them? I ask myself sadly that question on reading to-night your last letter. In the first place, your sadness reacts strongly upon me; then it betrays such wounding sentiments. There were phrases in it that pierced my heart. Doubtless you did not know what profound sorrow was in my soul, nor what sombre courage accompanies this, my second (great disaster, undergone in middle life. When I was wrecked the first time, in 1828, I was only twentynine years old and I had an angel at my side. To-day I am at an age when a man no longer inspires the lovable sentiment of a protection which has nothing wounding, because it is of the essence of youth to receive it, and it seems natural that youth be aided. But to a man who is nearer to forty than to thirty, protection must needs be wanting; it would be an insult. A weak man, without resources at that age, is judged in all lands. Fallen from all my hopes, having abdicated wholly, forced to take refuge here in Jules Sandeau's former garret at Chaillot on September 30, the day when, for the second time in my life, I failed to honour my signature, and when to the lamentations of integrity, which weeps within me, was added the sense of solitude, - for here, this time, I am alone, - I thought, soothingly, that at least I lived complete in certain clhosen hearts. I thought of you. Your letter, so sad, so discouraged, came. With what avidity I took it, with what tears I locked it up before taking the little sleep I allow myself! But I cling to your last words as to the last branch of a tree 856 fvonorc d7e Ba Izac. [1 83 when the current is bearing us away. Letters are endowed with a fatal power. They possess a force which is either beneficent or fatal, according to tlhe sensations in the midst of which they come to us. I would that, between two friends very sure of themselves, signs were agreed uponl by which from the aspect of a letter each mighllt know if it was one of expansive gaiety or plaintive moaning. We could then choose the moment (or reading it. 1 had but ninete enl days before me; 1 could not go to the Ukiaine andi return. Talma's letter was given to i1e in G(rard's salon. What trifles you lay hold of! Perhap)S you will not evenI remember whait you have written to mne on tllis sul)jet when you receive this letter. Am 1 to send yol that of AMadelnoiselle Mars? Will you not think that slihe litas elen )(O? If you ever go to Italy and pass througl Turin, I wislh you may see Madame la MIarluise lde Saint-T'lomas. You would know then what the autographs of Silvio Pellico and Nota cost. You told ime tIhat your sister (Carolime was the most dangerous of women; and in your letter she is an anogel, and you tell me she is about to (do what I call signal folly; for I have not forgotten what you wrote to me l)bout the colonel. She will be very unhappy. I am cast down, but not witlhout courage; what Boulanger lhas painlted, and what I am l)eased( with, is tile l)ersistence /t, Coligny, t <(/ Pcter the (Great, wlhilch is the basis of mniy haractter, - the intiepid faith in the future. Must I renounce the Italian Opera, the only pleasure that I have in Paris, because I hlalve no other seat than in a box where there is also a charminig and gracious woman (o ountess G('uidoboni-Viscontij? I was in a box among men who were an injury to me, and brought me into disrepute. I ha(l to go elsewhere, and, in all conscienee, I was not willing for Olymple's box. But let us drop the sub)ject. 1836] Letters to LM:adame tIftnska. 357 The feeling of abandonment and of thle solitude in which I am stings me. There is nothing selfish ill me; but I need to tell my thoughts, my efforts, my feelings to a being who is not lnyself; otherwise I have no strength. I should wish for no crown if there were no feet at which to lay tllat which men nmay put upon my head. What a longT and sad farewell I have said to my lost years, enIgulfed lbeyond return tthey gave me neitlher complete happilness nor complete mnisery; they kel)t me living, frozen on one side, scorched on the other! To be no longer held to life by aught but the sentiment of duty! I entered the garret where I am with the conviction that I should dcie exhausted with my work. I thloulight that I should bear it better thani I do. It is now a month that I have risen at midnigtit and gone to bed at six; I have compelled myself to the least amount of food that will keel) me alive, so as not to drive the fatigue of digestion to the brain. Well, not only do 1 feel weaknesses that I cannot describe, but so much life communicated to the brain has brought strange troubles. Sometimes I lose the sense of verticality, which is in the cerebellum. Even in bed my head seems to fall to right or left, and when I rise I am impelled by an enormous weight that is in my head. I understan-d how Pascal's absolute conitinence aml( his immense labour led him to see an abyss around him, so that hle could not do10 without two chairs, one on each side of him. I have not abandone(d the rue Cassini without pain. To-day, I do not know if I shall save some parts of rmy furniture to which I am attached, or have my library. I have made, in advance, every sacrifice of lesser pleasures and memories that I mlay keep the little joy of knowingy tlhat these things are still mine. They would be trifles indeed to quench the thirst of creditors, but they would slake mine durinog mny march across the desert, through the sands. Two years-of toil would pay my debt 358 iotnor' de Balzac. [1836 in full; but it is iml)ossible that I should not succumbl under two years of such a life. Besides which, piracy is killing us. The farther we go, the less my books sell. Have tle newspapers influenced the sale of the I Lys "? I (lo not know; but what I do know is tlhat out of two thousand copies Werdet sold only twelve hundred, while Belogium has sold tllree thousand! I have tlhe certainty, from that fact, that my works do not find purchasers iii France. Consequently, the success of sales that minght save me is still distant. I amln here with luguste, whom I have kept. Can I still keel) him? As vet I know not. To let you know how far my courage goes, I must tell you that " Le Secret des lluggieri " was written in a sinlgle nioght. Think of that when you read it. i' La Vieille Fille " was written in three niglits. ' La Perle brisee," whicll ends at last the " Enfiant Maudit," was written in a sinlle niglit. It is imy Brieiinne, my Chainpaubert, my Mofitmirail, my campai)ti of Fralce! 1ut it was the same with " La Messe de l'Ath(e " and "Facino Cane." I wrote thle first fitly.tfi;let of the Illusions Perdues in three (lays at Sa}dhe. What kills me is the corrections. The first part of l 'Enfiant Mautdit" cost me more tlIhaii many volumes. I wanted to brinlm, ttlat part up) to the level of " La Perle bris(e " and make them a sl)rt of little poem of melaincholy in which there wo>uld be nothinl to Tai',say. That took me a dozen niglhts. AnId now, at the moment of writinog to yon, I have before me thie accumnulated )roofs of four different works which oughit to ap pear in October. I must be equal to all that. I have promised Werdet to bring out his third P'art of the I' Etudes Philosophiques" tis month, and also the third T(za)o;o, and to give him for November 15 " Illusions Perdutes." Thiat makes five volumes 12mo, anal three volumes Svo. One must surpass one's self, inasmuch as p)urchlaseis are iid(ifferent; 1836] Letters to iliadame Hanska. 359 and surpass one's self in the midst of protested notes, griefs, cruel embarrassments, and solitude! This is the last plaint that I shall cast into your heart. In my confidences there has been something selfish which I must put an end to. When you are sad I will not aggravate your sadness, for your sadness aggravates mine. I know that the Christian martyrs smiled. If Guatimozin had been a Christian he would have gently consoled his minister, and not have said to him, "And I- am I on a bed of roses?" A fine saying for a savage, but Christ has made us more courteous, if not better. I see with pain that you read the mystics. Believe me, such reading is fatal to souls constituted like yours. It is poison; it is an intoxicating narcotic. Such books have an evil influence. There is madness in virtue as there is madness in dissipation. I would not deter you if you were neither wife, nor mother, nor friend, nor relation, because then you could go into a convent if it pleased you, though your death would there come quickly. But, in your situation, such reading is bad. The ri'ghts of friendship are too weak for my voice to be listened to. I address you, on this subject, a humble prayer. Do not read anything of that kind. I have been there; I have experience of it. I have taken all precautions that your wishes shall be fulfilled relating to the sternest of your requests, but under circumstances which your intelligence will no doubt lead you to foresee. I am not Byron; but I know this: Borget is not Thomas Moore; he has the blind fidelity of a dog, as your faitllful moujik has also. Send me word exactly the wav by which I must despatch Boulanger's picture - about which no one will say to you what you heard about that very wretched thing of Grosclaude's; - it is not enough to say to Rothschild, "For Russia." To what house am I to address it? Grosclaude is an artist, but nothing eminent. He sees form, but he goes no farther; he has no style, he is com 360 11(mol., f-le, (( r. [1836 m:)n, without elevation. His Bcceis, ' are good )ainting, but the nature is low. If he were in Paris he would re-form himself. But in Geneva he will stay what he is. Youir p)ortrait by him is an infamlous daub. Datlinger, in Vienna, (au'ght your likeness much better; but I do not like miniaiture very much, unless it is that of I[aadame de Mi 'rbel. I saw soine of hers in the last Exhibition, and I Ipe (ceived1 te iln i that 1)afilnier was imuch ~beneath her. We llst still, if A^e wanTt to have good portraits, spring back t!) the principles i )f tu s, Velas.qiez, Van Dyek, and l'itiatn. I iul:1st ishedl that you have not yet received Werdet's L s; the tr tue I ys " in which there is a portrait. Tlhey say that I 1htave )patinted Mad-ame Visconti! Stlch are the juigments to wichlt we are exp)osed! You knowv tit t litad tUhe p1roofs in Vieina, and that portrait wa.s xwvitten at Sadhie, amd corrected at La Boulonnie're })ef()re I ever saw Ma[,dame,; Visconti. I have received five JfU/lmtl CO)ihl(ft;iis from piersonls about me, who say that I hav]e l unveiled their private lives. I have very curious letters on this sub)ject. It appears that tthere are as many mi1o)nsieurs d(e Mtrtsiaf as there are anigels at Clocheegourde; anll's rain d1own upon') me, but the./ a,e not oh'ite. A tlo()usan,,1 little cavillinlgs of ttis kind make ime take to solitdile with lc('s reg'ret. Yesterday, Seltel(mber 9, nmy siter, for her l irthdaty, (gave herself tlhe little pleasure of comniig to see llme, for we see each other very little. i her l.husbanid's affalirs move slowly, and her life also; she is running to waste in the shade; her fine pmowers exhlanst themiselves in a hiddhlen strugsgle wilthout credit. W hat a diatmond in the nmudt! The fiinest diamond that 1 know in France. For her fete we exchanged our tears! And, poor little tililg! she held hler watch in her hand; she liad but tweinty minutes. IHer husband is jealous of nme. For comilig to see a brother for a pleasure trip! 1836] Letters to Jladame fIlanslka. 361 Adieu, the day is dawning, my candles pale. For three hours I have been writing to you, lille after line, hoping( that in each you would hear the cry of a true friendship, far above all petty and transitory irritations, infinite as heaven, and incapable of thinkitng it can ever change, because all other sensations are below it. Of what good would intellect be if not to place a noble thing on a rock above us, where nothing material can touch it? But this would lead me too far. The l)roofs are waiting,, and I must plunge into the ALgean stal)le of my style, and sweep out its faults. My life offers nothing now but the monotony of work, which the work itself varies. I am like the old Austrian colonel who talked about his gray horse and his black horse to Marie Anitoinette; sometimes I am on one, sometimes on the other; six hours on the " Ruggieri," six hours on 1' L'Enfant MAaudit, six hours on " La Vieille Fille." From time to timne I rise, I contemplate that ocean of houses which my window overlooks, from the 1cole Militaire to the BIarriere du Tr6ne, from the Pantheon to thle 'toile; and then, having inhaled the air, I go back to my work. My al)artment on the second floor is not yet vacant; I play at garret; I like it, like the duchesses who eat l)rown breiad by chance. There is not in all Paris a prettier garret. It is white and coquettish as a grisette of sixteen. I slhall make a bedroom of it to supl)lement mine in case of illness; for below I sleep in the passag(e, in a bed two feet wide which leaves only room to pass. The (loctors say it is not unhealthy; but I am afraid it is. I nee(l nmuch air; I consume it enornmously. MAy apartment costs nme seven hundred francs. I shall be no longer in tlhe National Guard; but I am still purstued by the l)olice and the tctt-mqjor for eight (ldays in prison. Not (roing out of the house, they cannot catch mne. MAIy a)artment is taken under another name than miniie [that of his doctor], and I am living ostensibly in a furnished hotel. 862 2Ion1or6 de Balzac. [1836 Well, I wish I could send you some of my courage. Find it here with my tender respects. CIIAILLOT, October 22, 1836. I had great need of the letter I have just received from you, to efface thle grief your last had caused me; for, I may now tell you, it pained me by thle uncertainty it revealed, and perhaps that pain may have acted on my anlswer, though I am tolerably stoic. But when an affection as devoted, as pure of all storms, as that of Ma-dame de Berny has perished, and around us little else remains, if then, amid dreadful misfortunes, the branch on which our beliefs are hanging breaks also, the skies are very sombre, and tile fall to earth is heavy. That letter came, full of doubts and reproaches wrapped in your pretty phrases, while I was in my garret, which I shall not quit until I owe nothing; and was it not a cruelly facetious thilng to be told that one is dissipated in one's fortieth year, andi when the doctors cannot explain to themselves how it is that I bear such work? They see my monkish life; they will not believe in it. They are like you. A dreadful misfortune has come to crown my misery. Werdet, who never had a sou, is about to fail, and drags me into the gulf; for, to sustain him, I had the weakness to signl bills of exchange, the value of which I never received, and notes to the amount of thirteen thousand francs which I must honour. I have already taken precautions to weather this storm. To-morrow I shall have moved all from the rue Cassini, which I have left never to return. My lapartment here is taken in tile name of a third )person. I di(d this to evade the National Guard; also my furniture is secured from attachment, for I have to face the immediate payment of fifty thousand francs without the resource of my own credit, or that of a publisher. 1836] Letters to l3adame Hanska. 363 Under these circumstances, which have made this month of October a true Beresina for me, I longed to go and ask you for an asylum and bread for two years, during which time I could earn, by working, the hundred thousand francs I need. But my life would have been too stained by that flight, although my most sensitive and upright friends advised it. I have been greater than my misfortune. In fifteen days' time I have sold fifty columns to the " Chronique de Paris" for a thousand francs; one hundred and twenty columns to the " Presse " for eight thousand; twenty columns to'a " Revue Musicale" for one thousand; an article to the " Dictionnaire de la Conversation" for a thousand. That makes eleven thousand francs in fifteen days. I have worked thirty nights without going to bed. I have written '" La Perle brisee " (for the " Chronique ") " La Vieille Fille " (for the "Presse "). I have done the " Secret des Ruggieri" for Werdet. I have sold for two thousand francs my last dizain (that makes thirteen thousand). And now I am doing " La Torpille " for the '' Chronique," and " La Femme Superieure," and " Les Soutfrances d'un Inventeur " for the " Presse." At the same time I am in process of selling the reprinting [in book form] of "La Torpille," "La Femme Superieure," " Le Grand homme de Province ia Paris," and " Les Hd1ritiers Boirouge," both begun; that will give me in all thirty-one thousand francs. Then, having no longer that rotten plank Werdet to rest on, I shall contract with a rich and solid firm for the last fourteen volumes of the " Etudes de Moeurs," which ought to amount to fifty-six thousand francs for author's rights, on which I want thirty thousand at once. If that succeeds I shall have sixty-one thousandl francs, which will save me. Not only shall I then owe nothing, but I shall have some money for myself. But I must work day and night for six months, and after that at least ten hours a day for two years. 361 Honore de Balzac. [1836 Rossini said to me yesterday: - " When I did that myself, I was dead at the end of fifteen days, and then I took fifteen to rest." I said to him, ' I have only a coilin in prospect for my rest; but work is a fine shroud." You can com)rehend how, in the midst of these multiplied errands, these torrents of proofs, of manuscripts to write, of this savage struggle, it is dreadful to receive stones from heaven instead of rays of light. -Not only have I neither plleasure nor time, but I have not been able since my return to take a bath or go to the Opera, two thliiings (bath and Opera) which are more essential to me than bread. EvNerything is going to ruin within me to the profit of my brain. It makes one shudder. For having three times in my life -I, feebleinterested myself in unfortunate men, and taken them en croej)e upon my horse or in my boat, - the )lrinter, Jules Sandeaul, and W\er(let, - tlree times hlave tihey broken the tiller, sunk tlme boat, alld flung me inlto the water naked. It is over. I will inever ilterest myself again in feeble men. I lhave too maniy obligations, which command me to emiploy the cold logic of a banker's strong-box. I shIt myself up, in my work anld my garret. I grow more solitary than ever. See hmow thle who(le of society combinies to isolate snl)eriorities, howv it drives them to tlie hleiglits I Affections which ouglht to be exclusively kilnd and tender to us, never judg(e us?, never make a momuntain out of notling, and a nothing of a mountain, these very affections tortl re us by fantastic exactions; they stab us with p)in-pricks abo}t silly things; they want faith for themselves and alve none for us; they will not put into their sentiments that graideur which separates t]hem from others. They do not albstract thleir sentiments, as we do, from earthly soiligo-. The protectionls that we (give to thle weak are fresh means by which we lling oursclves more rapidly into 18 61 Letters to ladamic, fllanksa. 3. 365 the inextricable difficulties of material life. Indiifferent people adopt calumnies which enemies forge and envious men repeat. No one suecours us. The masses do not understand us; sul)erior persons have no time to read us and (lefend us. Fame illumines the grave only; posterity gives us no income, and I am telnmpte(l to cry out, like that English country gentleman fromt his l)lace in l)arliamento "I hear much talk of posterity' I would like to know what that power has so far done for England." So you see, carat, that short of miracles, poor writers are condermned to misfortunes under all forms; therefore, I entreat you, do not keep from me any of your griefs, or your ideas, or anything regarding yourself, but be indulgelnt and kind to me. Think always that what I do has a reason and an object, that my actions are nececssary. There is, for two souls that are a little above others, something mortifying in repeating to you for the tenth time not to believe in calumny. When you said to me, three letters ago, that I gaambled, it was just as true as my marriage was at Geneva. Cora, the life that I lead cannot endlure that the sweet things of friendship should l)e converted into constant explanations; the life of the soul is not that. You ask me again who is Charles de Bernard. I have already told you; d(lid you not get my letter? lHe is a gentleman of Besancon who, on my l)assage through tlhat town w-hen I went to Neufchatel, received me like an honour, and in whom I found talent. As soon as I owned the '" Chronique de Paris " I sent for him; I (advised him, directed him with paternal affection, tellilg him that hle was a manl to gallop straight if given a horse; and it was true. I conceived of making a newspalper only by the help of superior men. I had already picked out Planche, Bernard, Thdophile Gautier. I should have unearthed others. But that is all over now. A Polish colonel, who returns to Saint-Petersburg by 36() H()ordi de' Ballza(c. [L S,36 way of Warsaw, sla Monsieur Frankowski, will take to you the cs.olettle attacheld to my watch-chain. Thle chain, vyon know, was so (delicate tlhat the little lilnks were continlually breakilng. As I tol(l yon before, it will be safer fastened( to a riing; you will not theln destroy it whenl pl'ayinJg wvitlh it. L ecfiite has tried to do it well. You gave mec, in Viennla, the right to recall myself to your memory by such little d(ainty things. Let Paris se,.d you, now a'tnd then, a few flowers of her inldustry. Ah! cua,( if I ihad not among so many w-tking nights tlie thoughlit that one of them is spent in sending to you a little thing tlhe ghol( of whlich, as Walter Scott's manu says ill thle i Chrollidces of thle Cuanongate," is earned grain by grain, to testify to y(o my gratitude, my toil would b)e too heavy. 1M. Fralikowski would have taken charge of my manuscripts and sent themn to you with Polish fidelity, but he feared the dilliculties of the custo(m-ho()use. You have here a veritable librairy. You would b)e proud if you knew tle price the magvistrates attaclied to tllis enormous collection of manulseril)ts and pr)oofs, which eI was forced to show the}m in my lawsuit with thle "Revue (de Paris." Tle rage for tlese tlings was quite absurd. AL. de 5Montlholon wianted to buy for a hundred frances one of those orders to print " wAlichl you saw me write in GenevIa. lBut any printer who abstracted from ad(lame IIaska a single one of her 1proofs would be quitted by me. AWell, ((lfio. Take care of yourself. Alas! if I only had monoey! In a few (days I must lhave a month's rest, an(l then I could have gone and spent a week in your Wierzeliownia. But nothingo is possible to 1)overty to that poverty which the world envies me! CnmLaIOTI, ( ctober 28, 183_6. I have received ~your letter number 19, addressed to tlme widow D)urand, wlhicl ends with a dreadful '" Be happy! I would have preferred 'an:other wish, though less Chris 1836] Letters to JlMadame f-Laats.. tian. I write in haste to tell you that I have received all your letters; there is no reason why, though I am at Chaillot, I should not get my letters from the rue Cassini. La MIarchesa is a very agreeable old woman who had, they say, all Turin at her feet thirty years ago. You are not, in spite of your analytical mind, either generous or attentive; you write me a quantity of phrases, to which I cannot answer; you even overwhelm me with them, while I have to read them with my arms crossed, my lips silent, and my heart sick. But on this point you will find a word in my last letter. I write now only to say one thing. I have put many anxieties into your heart, if you have for me all the affection that I have for you. So, then, you must now be told that the end of so much misery is approaching. Did I tell you that one day, when a mind astray led me to the river so frequented by suicides (those are things that I have hidden from you), I met the former head-clerk of my lawyer, who was my comrade in legal days. He was the head of the lawyer's office where Scribe and I were placed. This poor young fellow has, so he says himself, a saintly respect for genius (that word always makes me laugh), and he believed me to be at the summit of fortune and honours. I, who would die like the Spartan with the fox at my vitals rather than betray my penury, I had the weakness, at that moment when I was bidding farewell to many things, to pour out a heart too full. It was at a spot that I shall never forget; rue de Rivoli, before the iron gate of the Tuileries. This poor man who is -- remark this - a business man in Paris, said, with moist eyelids: - " Monsieur de Balzac, all that a sacred zeal can do, expect from me. I ought only to speak to you by results. I shall try to save you." And yesterday, this brave and devoted young man wrote me that he had succeeded in making a loan which O')0;~ IIonor/F de( Balzaec. [1836 woul(l liquidate my deI)ts, lift off the burden of anxiety, a.1lld leave me time to pay all. And something fitler still. Whenll tle lender heard the name of the borrower, lie, who wanlted ten per centt and securities, would take only five per cetlt anti a inonrtgage on my works. lay thlose twio 1amllles he blest! Ibhois lhiys i 's ri'iJ'f(l for I own to yo I have iittle faithi in luck, I slhall escape a long sticide - tlhat o(f death by toil. Besi(lds this 1)loan, a company is to b1e formed for the Ilnatlltgel.l(uent (f lly works. I am followinlg up this affair, ahotit whilch I think I lhave alrealdy spoken to you, very warmuly. It will he done col t/empo. I have about forty thousandl francs to p:ty ilmmediately; but I shall have earne(1 nearly sixty thlousatid it a slhort time. Instead of workitcl eighlteen holurs, I shall thetn work nine, and I still 11xave vwon, after fourteen years' la1)omr, thle right to c(otme atl(d,(o as I llease. It is too fine; I don't believe in it. '1The1 live dlutdiled fratncs sen1t as yo5 setnt them, now insteadl of a few moiths later, lhave been, betweenl ourselves, a benefit'. 1Botlangter needed thle money; and I am -ow bewstirring myself to get him a thousand francs for t le riglt to el(grave the p(ortrait. That outrageous miser Custitne paid himl only three thousand francs for his pielure of " Le Tri(oml)phle (lde I(tra'rque," while my )ortl'ait will thus have brouglit him fifteen hundred francs. lnut.can we get ani en..raver to pay one thousand for the right of e.graving? Thlat is whlat I am trying to do. Now, here is a grave question; I want you to have the original. Boulanger wants to exhibit it. Though I slhall pose for the copy, a copy never has the indefinable beauty of a canvas on which the painter has sought out, scrutinized, and seized the soul of his model. We must therefore wait; for, to the artist, mny portrait is a battle to win before the eyes of his comrades. They are begiinning to talk of this canvas - which is magnificent. 18361] Letters to lJIdt-((lWe fL JskFa. 8369 The copy will be ready in a month. You could receive it in January. But if you permit me to send' you the original, it cannot leave till after the Exhibition. 1 have conferred with Boulanger; though I pose for the copy, and though lie wants to make as goodl a thing, he always says to me, "A col)py, even done by the artist himself, is never worth the original." Let me tell you that my mother, who will be on the Salon catalocgue as having ordered the p)ortlait, will be quite indifferent about haviing the copy or the original. (This is between ourselves.) You have time to answer me about this. The newspapers are beginniing to speak of the portrait. The painters say of it, obligingly, what peol)e said to nme of "S6:raphita." I d(lid not think that Boulanger was cal)able of miakiing such a p)icture. in style of art it is masterly. It has cost nme two volumes which [ iiight have made during the last sittingswhich I had to give standing. Whatever happens, let me confide to you a very bad feeling that I have: it is that I don't like my friends to judgl(e me; I want them to believe tlhat what I (letermine on doing is necessary. A sentiment dliscussed has no more existence than a power controlled. Why couple pettiness with greatness? As I have added a second sheet to the single one which I intended to cover with ink and friendship, I will tell you that Werdet is horrible to me. Another deception about which I must keep silence, another wound I must receive, more calumnies to listen to calmly. There is no publisher possible for me so long as he is a p)lblisher of the publishing race. I made every sacrifice for that man, and now he kills me, he refuses to join in taking measures for our common interests. I must be willing to lose thirty thousand more francs and be accused of havingr wrecked a man for whom I have used all my resources, put my silver in pawn, lent my signature, etc., O70 on01Iore,, (lc, B((lzac. 1 83 6 and written fifteen 12ino volumnes and( six 8vo volumes in the course of two years! Ie 's a sparrow's head on the body of a child! I lmust now co(me to the selfishness of a man who works, not for himself, but for hlis creditors. This is tlhe third trial of my life. After this, my experience oughllt to be complete. I am expecting Werdet on Sun(lay. If he has goodl sense matters may still be arranged. But he 's a perfect child. After the thlird month I jutdged the man to whom I had intrusted tlhe material interests of my works. But these are secrets one keeps to one's self. I hoped he would follow miy a(ldvice; but no! hlie is like a child with a sparrow's head, and, over and above it all, as obstinate as a donkey. Mloreover, he has thle fatal defect of saying "yes" and doing the contrary, or else hie forgets what he promises. I am much distressed; all tlhis will help to publish caluimnies which Werdet is already assisting, for htie finds it convenient to say that he fails because of me. Well, adieu. Remember that I never read over my letters; I have barely time to write them between two proofs. If anything, shocks you, pardon it. A thousand tender regards. I)o not forget to remember ine to all. Wrrite ine re(rtgularly. If you knew what one of your letters is to me in my life of toil, you would write out of charity. Touns, November 23, 1836. After the great struggale that I have just maintained, and of which you have been sole confidant, I felt the need of returning to the cra~ p)ta'ict, to rest like a child on the bosom of its mother. If you find a gap in my letters, you must attribute it to what has just been taking place, of which you shall now be told in a few words. /1/ any (debts (ire ptaid; I mean those that harassed me. The prosl)ect that promised 1836] Letters to aMadame lanska. 371 good by a loan failed; everything about me became more serious, more inflamed. During this month writs, protests, sheriffs, crowded upon me; I truly think that a stout volume in-folio could be made of that literature of misfortune. Then, when flames surrounded me on every side, when all had failed me on the side of succour, when no friend could or perhaps would save me, before renouncing France and going to find a country in Russia, in the Ukraine, I attempted a last effort; and that effort was crowned with a success which will redouble the bitterness of my enemies. God grant that you will divine all the agony that lies on this simple page, for then you will indeed feel pity for your poor moujik. Nothing still shone on the horizon in this great shipwreck of all my ambitions but the una fides, the principle of which is adoremnus in owternum. I went to find a speculator named Victor Bohain, to whom I had done some very disinterested services. He immediately called in the man who had drawn Chateaubriand out of trouble, and a capitalist who has of late done a publishing business. Here is the agreement that came out of our four heads: - 1. They gave me fifty thousand francs to pay my urgent debts. 2. They secure me, for the first year, fifteen hundred francs a month. The second year, I may have three thousand monthly; and the fourth, four thousand, up to the fifteenth year, if I supply them with a certain number of volumes. We are in partnership for fifteen years. We are not author and publishers, bu.t associates, partners. I bring to them the management of all my books made or to be made for fifteen years. My three associates agree to advance all costs and give me half the profits above the cost of the volume. My eighteen, twenty-four, or forty-eight thousand francs a year and 372 Ilonor( (de Balz[e.1 [1S36 the fifty thousand francs paid down arc charged upon my 1)rotits. Suchel is the b)asis of the treaty which delivers me forever from newspapers, publislhers, and lawsuits; these )gentlemllell b)einl' sul stituted for 1me in all liy rights as to mana'geinent, sale, etc. They share tlle protits of my 1)pel with me, like all other pr(olits of sale. It is like a farml onl shares, where my intellect is the soil, with this difference, - that I, the owner, have nio costs or risks, alnd that I finger my prolits without anxiety. This agreemnent is a great deal imore advantageous than that of it. (le Chateaubriand, beside whom speculation p)laces ine; for I sell nothingl of nmy future; whiereas for onle lhundred thousand francs, aindl twelve t)housai(l francs a year, risiOng to twenty-live thousand when lie p)ublisled anything, il,. (1e Chlateaubiiaild gave 11) everythli g. I would not send Vou word of all this until thle pl)pers were signed(. They were signed on Saturday, l th, and 1 starte(l f)r Tours thle 20th; and now, after o0e day's rest, I send( you this little scrap of a letter, scribbled in haste. 1 have no doubt that between now and spring we shall einploy the means I discovered of preventing, piracy; an(l if I make a joirney on that account, God and you alone know withl wlhat rapidity I shall go to WierzC(ilownia to tell you all that time, business, cares, atnd the narrow limits of a letter, have prevented me from putting, as yet, into my correspondence, smothered by so many causes! I am very uneasy about you and yours. It is now anl ilmmense time since I have received any word from you. It has been a torture thle more to add to all my otlher pains and distresses. You have moments of cruelty which make me d(oubt your friendship; then, when I fancy you may be i!l, tlhat your little Anna is a cause of anxiety, or that -that -etc,, then my head decamps! 183G] Letters to iadzdalme Haiinsca. I was all the more obliged to come here because the National Guard, for whllom I have ten more days of prison to do, worries me horribly. The grocers and gendarmes are at my heels. I have not been able to go to my dear Italian Opera for fear they should arrest me. At this moment I must finish "Illusions Perdues" in order to be done with Werdet, and the third dizataiJ; also two works for the "Presse" and two for the "Figaro." After which, my pen is free, and my new treaty will go into execution. Now, as Werdet is much disposed to torment me, I must give him his devil of a volume as soon as may be. I shall have a hard year, because, to reach a tolerable condition, I must complete what my pen already owes; and besides that, show a value of ten volumes to my associates. Until I do that, I shall be miserable. After having killed my janissaries (creditors), I must, like Alahmoud, introduce a vast reform into my States. So here I am in my garret, having paid all, evacuated the rue Cassini, and keeping no one but Auguste and a boy for all service. I have resolved never to dine from home and to continue my monk's life for three years. I left Paris so hurriedly that I have not brourght with me the sacred seal, nor the autograph I wanted to send you; this will prove to you the perturbations of my triumph. Three days hence I shall go, I think, to Rochecotte, to see the Duehesse de Dino, and the Prince de Talleyrand, whom I have never seen; and you know how I desire to see the witty turkey who pluclked the eagle and made it tumble into the ditch of the house of Austria. As for Miadame dle Dino, I have already met her at Madame Appony's. I finished this very morning "L'Enfant Maudit." You will not recognize that poor nugget; it is chased, mounted, and set with pearls. Read it again in the 374 Holinor, de ]2al2zfc. [1836 'Eludes Philosophiques " with " Le Secret des Ruggieri" and "Le Martyr Calviniste," and ask yourself what sort of iron head it was that could fight and write and suffer all at once. I wrote "La Vieille Filie " in the midst of these worries, struggles, and preoccupations. Have you sometimes prayed God for me, with all thle force of your beautiful, inglenous soul, that I miglht obtain soe sort of tranquillity? — for I still owethe sums I owed before. But I have no longeer to iind them. Tillis mode of payment leaves me my time free and relieves me of worry. I spare you thle details of the agreement, which has been thte object of long examination }by my lawyers, and business agents, very devoted men, wlho think it good and honourable. You could never believe how I miss the bulletin of your calm and solitary life, what interest I take in tlhat life, and what peace thle contempliation of it slleds )pon lllmy agitated life. Either it is very bad of you to cut ime off, or you are ill; on each side anxiety, thinking' that you suffer or that your friendship (dimiiinishes. Well, adieu. I meant to write you only one word: there is truce between misfortune and me. But when once I begin to talk to you, the pen is never heavy in lily fingers. I wish you -all mercies in your life, for tllis letter and its wishes will reach you, I suppose, about C(,hristmas day. Many amiable thlings to MI. IIanski, and a kiss to your dear Anna on the forehead. I return to my corrections, for I must finishi "Illusions Perdues" for I)ecember 10, in default of which I shall fall back into lawsuits. La Grenadiere has escaped me; it is sold; but the cruel event that has weighed me down this year has changed my desire for that poor cottage. I could nlot live in it if I had it. I anm lookincg for a vineyard where I could build without thle cost being' muech. 1836] Letters to IMadame JHanska. 375 PARIS, December 1, 1836. I have just returned from Touraine, where I wrote you the letter of a man of business. You will know, at the moment when this letter is racing along the roads, that you have no more anxieties to share in relation to the financial affairs of the monk of Chaillot. I kneel humbly at your feet and beg you to grant me plenary indulgence for all the tears I have heretofore shed upon them. You made me smile when you reproached me in your good letter (number 20) for not reading your prose attentively. If I read the Holy Scriptures as I read your letters I should have to go and stand by SaintJerome; and if I read my own books in that way, there would be no faults in them. You say that I do not answer certain things. As to that, I can only be silent. Now, before all, business. Poor Boulanger is an artist both proud and poor, a noble and kind nature. As soon as I got any money I carried him the five hundred francs, pretending that I had received them; for from me, perhaps,. he would not have taken them. Now that the matter concerns me only, there is no hurry, and to say it once for all, you need only send me a bill of exchange on Rothschild to my order. Now that you have sent me the proper address, all is well. You will receive the picture after our Exhibition, which begins in February. I have not the courage to allow the copy only to be exhibited. Poor Boulanger would die of grief. He sees a whole future in it. Since I wrote to you about it many stern judges have seen it, and they all put this work above many others. There was question of a poor engraver for the picture. Pianche went to see Boulanger and advised him to despise the thousand francs offered, and wait the effect the picture would produce in the Salon,- assuring him he would then have the best engravers and a better price at his command. There's 376 l7,iii rc6 ite _Balzac. [1836 a little of Titian and Rubens mingled in it. The copy will be substituted for the original for my mother, who will see no difference, and who, between ourselves, cares little for it. You will therefore have the canvas on which Boulanger has put all his strength and for which I posed thirty times. What a misfortune that I cannot send you a beautiful frame that 1 brought from Touraine and w hich is now being regilt! I got it for twenty francs, and there is in it more than two hunhdred francs of days' work paid fifiy years ago to tlhe ctarver who mliade it. Since I wrote you I have been very ill. All these distresses, discussions, toils, and fatigues prolduced, at Sache, a nervous, sanguineous attack. I was at death's door for one whole (lay. But much sleep and the wvoods of Sach 1)put inme right in three (lays. In your letter I find a reproach which, between ourselves, is serious; thlat relating to an evening at tile Opera. You must kiJow ite very little if you do not think that after the sorrow tlhat fell upon ine my mourningll is eternal, at every moment: that it follows me in all my joys, at my wlork, everywhere. Oil! for pity's sake, silnce you al(one can touch that wound in my heart, Inever touch it rough'(ly. 3My atffections of tliat kind are immutable; they are held in a part of mly hleart and soul whlere nothing else enters. There is room there for two sentiments only; it was needful for the first to terminate, as it has, before the other could tak'e. all its strenglthi; and now that otlier is ilnfinite. Of Awliat good would be tlie power with wl}ich I amI in:vested if not to make within myself a sanctuary, pure and ever ardent, where notlhing of outside agitation can penetrate? The image placed on high upon thlat rock, pure, inaccessitle, can never be taken down; and if she herself descendled from it, she could never prevent her place from 1,ing 'marked there foreve r. 18361 Letters to Macdame HIantsjka. 377 Under this point of view, whether I go to hear "Guillaume Tell" or remain to weep in my chimney-corner, all is immutable ill that centre where few words ever come. But, dear, rememlber also that I am not worldly; I am so little that that the few steps I'take in society assume a gravity that alarms me. Once more, use your analytical mind and ask yourself, writing, down on paper the d(ates of my works, what time I should have to write them if I allowed myself a pleasure, a festivity, a distraction. Since the winter began, which is now two months, I have been but twice to the ()Opera, and eachl time with Madame Delannoy and hei' daughter, MIadame Visconti being absent. Now that I have gained the relief of having no more financial anxieties, I have exchanged those cares for incessant labour. The tenll days a mlonth that material struggle cost ine will now be employed in work; for, to gather the fruits of this new arrangement, I must not leave for eighteen months this garret that you think so salubrious. It is not. The dormner-window is too high up; I cannot look out of it. As soon as I can, I shall oo down to work onl the second floor, where the air is better, more ab)undant. Any other than myself wouldl be frightened at my pon olldi(ttions. I must give within tlhe next three months: "La Haute Banque " and)(1 "La Femme Superieure " to tlle "Presse;" "CUsar Birotteau " ande "Les Artistes" to the "Figaro;" publish the "Illusions Perdues " and the third di.Ion, and. prepare for April the ''Memoires d'une jeune Alaride'" without counting what I have to dlo on the third and fourth Parts of the "Etudes Plilosophiques." Believe me, the man who achieves such work has no time for puerile amusements. It is now three years that I hlave not taken a penfifl of ink without seeing your name; for accident made me keep one of your visiting cards, and I placed it on my inkstanld. You will not believe 378 I3o8J ori 6 de talzac. [1836 that since that time I have never become bl[se on thle inflantile pleasure of seeing your naline married to all my thoughts. I put it there to be able to write correctly your niame and address, and yet yotu reproach me with Inot reading your letters pro)erly! You understand that I respect too much thle pure friendship that you allow me to feel for you to talk to you al)out tiillgs tlhat I despise; in the first p'ace, it would (,ive me a conceited air; and you know whetlher I have ever been accused of conceit. Seriously, I live much at Wierzehownia. I am interested inl all you tell me; your visits to neighbours, your affairs, you, )le:sures, your park which extends to right andl left; all that occupies my mind. Read this as I write it, withl a elhildlike heart; for t;hese affairs of yours are my affairs, as, perlaps, you and ll. IHanski make mine yours, in the evening's, deploring my troubles now over. If you are sad, I am saddenedl; when your letter is ogay I am gay. Solitude produces tllis quick exchange of affections. The soul h'as thle faculty of living on the spot that pleases it. Certainly, it needed tile desire to be witli you, at least in painting, to maltke me bear the loss of thirty days whiclil Iloulanger required. You alone are in the secret of my affairs, as you are in tlie secret of Nxhat Madame de Berny was to me. You alone know my mourningl and a lo)ss which can never lc repaired; for here the sky is inclement, it "is to. lhigh," as you say iin Poland, and you are too far off. lBut keep me, very whole and without diminution, that affection wlhich makes ne less sad in sad hours, and gayer in the briglit ones. IRenelember tlhat I have no life but one of toil, that I am not in tile midst of the talk that is made albout me, that tlIe emotions of fame (lo not. reach me, that I live by a little hope and sun, in a hidden nest! The autograph of Mademoiselle Mars is addressed to me. It relates to her part in " La Grande IMademoiselle." There 's the mysterious simplified. As soon as I have 1 836] Lette-rs to LJIacamfe ]Hanslca. the "George Sand" I will send it to iou; but I should like you also to have the "Aurore Dudevant," so that you should possess her under both forms. Continue, I beg you, to tell me all you think of me, without paying heed to my laments. You are right; better any suffering than (lissimulation. But, seriously speaking, I see that you listen too much to your first impulse; you are, forgTive me, violent and excitable, and in your first anger you are capable of breaking things without knowing whether they can be mended. I have put tlhe word serionsly to gic-e weight to my jesting. Do not thlerefore allow yourself to be carried away by the tattle of calumny; if any one wore to come and tell me- as they (lid you- that you had married Alexandre Dumnas, d(o you not think I should have laughed heartily - all the while regretting that a life so beautiful and noble should become a subject for tattle? Yes, seriously, I should always regret to see calumny brush the noble forehead of a woman, even if it left nothing behind it. In thlat I am just as positive as M. IIanski in my olpinions. We men, we can defend ourselves; we have a stronger fliohlit, which can put us above the rubbish of tile l)pess aid thle slanders of society. But you! you, who live calm and solitary within the precincts of a home, without our forum and our sword, truly it pains mie when I know that a woman who is ind(lifferent to me is mad(le the object of calumny, or even ridicule. Fromi you to me, you know whether in my juIdgments I am actuated by the narrow sentiments with whlich artists and writers usually speak of their comrades. I live apart from all such matters. Well, 1)... is a sinirched man, a mountebank, andl worse than thiat, a man of no talent. They have again offered me the cross, and I have agoain refused it. I flattered myself that tile post would carry to you more quickly than usual the letter in which I announced to you the end of the money troubles that caused you so much 380 [Tmon" d(" Pc! I hlz t('~ pain. Have I sufflihienIly proved iny friendshlil) in telling yOm sorrovs that I coneealel d froml the rest of the w)rl(l? Now, I slhall lihave only y Awork to talk to you about. A lhell I see ou I 1 1 tell you in detail about these davs of pelnury, tllhese fights, of whlichi you know onl y the ma.in fe atlures, for I sent you merely bulletins. If there is some eon fusion in my letters it is that their dates are irregultar; 1 quiit tilhem anld return to them ans my hurried oe)U:pati)ons will allow. 31My way of working- is still so diilicult! I entreat you, readl each letter as if we were at the day on whichl it was written; and reinem er tal.t nothing cani prevail agai.nt her to whoml( it is addr(essed. It grieves inc that, apropos of this joy set iinto the blrass (of my work, you should speak of ho)pes bein lost! We will elxplain all thlat later, for, ir I accomplishi tm t tsks by the mon{ths of May or.Juile, I shall take my {li?'t to your great pl:in, and you will see you,:r w 1 it serf otherwise than inl paintiig,,). Thlen you shall see him famnous, for by tlhat time i shall have pulishledi: ' sar Birotteau," '" La Torpille," thle third [i/,a,', ' Illusions Perdues," La HI ute Ba!que," ' La Femmne Su)p'rieure," 1 Les M[6mo()ircs ('Il:lle jeunle i[aric," -- all great and fine paintiligs a(d(ed to my gallery. Whalt an outcry i-as been made aainst '" La Vicille Fille"I Whlen you laugh on reading it, you will ask yourself w!hat the manners alnd morals of tlese French journalists are- the most inf:amous that I know of! I cannot tell you mnulch that is niew aiOout my life; for my life is eighteen hours' daily work in a gar(ret, -where there is a bed (I never leave it), and six hours' sleep. 3My health will require great care, because it is beginning to be much imp)aired by the toil atnd tlhe great anxieties to which I have been a prey. What I say is based on serious facts. I must submit to ph)ysicians, humbly, or I shlall quickly be destroyed. 1836] Letters to fcadaime Ifanslca. 381 Without vanity of author, yes, re-read thfie " Lys; " the work gains by being read a second timne. But I am not deceived about the blemishes that are still in it. But they shall disappear; although the angel who is no more declared it without a fault. You must never forget, dear, that I have all to paint, and that each subject needs different colours. We can't relate Mademoiselle Cormon, the Chevalier de Valois, Suzanne, and du Bousquier in tlhe style of iacladamne de Mortsauf, especially before a lerd of envious beings who will say that I am ag'ing unless I differentiate myself. You send me wishes for my happiness; pray for me only that God( will support ine in my strength for work and in my resignation. Solitudle with one hope that is my life; it was that of the Fathers in tlhe wilderness. Work is the staff with whlich I walk, indifferent to all, except tlhe thought that is l)laceedl in the sanctuary. Ub5a /fifles. Outside of that, there are nought but distractions in whichl the heart has no share. I mean the lifted heart, which is full of grief, but in whlich lives a sacred hope. You do not wholly know tllhat vast domain; if you did you would not scold me. In " Illusions Perdues" tlhere is a young girl named Eve, who, to my eyes, is the most (lelighltful creation that I have ever made. Adieu; here's a half-day stolen from proofs, business, work. But in writing( to you I see you, just as if I were studying the Almanach dle Gotha at your house in Gelneva; and when I think of that halt made in my sorrows, I fancy that all about me is gold and that 1 have nothing to do. I will tell you another time of the visit I paid to Madame de Dino and M. de Talleyrand at Rochecotte in Touraine. MI. de Talleyrand is amazing. He had two or three gushes of ideas that were prodig(rious. He invited me strongly to go and see lhim at Valencay, and if lhe 382 Honord& de Balzac. [1836 lives I shall not fail to do so. I still have Wellington and Pozzo di Borgo to see, so that my collection of antiques may be complete. Anna's dog is always on my desk. Tell her that her horse commends himself to her memory. A thousand compliments to the inhabitants of your kingdom. Are your affairs doing well? is M. IIanski more at liberty? are his enterprises successful? You cut nce off too many details of your proprietary mechanism. When you think of it, trace me a few itineraries of how to go to you. I have my reasons for wishing to know the various routes that lead there. Well, again adieu, and tender wishes for all that concerns you. 1 am in terror when I think of you on tihe roads whlere there are wolves and Jewish coachmen. This week I give Boulanlger his last sittinlg. As soon as I have finished ' Illusions P'erdues " I will write to you. Till then I am caught in a. vice, day and nighit. 1 837] Letters to Maidam e lIanskda. 383 V. LETTERS DURING 1837. PARIS, Jannary 1, 1837. TO-DAY I have had a great happiness; some one came to see me whom I have not seen for eternities, and who lIas given me such pleasure that I have been sitting, all day long, dreamily talking to her;1 I never wearied of it. She has made a long journey, but a fortunate one. She is not changed. Do you not think there are beings in whom resides a larger portion of our life than in ourselves? You will know this being some day. I will not have you like her better than I do, but you cannot prevent yourself from being friendly, were it only on account of my fanaticism for her. She is a being so good, so constant, so grand, of so lofty a mind, so true, so naive, so pure! These are the beings who serve as foils to all that we see about us. I cannot prevent myself from telling you of my joy as if you knew her, but I perceive that I am talking Greek to you. Forgive me that folly. There are, as Cherubin says, certain moments when we talk to the air, and it is better to talk to the heart of a friend. Then this good day came in the midst of my hardest work, for '6 Illusions Perdues " must be finished un(ler penalty of lawsuits and summons; at a moment, too, when I am very weary of the toils of this hard year, so hard! 1 Madame Hanska's miniature by Daffinger, a copy of which she had sent him. 384 384 I$onoc' (d BJaz. 7(tL3 [1837 I received some dtys -ago your number 21. I have any thillngs to say to you. But time! when one has to pay fifty francs a (lay for every day's delay. I see the moment when I shall escape this vile ablyss; but my wiIgs a1te weary h overin' over it. You say s) little o)f [La Vieille Fille " that I thiink tlhe b)ook mulst have (1isl)lease(l you. Say so boldly; you have a voice in tihe ichalpter; anld I 'I tell you my reasonls. It will 1)e diliecllit to( judge of '" Illusilons Perdlies." I call oly g hive t begilm ining of the 1 iok, atnld three year's must pass (as for " 'l'llt fan Xlllitl") before I can conltillue it. I have iedit'toedt rini o ou my p),)rtrait in person. If you heatr tlie clack of a, whil)p, tlie French clack, resoml(idimng in your co )urtyrd, (do not be n much surprised. 1 need a month's complete separation from ideas, fatigues, in short, fronm all there is il France, and I long for Wierzchownia as for an oasis in the desert. None but myself know tlie good tliat Switzerland did me. Nothing but tlie questioin of money can hindler nle. I was mistaken in my estimation of my d(ebts. They gave me fifty thousand franics; sbut I needed fourteen thousand more, and(l seven thousand for an endorsement imprutdently given to 5VWeret. But I feel that the stage and(l two fine works will save.e. To mnake the two piays, I need to hide iin some ldesert place that no one knows of; andl this is what I slhould like: to be one or two monthls buried in your snows. The more snow there were, tihe hal)ppier I should be. Bult 1teseae are crazy pl)rojets when I see the thicknless of the ('a)le tliLt moors me 1here. January 15, 1837. I hIave received ianother letter from you, in which you manifest anxiety abotut tlie letters youi have written me. Do not fearl, I ]iave received( them all. Time interruption of this lettier is ceasily explai.(,ed. I 1837] Letters to Mladame Hanska. 385 have been ill the whole time. Finally I had what I seemed to have been in search of, an inflammation of the bowels, which is scarcely quieted to-day. I still suffer, but that is a small matter. I have had constant suffering, and I greatly feared an inflammation for my poor brain after so painful a year, painful in so many ways, hard in toil, and cruel in emotions, full of distresses. There was nothing surprising in such an illness. However, though I can, as yet, digest only milk, all is well and I resume my work. "Illusions Perdues " appears this week. On the 17th I have a meeting to close up all claims from Madame Bechet and Werdet. So there is one cause of torment the less. I am now going to work on " La Haute Banque " and " Cesar Birotteau," and after that it will be but a small matter to free my pen. All will then be done; and I shall enter upon the execution of my new conventions, which only oblige me to six volumes a year, - to me an oasis from the moment that I have no longer the worry of the financial struggle. As for the fifteen thousand francs I still owe, I can quickly make head against them with a few plays. Besides, I have always hopes of the London affair. But I won't count any more except on that which is. Your last letter did me a good for which I thank you; I was in the calm state liroduced by forced confinement to my bed, and the details of your life delighted me. I think you very happy to be alone. Would you believe that, in spite of my illness, I was more harassed than ever about business? But all will now be pacificated. I shall only have to work, dear monitor. You speak golden words, but they have no other merit than to tell me more elegantly just what I tell myself. Moreover, you make me out little defects which I have not, to give yourself the pleasure of scolding me. No one is less extravagant than I; no one is willing to live with more economy. 3 86 TII0o1wrc de Balzac. [lS37 But reflect that I work too much to busy myself with certain details, and, in short, that I had rather spend five to six thousand fratncs a year than m'arry to lhave order in my household; for a man who undertakes what I have undertaken either marries to have a quiet existence, or accepts the wretchedness of La Fontaine and Rousseau. For pity's sake, don't talk to me of my want of order; it is, tihe consequence of thbe independence in which I live, anid which I desire to keep. To rid myself onil this theme of all solicitation on the part of those, men and womlen, who worry me about it, I have given out my programme, and declared that, although I have passed the fatal age of thirty-six, I wisll a wife in keepingo with my years, of the hiehlet nobility, educated, witty, rich, as able t) live inl a garret as to play tlhe part of ambassadress, wiltlout haviing to endure tlhe impertinences of Vielnna - ike a person you have known - and willing' to live without colplaint as the wife of a 1)oor book-wolrkman; also I must be specially adored, espoused for my (lefects even more than for my few good qualities; and this wife must be g-rand enough, through intelligence, to understand tlhat in the dual life there must be that sacred liberty by which all proofs of affection are vol11untary atlnd not tile effect of duty (inasmulch as I abhor d(lty in matters of tlie heart)); andl, inaally, that when this pl)nix, this only (womana1 who catn render the author of tlIe " Physiologic d(l Ilariag'e " unlhappy, is found, -I '11 think about it. So now I live in perfect tranquillity; yet not without 'my griefs. When the brain and the imnagination are both wearied, my life is more ditficult than it was in thle past. There 's a blank that sad(lens me The adored friend is here no longer. Every (lay I have occasion to del)lore the eternal absence. Wouild you believe that for six moniths I have not been able to go to Nemours to brin, away thle tlliigs that ought to be ill my sole lossessio:? Everl' week I say to myself, " It 1837] Letters to 2JMaedame Hanska. 387 shall be this week! " That sorrowful fact paints my life as it is. Ah! how I long for the liberty of going and coming. No, I am in the galleys! Yes, I am sorry you have not written me your opinion of " La Vieille Fille." 'I resumed my work this morning; I am obeying the last words that Madame de Berny wrote me: " I can (lie; I am sure that you have upon your brow the crown I wished to see there. The ' Lys' is a' sublime work, without spot or flaw. Only, the death of Madame de Mortsauf did not need those horrible regrets; they injure that beautiful letter which she wrote." Therefore, to-day I have piously effaced about a hundred lines, which, according to many persons, disfigure that creation. I have not regretted a single word, and each time that my pen was drawn through one of them never was heart of man more deeply stirred. I thought I saw that grand and sublime woman, that angel of friendship, before me, smiling as she smiled to me when I used a strength so rare, - tle strength to cut one's own limb off and feel neither pain nor regret in correcting, in conquering one's self. Oh! caacr, continue to me those wise, pure counsels, so disinterested! If you knew with what religion I believe in what true friendship says. This counsel came to rte several days after the enormous labour those figures, enormous themselves, necessitated. I waited six months till my own critical judgment could be exercised on my work. I re-read the letter, weeping; then I took up my work and I saw that the angel was right. Yes, the regrets should be only suspected; it is the AbbI Domiiis, and not Itenriette, who should say the words that say all: " Her tears accompanied the fall of the white roses which crowned the head of that married Jephtha's daughter, now fallen one by one." Religion alone can express, chastely, poetically, with the melancholy of the Orient, this situation. Be i,88 Ifonor6 de Balzac. [1837 sides, what would be the good of Madame de Mortsauf's testament if she expressed herself so savagely at death? It was true in nature, but false in a fiigure so idealized. There are several defects still in the work. They are in Felix. The animosity of people ill society has pointed them out to me; but they are very diflicult to obviate. I strive to; the character of Felix is sacrificed in this work; much aldroitness is needed to re-ebtablish it. I sh-all succeed, however. C(ur,, I have still at least seven years' labour, if I wish to achieve the work undertakern. I need some courage to embrace such a life, especially when it is deprived of the pleasures whbich a man desires most. Age advances! I have in my soul a little of the rage tlat I have just taken out from that of Madame de dMortsatif. Adieu; I shall now re-read your last two letters and see if I have ill this- so ramtbling in consequence of interrul)tions forgotten to answer anly of your points; and I will see, too, if I have any fact to tell you about my life. We have suddenly lost Gerard. You will never have known his wonderful salon. What homage was rendered to tle genius, to thle goodness of heart, to the mind of that manl at his funeral. All tile most illustrious l)ersonls were present; tlle church of Saint-( ermain-des-Pros could not hold them. The first genitleinan Fthe DI)c de Maille] and tle first paiinter of King Charles X. have quickly followed t1leir master. There is something touching ill that. I shall write to you on tile lay when I finish the terrible twelve volumes I have written between our first meeting at Neufchlittel and( this year. Why can I not go and see you, that I might close tilis work, as I began it, in tlie light of your noble foreheald! Adieu; Colonel Frankowski is still here. That grieves me, because yom will not hlave your pretty cassoette for 1837] Letters to lIadace Hanskea. 389 New Year's day. It is on my mantelpiece for the last three months. Well, addio; grant heaven that I may go to Germany on the same business that may take me to England. I shall know as to this in February. I should not consider a matter of two hundred leagues. If I go to Stuttgard I shall go to Wierzehownia. You know all I have to say to your little world of the Ukraine. Good health above all; that is the prayer of those who have just been ill. P'ARIs, February 10, 1837. I have received your last sad letter, in which you tell me of the illness and convalescence of M. Hanski from the prostration of the grippe. I have, as to my own health, barring all danger however, the same thing to tell you. Nearly the whole of my month of January was taken up by an attack of very intense cholerine, which deprived me of all energy and all my faculties. Then, after getting over that semi-ridiculous illness, I was seized by the grippe, which kept me ten days in bed. So you have been practising the profession of nurse, care, and M. Hlanski has been ill to the point of keeping his bed for a long time, - he who went into the deserts of the Ukraine to lead a patriarchal life. If I joke, it is because I imagine that by the time my letter reaches you his convalescence will be over and all will be well with him, and with you - for I am not ignorant of the nursing you have just done; I know how fatiguing it is..In such cares about a patient's bed, the limbs swell and cause dull pains which affect the heart; I have nursed my mother. Before my grippe I had, luckily, finished the last Part of the "' Etudes (le Mveurs," or God knows what difficulties I should have fallen into! So that brings the first twelve volumes of the " Etudes," begun at the time of my visit to Geneva in 1834, to an end in January, 1837. 1 *890 loJ orc dc (I Balzetc. [1837 am much grieved not to be alble to make you a little visit after this accomplishment of one of my hardest tasks. You accompanied "Eugenie Gra-ndlet" with a smile; I would have liked to see the samne smile on 1 Illusions 'erdues "- on the beginnling and on the end of the You are very rig(ht, you who know tihe emn ire that my work exercises on) my life, to let drop intlot a bottomless abyss all the follies that are said about mle, whether they come from a princess or a fish-woman. l)id inot some one come and ask me if it was true I had married one of time Elsslers, a da:ncer, - I, wlo camolt endure any of the people who set foot upon the stage? But here, in Paris, ill the same town witli me, not two steps away from me, they tell the most u:,,nheard-of thilngs about me. Somlle describe ine as a monster of dissoluteness and delbauchely, others as a (laligerous and vindictive animal whom everlv one should attack. I could not tell you all they say of nme. I am a spendthrift; sometimes a lax.anii, sometimes an intractable one. But let us leave suchl noll(sese; it is ellought that it weighs on me; it would be too muclh to) let it weigoh upol) our dear corresl)ond(lence. So now I am delivered from tle l)most odious conltrlact and the most odious people in the world. The last Part was published a few days ago. It contains ', La Gra1ide Bret'che " rearranged; that is to say, 1)etter friamed thal it was orig,inally, and accompanied by' two other adlventures. Also ' La Vieille Fille," one of mny -)est thiigls tin my opilion), though it has roused Ia cloumd of feuilletons against me. But l)u Bouqmquier is as fine an imnage of the men who managed affairs u.(lder tlhe Republie amnd became liberals under the Restoration as the Chevalier (e Valois is of the old remains of the Louis XV. period. Mademonoiselle Cormon is a very original creation, il my opinion. That is onie of the figures which are almost 1837] Letters to Mladame hanska. 391 unapproachable for the novelist, on account of the few salient points they offer to take hold of. But difficulties like these are little appreciated, and I resign myself in such cases to having worked for my own ideas. "Illusions Perdues" is the introduction to a much more extensive work. These barbarous editors, impelled by money considerations, insist on their three hundred and sixty pages, no matter what they are. " Illusions Perdues" required three volumes; there are still two to do, which will be called " Un Grand Homme de Province 'a Paris; " this will, later, be joined to "Illusions Perdues," when the first twelve volumes are reprinted; just as the " Cabinet des Antiques " will conclude " La Vieille Fille." I am now going to take up the last thirteen volumes of the " Etudes de MA(urs," which I hope will be finished in 1810. You will notice a considerable lapse of time between my last letter and this one; it was taken up by the sufferings (without danger) which my two little consecutive illnesses caused me. I thought one would save me from the other, but it was no such thing. I am still very miserable; the cough is a horrid difficulty; it shakes me and kills me. I dine to-morrow with Madame Kisseleff, who has promised to make me know Madame Z..., of whom you have told me so much that I asked for this dinner, before my grippe, at a beautiful ball given by Madame Appony to which I went. It is the only one, for I go nowhere -except to Madame Appony's great soirnes, and to those seldom. I do not even go to the Opera, and I do not dine out, except at certain dinners which cannot be refused without losing supporters some day; like those of the Sardinian ambassador, for instance. But except for such things I have not been ten times in six months outside of my own home. o92 Ho l reic,cd B.alzac. [1837 February 12. My letter has been interrupted for two days; I have hlad business to attend to, for I have still enormous dilbcultties about the remainder of the debts I have not been able to pay off. lMaldame Z... was not at the dinner. Shie was taken with grippe the lighlit before. This grippe stops everytihing. lTher are (more than five hundred thousand ptersons gripped. I l-have it still. We had the adorer of Mai(dame P..., Berinhard, Iadlame Ilamelin, thle Pole who is seeking, treasures by somlamllulism, anld a youlng relation of M1adaIme Kisseleff w1io squints badly, also Saint-Marsan. 'hle d(lileIr was lquite gay. I liadt met Ala(lhtine Kisseleff the previous evening' at tlie Prilncess Sehonlberg's. A discussion arose about beaultiful hlalnds, anld Madame Kisseleff said to me tllat slhe a.dl(i I knew tlie most beautiful hands in the world; shl meant yours, adl I la(l tlle fatuity to colour up to my ears, very ilnnocenltly, for I find in you so many beautiful (qualities, and somlethillg so mnagnificent in head( and figure, tllat I could not say at that moment what your hands were like, and I coloured at my own ignorance. I onuly know thlat tlhey are small and plump. I ati writing( at tlis moment, with fury, a tlhig for thle staoge, for /~e/'e ius iny salvation. I must live by tile st ge and dmy prose conclurrently. It is called I' La PremikTre I)emoiselle." I have chllosen it for my debut because it is wh(olly bourgeoise. Picture to yourself a house in the rue Saint-l)enis (like La AMaison du (Clat qui pelote), in whlicll I sliall put a dranmatic and traice interest of extreme viole:nce. No one has. yet tho.ught of bringoin tlhe adultery of thle husband on the stage, and my play is based on that grave matter of our modern civilization. His mistress i ill the house. No one has ever thoulght of making a feminale Tartuffe; and the mistress will be Tartuffe in petticoats; but tle empire of /, lprentielre 1837] Letters to Madame Hanska. 393 demoiselle over the master will be much easier to conceive than that of Tartuffe over Orgon, for the means of supremacy are much more natural and comprehensible. In juxtaposition with these two passionate figures, there are an oppressed mother and two daughters equally victims to the perfidious tyranny of la ppremiere demoiselle [forewomlan]. The elder daughter thinks it wise to cajole the forewoman, who has her supporter in the house, for the bookkeeper loves her sincerely. The tyranny is so odious to the mother and daughters that the younger daughter, from a principle of heroism, desires to deliver her family by immolating herself. She determines to poison the tyrant; nothing stops her. The attempt fails, but the father, who sees to what extremities his children will go, sees also that the forewoman cannot live under his roof, and that, in consequence of this attempt, all family bonds are broken. He sends her away; but, in the fifth act, he finds it so impossible to live without this woman that he takes a portion of his fortune, leaves the rest to his wife, and elopes with la Jpremie're demoiselle to America. Those are the main features of the play. I do not speak of the details, though they are, I think, as original as the characters, which have not been, to my knowledge, in any other play. There is a scene of the family judgment on the young girl; there is the scene of the separation, etc. I hope to finish it by March 1 and to see it played early in May. On its success my journey will largely depend; for the day when I owe nothing I shall have that liberty of going and coming for which I have sighed so long. I await with keen impatience for another letter to tell me how you are, you and M. Ilanski. As soon as I have ended my work and my deplorable affairs you shall know it; I will tell you if I am satisfied with my play and with 894 HoInori( de Balzac. [1837 my last compositions, which are now to be done, and will take my nights and (lays for two months, for I must immediately do for the I Fig'aro" ' Cesar Birotteau" and for the " Presse" " La Haute B3anque," - two books that are quite importanlt. A(ddio, cara. Be always confident in your ideas; walk with courage in your ownt way. It seems to me that all trials have their object and their reward; otherwise, human life would have no melaning. As for ne, the last pleasure I told you of - the coming of that friend so unexpectedly -proved to me that the sufferings through which I have passed were tle price of that great pleasure. In all lives there must be such thlings. Adieu; 1 send you this time a precious autograph, Lamartine; you will see that tlie verses are so chosen tlhat they will not be ridiculous in a collection. FLORiENCi, April 10, 1837. In one month I have travelled very rapidly through part of France, one si(le of Switzerland, to Milan, Venice, Genoa, and after being (detained by inadvertence in. quarantine, here I am for the last two days in Florence, where, before seeing( anytling whatever, I rushed to Bartolini to see your bust. Tllis was chiefly the object of this last staoe of my journey, for I must be in Paris ten (lays hence. The desire to see Venice, and my quarantine made me spend more time than I could allow on that trip, and also made me regret not having gone to you. But the season [the condition of the roads] did not permit it, nor my finances. The moment the publication of the last part of the " Etudes de M(eurs " was over, my strength suddenly collapsed. I had to distract my mind; and 1 foresee it will be so every fourth or fifth month. My health is detestable, disquieting; but I tell this only to you. My mind feels the effect of it. I am afraid of not being able to 1837] Letters to Aladame Hanska. 395 finish my work. Everywhere the want of happiness pursues me, and takes from me the enjoyment of the finest things. Venice and Switzerland are the two creations, one human, the other divine, which seem to me, until now, to be without any comparison, and to stand outside of all ordinary data. Italy itself seems to me a land like any other. I have travelled so fast that nowhere had I time to write to you. My thoughts belonged to you wholly, but I felt a horror of an inkstand and my pen. The loss I have met with is immense. The void it leaves might be filled by a present friendship, but afar, in spite of your letters, grief assails me at all hours, especially when at work. That other soul which counselled me, which saw all, which was always the point of departure of so many things. is lacking to me. I begin to despair of any happy future. Between that soul, absent for evermore, and the hopes to which I cling in some sweet hours, there is, believe me, an abyss above which I bend incessantly, and often the vertigo of misfortune mounts to my head. Every day bears away with it some shred of that gaiety which enabled me to surmount so mafly difficulties. This journey is a sad trial. I am alone, without strength. You will probably receive my statue in Carrara marble (half-nature, that is, about three feet high, and marvellously like me) before the portrait of that rascal Boulanger, who, after the Exhibition, still wants three months to make the copy. I am vexed. He has five good paying portraits and an order for Versailles of one hundred and twenty feet of painting, which absorb him, and, as a friend, he makes me wait. So it may be that I shall bring the portrait to you myself; for, as I see it is impossible for me to work more than four months together, I shall start for the Ukraine in August, through Tyrol and Hlungary, returning by Dresden. I have a thousand things to tell you. But first, in 396 Honore de Balzac. [1837 return for my statue, I beg M. Hanski to send me a little line authorizing Bartolini to make me a copy of your bust. If M. ilanski will grant me this permission, I shall ask Bartolini to make it half size, so as to put it on my table in the study where I write. Thftt dimension is tlhe one in which my statue is made, and all artists, lBartolitni himself, think it more favorable for physiognomy; it has more expression. It is better for the imn:agination to enlarge a head than for the eyes to see it in its exact proportions. My statue has been a work of affection, and it bears the stamp of it. It was done in Milan by an artist naned Puttinati; he would take nothing for it. I had great trouble to pay even the costs and the marble. But I shlall take him t:> Plaris with ma; I will show him Paris and order a group of SJraphita rising to heaven between Wilfrid and Minnia. The l)edestal shall be made of all tlhe species and terrestrial thlings of which shle is the prodluct. I shall put aside two thousand francs a year during the three years of its execution, and that will sullice to pay for it. Venice, which I saw for only 'five (lays, two of which were rainy, enr:aptured me. I (1o not know if you ever noticed onl tlie (Grand Clanal, just after the Palazzo Fini, a little lhouse with two,othic windows; the whole facade being p)ure gothic.1 Every (day I made them stop before it, and often I was moved to tears. I conceived the happiness thlat two persons might obtain,- living there together, apl)art from all Lhe worl.d. Switzerland is costly, but in Venice one needs so little money to live! The price of the hou-e would not be more than two years' rent of the Villa 1)iodati, which you admired so much on account of Lord Byron. It would just suffice for a little household, such as t]hat of a poor poet, busy in the hours lie must ravish from felicity, to keep that 1 P'alzzo Coitarinli-FIassn.- T1. 1837] Letters to Madame Hanska. 397 felicity ever equal in its strength. The summers could be passed on the Lake of Garda in a house as tiny. Twelve thousand francs a year would give this luxury. May the angel who so fatally has departed forgive me, but, now that all is over, I may say to you that the happiness to which Nature puts an end in our lifetime is not complete happiness. Twenty years, and more, of difference in age is too great. We ought to be able to grow old together; and it was permissible in me, before that house, to wish for the years that I once had, but with a woman who would be like her, with youth added. The future and the past are melted thus into one emotion, which is something that of Tantalus, for I have the conviction that I alone am an obstacle to that beautiful life. My engagements are, for at least two years to come, a barrier of honour; and when I think that in two years I shall be forty, and that until that age all my life will have been toil, toil that uses up and destroys, it is difficult to believe that I can ever be the object of a passion. Yes, the ice that study heaps about us may be preservative, but each thought casts snow upon our heads; and evening finds us with no flowers in our hands. Ah! believe me, a poor poet as sincerely loving as I shed bitter tears before that little house. Yes, I cannot wrong Madame Delannoy, that second mother, who has intrusted to me as much as twenty-six thousand francs, nor my own mother whose life is mortgaged on my pen, nor those gentlemen who have just invested in my inkstand nearly seventy thousand francs. Ah! if I could win for myself two months of tranquillity at Wierzchownia, where I might do one or two fine plays, all my life would be changed! Those two months, so precious, I have just spent, you will tell me, in travel. Yes, but I started only because I was without ideas, without strength, my brain exhausted, my soul dejected. worn-out with my last struggles, which, believe me, were 398 ]8onore de Balzac. [1837 dreadful, horrible! There came a day of despair when I went to oget a passport to Russia. There seemed nothing for me })but to ask you for shelter for a year or two, abaildoning to fools and enemies my reputation, my conscience, my life, which they would have rent and blasted until tlhe day that I returned to triumph. But lad they known where I was - adl they would have known - what would have been said! That prospect stol)pe(l me. I can own it to you, now that tlhe tempest is lutlled, and I have only a few more efforts to make to reach tranquillity. Duriong this month, though my soul is not refreshed, at least my brain is rested. I hope, on my return, that ' CUsar Birotteau," the third dizatn, alnd - La Haute Bainque" may lift my name to the stars, higher than before. I begin to hatve io(st:tlgia for my inkstland, my study, my proofs. That which caused me nausea before I came away now smiles to me. Moreover, tle memory of that little house in Venice will give me courage; it lias made me conceive that after my liberation fortunle will signify nothing; tlhat I shall have enough by w riting onle book a year, - and that I may then unite both work and happiness in that Villa Diodati on the water! April 11. I have just seen several of the,:cda in tlle Pitti. Oh! that )ortrait of M argherita l)oni by Raffal le I stood (onfounded before it. Neither Titianl, nor ililbens, nor Tintoret, lnor Velasquez - no bruslh can app)l)roach such perfection. I also saw tle Pensiero, anl I understood your admiration. I have hatd much plle'asure in looking at whlat, two years go, you admired. I caught up your thoughts. To-morrow I am going to thle Medici gallery, though I have not fully seen the Pitti; I perceive that one ought to stay months in Florence, whereas I have but hours. Eeconomy requires that I return by Livorno, Genoa, Miilan, and the Spiugien. That is the shortest 1837] Letters to Madame Hanska. 399 route in reality, though the longest to the eye; for one can go from Florence to Milan in thirty-six hours; and from Milan by the Splugen there are but eighty relays to Paris. By this route I can see Neufchtitel, and I own I have a tender affection for the street and the courtyard where I had the happiness of meeting you. 1 shall go and see the lie Saint-Pierre and the Cret, and your house; after which I shall take that route through the Val de Travers which seemed to me so beautiful on my way to Neufchlftel. I am kept here at the mercy of a steamboat which may call for me to-morrow or six days hence; it is very irregular. If I had not been detained for this horrible quarantine in a shocking lazaretto (which I could not have imagined as a prison for brigands), I should have had enough time to see Florence well. I went yesterday to the Cascine, where you took your walks; but the day was not fine. Bad weather has pursued me, everywhere it has snowed and rained; but my troubles began by losing my travelling companion. I was to have had Th6ophile Gautier, that man whose mind so pleases you; he was to share with me the costs of the journey and write a pendant to his 1" Voyage en Belgique; " but the necessity of doing the Exhibition, rendering an account of all that spoilt canvas in the Louvre, obliged him to remain in Paris. Italy has lost by it; for lie is the only man capable of comprehending her and saying something fresh about her; but when I make the journey again he will come. We will choose our time better. I have met Frankowski twice, once inl Milan and again in Venice; he will take to you my New-Year's souvenir, or else he will send it to you. Each time that I have seen him the acquaintance ripens. I think him a man of honour and high integrity. Ile is a Pole of the vieille roche; his sentiments are frank. You could, that is, MI. Hanski could do him a great service. You have property, I think, that is difficult to manage, and which, until now, 400 Ho nore de _Balzac. [1837 has been badly managed by unfaithful stewards. Well, I think this brave colonel does not know where to turn for a living, lie came to Paris to see what lie could do with a inovel. A man must be at the end of his hopes to land himself in a foreign country where publishers are refusing two or three huL(lred manuscripts a year. He asked me for a letter to M. de Metternich, -as if I could do anything for him with the prince, whom I never saw, as you know. However delicate such business is, if MA. Ilanski is thinking to send anl honest man to manage his distant property and make it profitable, giving an honourable share to him who would bring it under cultivation, lie might save a married mlan who, I thinlk, despairs of his present position, and would blow his brains out rather than fail in the sternest honour. In case M. IIanski should think of tryilg' thlis colonel, write me a line; I will then write to Frankowski to knlow if the place suits him; and if lie answers allirmIatively, I wilt g'ive him a note for lM. Hahski. Besides, the time this correspondence would take brings me to tlle period of my visit to Poland, and lie could be useful to me as a g'uide in your country. I have a conviction that:M. Ilanlski would do a good busiiess for himself in doing this good action. I have had means of studying the colonel; and besides, M. IIanski is too prudent not to study his compatriot himself. When you see Frankowski, don't speak to him of the letter lie asked of me for Metterniich, for lie asked it in a letter that was miad with desl)air, and I have known so well the despair of an honest man struggling against misfortune that I divined everything. I llhope that this idea of mine may reach you in time. But, in all such cases, one should always save a man of honour the terrible shock of an interest caused only by compassion. This sentiment, in me, is stripped of what makes it so wounding; but others are not expected to know that. If all the world knew mv heart, of what value would be the opening of it to those I 1837] Letters to llMadame JIanska. 401 love? So after explaining all this to you, you will read it to M. Hanski, and he will do what he thinks proper. But. in any case, it would be better to find an honest man to manage his estates well than to sell them; for after the late rise in value of the lands of Europe there is no doubt that those who possess them, in whatever part of Europe they may be, will have in the course of some years an enormous capital. Not knowing that I should be detained in quarantine, and thinking to be absent only one month, I ordered my letters to be kept for me; so that I am without news of you since the last of February. Do you know, this seemed so hard to me that I inquired at Genoa if there was a vessel going to Odessa; they told me it took a month to go from Genoa to Odessa. Then I gazed into the sky at the point where the Ukraine must be, and I sent it a sorrowful farewell. At that moment I was capable, had it taken but twelve days to go to Odessa, of going to see you and not returning to Paris without my play. But then my debts, my obligations came back to my memory. What a life! Fame, when I have it, and if 1 have it, can never be a compensation for all my privations and all my sufferings! I saw yesterday at La Pergola, a Princess Radziwill and a Princess Galitzin (who is not Sophie). There seem to be a good many Princesses Radziwill and Galitzin! There was also a Countess Orloff, who used to be an actress in Paris under the name of Wentzell. I hoped to enjoy my dear incognito; but, as at Milan and at Venice, I was recognized by strangers. Also I met the husband of a cousin of Madame de Castries, and Alexandre de Perigord, son of the Due de Dino. Happily, I came to Florence en polisson, as they used to say for the trips to Marly. I have neither clothes nor linen nor anything suitable to go into society, and so I preserve my dear independence. 26 402 Honlorde dc Balzac. [1837 April 13. I have seen the gallery of the Medici, but in a hurry. I must come back here if I want to study art. A letter from the consul at Livorno, just received, tells me there will be no steamer till the 20th, and I must be in Paris from the 20th to 25th. So there is nothing for me to (1do but to take the mail-cart, and I leave in a few hours. I close my letter, which I would like to make longer, but will write again at Milan, through which I pass and where I shall stop two days, for I go by Como and the Saint-Gothard. Adieu, cara contessina. I hope that all is well and that I shall find good news of you in Paris. At this moment of writinl, you ought to have received my little souvenirs, if Frankowski is a faithful man. In a few months I shall have the happiness of seeing you, and that hope will renlder life and time the easier to bear. Do not forget to remember me to all, and permit your moujik to send you the expression - not new, but ever increasig( in strength - of his devoted sentiments and tenderest thoughts. PApIS, May 10, 1837. IHere I am, back in Paris. Miy health is perfect, and my brain so much refreshed that it seems as though I had never written anything. I found three long letters from you which are delightful to me. I fished them out of the two hundred which awaited me and read them in the bath I took to unlimber me after my fatiguing journey; and certainly, I count that hour as the most (lelightful of all my trip. Before beginning my work, I am going to give myself the festival of a long talk with you. In the first place, cara Cari;a, put into that beautiful forehead, which shines withl such sublime intelligence, Xhat I have blicnd confidence in your literary judgment, 1837] Letters to IMadame IIanska. 403 and that I make you, in that respect, the heiress of the angel I have lost, and that what you write to me becomes the subject of long meditations. I now await your criticisms on "La Vieille Fille;" such as the (lear conscience I once had, whose voice will ever echo in my ears, knew how to make them; that is to say, read the work over and point out to me, page by page, in the most exact manner, the images and the ideas that displease you; telling me whether I should take them out wholly and replace them, or modify them. Show neither pity nor indulgence; go boldly at it. Cara, should I not be most unworthy of the friendship you deign to feel for me if in our intimate correspondence I allowed the petty vanity of an author to affect me? So I entreat you, once for all, to suppress long eulogies. Tell me on three tones: that is good, that is line, that is magnificent; you will then have a positive, comparative, and superlative, which are so grandiose in their line that I blush to offer them for your incense-pot. But they are still so far below the gracious praise you sometimes offer me that they are modest - though they might seem singular to a third person. I beg you therefore to be concise in praise and prolix in criticism; wait for reflection; do not write to me after the first reading. If you knew how much critical genius there is in what you said to me about my play you would be proud of yourself. But you leave that sentiment to your friends. Yes, Planche himself would not have been wiser; you have made me reflect so much that 1 am now employed in remodelling my ideas about it. Rememnber, ecarna, that I am sincere in all things, and especially in art; that I have none of that paternal silliness which ties so cruel a bandage round the eyes of many authors, and that if "La Vieille Fille"' is bad, I shall have the courage to cut it out of my work. I laughed much at what you write of the three heiresses of Warsaw, and at the tale you tell me, which was also 404 Honorc de Balztc. [1837 told and invented in Milan. There they maintained viwodlicus that I had just married an immensely rich heiress, the daughter of a dealer in silks. There is no absurd story of which I am not made the hero, and I will amuse you heartily by telling them all to you when I see you. I received Mi. Ilanski's letter two (lays ago from the Rothschilds, and the five hundred francs were at IRougemont de Lowenberg's. The p)ortrait has just been returned from the Exhibition. BI3olanger will make the copy in a few weeks and the picture will soon be with you. You are to have the original, which has had the utmost success at the Salon; many critics consider it among the best of our modern works, and it has given rise to arguments which must have enchanted Boulanger. I am very sorry that the admirable frame I unearthed in Touraine cannot adorn your gallery; but there is no use in opposing the rigours of the custom-house. The statue will reach you about the same time. You will, I dare say, order a little corner closet on which to place the statue, and in it you can keep the enormous collection of manuscripts you will receive from me; so that, knowinLg how much you have of tlhe man's heart, you will have his labours as well. I shall then be wholly at Wierzchownia. Your three letters, read all at once, bathed my soul in the purest and sweetest affections, as the native waters of the Seine refreshed my body; it was more to me to rea(I again and again those pages full of your adorable little writing than to rest myself. I have made a horribly beautiful return journey; but it is good to have made it. It was like our retreat from Russia. Happy he who has seen the Beresina and come out, safe and sound, upon his legs. I crossed the Saint-Gothard with fifteen feet of snow on the path I took; the road not even distinguishable by 1837] Letters to Madame Hanska. 405 the tall stone posts which mark it. The bridges across the mountain torrents were no more visible than the torrents themselves. I came near losing my life several times 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 tint the snow. A man must see that once in his life. I came down so rapidly that in half an hour I passed from twenty-five degrees below freezing (which it was on the sulmmit) to I don't know what degree of heat in the valley of the 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. You see that I renounced my purpose of going by Berne and Neufchatel. I returned by Lucerne and Bale, having come by the Ticino and Como. I thought that route the most economical of time and money, whereas, on the contrary, I spent enormously of both. But I had the worth of my money; it was indeed a splendid journey; my excursion has been like a dream, but a dream in which presided the face of my faithful companion, of her of whom I have already told you tlhe pleasure I had in seeing her, and wJho did Jnot stjfer fronm the cold [her miniature]. Here I am, returned to my work. I am about to bring out immediately, one after the other: "Cesar Birotteau," "La Femme Superieure;" I shall finish "'Illusions Perdues," then "La Haute Banque," and "Les Artistes." After that, I shall fly to the Ukraine, where, perhaps, I shall have the happiness to write a play which will end my financial agonies. Such is my plan of campaign, c(tra contessiIta. 406 Iio0or; (le Bailzac. [1837 May 11. I have been cery egotistical. I began by speaking of myself, answering the first thinogs that struck me in your letters, and I ought to have said at once how glad( 1 was to know you relieved of the deplorable but sublime duty of nurse, whlihel you fulfilled so courageously and successfully. The reproach you make me for harshness in a sentence of mine, I feel very much. That steence, believe me, was only the exl)ression of my desire to see vou perfect; and l)erhaps that desire was rather senseless, for it may l)e that contrasts a-re necessary in a character. But, however it is, I will never complain agai'n, even when you accuse ime unjustly, reflecting that anl affection as sincere and as old as ours can, be troubled only on the surface. We are going no doubt to bring out a new edition of the "IEtudes Philosopllliques," the one in which is '"Les Ruggieri.'' I have just re-read( that fragment, and I see that it shows the effect of the state of anguish in whlich I was when I wrote it, and the feebleness of a brain which had produced too much. It needs much retouclhing. 1 do not know what lias been t.hougllt of tllt poor preface to a book called "'Illusions Perdues." I am go(ing now to write thle continuation and complete the work. Your monotonous life tempts me muclh; and especially after travellipng aIbout do your tales of it lplease me. I owe to you the sole HI-omerie laugh I }have had for a year, when I read of your fib to the Countess Marie, andl wen I read her letter so full of cratorical suoarpliums. II do not think that woman true, and I really don't know liow to answer her, for I am as stupid when I!have nothinsi, in my heart as I often am when my heart is full. May 1 3. I have now been at home eight (lays, and for eight (ays I hlave been making vain efforts to i'.sune( my work. AT 1837] Letters to Madame Hanska. 407 head refuses to give itself to any intellectual labour; I feel it to be full of ideas, but nothing comes out. I ain incapable of fixing my thought; of compelling it to consider a subject under all aspects and deciding its march. I don't know when this imbecility iwill cease; but perhaps it is only my broken habit that is in fault. When a workman drops his tools for a time, his hand gets divorced. He must renew the fraternity thlat comes from habit, that links the hand to the tool, as the tool to the hand. May 14. I went last night to see "La Camaraderie," and I think the play is immensely clever. Scribe knows the business, but he does not know art; he has talent, but he will never have genius. I met Taylor, the royal comissioner to the Theatre-Francais, who has just brought from Spain, for a million francs, four hundred Spanish pictures, very fine ones. In a very few minutes it was arranged between us that lihe should undertake to have accepted, rehearsed, and played a piece of mine at the Thleitre-Franeais, without my aame being known until the time comes to name the author; also to give me as many rehearsals as I want, and to spare me all the annoyances which accompany the reception and representation of a, play. Now, which shall I write? Oh! how many conversations with you I need; for you are the only person - now that I am widowed of that soul 'which uplifted, followed, strengthened my attempts - the only one in whom I have faith. Yes, persons whose hearts are as noble as their birth, who have contracted the habit of noble sentiments and of things lofty in all ways, they alone are my critics. It is now some time since I have accustomed myself to think with you, to put you as second in my ideas, and you would hardly believe what sweetness I find in aga in beginning, after this travelling interregnum, to write to you the life of my thought - for 408 Honor5 cde Balzac. [1837 as to that of my heart I have no need; in spite of certain melancholy passages, you know well that souls highpoised change little. Like the summits I have just seen, the clouds may sometimes cover them, the (lay may light them variously; but their snow remains pure alnd dazzlinhg. I went yesterday to see Boulanger. The picture has come back to him from the Exhibition. lie wants another three weeks to make thle copy whichl I give to tmy mother, but thle caenvas will start for lerditchef early in June, so that you wvill get it before the statue. Adieu, for to-(lay. I must examine mly thoughts about tle stage, alnd start upon a journey through the dramatic libo), to find out to what I must give life or death. This affair is of the highest importance to my financial ilterests, aind is very serious for my reputation as a writer. To-mnorrow I will close my letter and send it. If I failed to write to you durinig my journey you will see by tile frequency of my letters that I amn repairillg omissions. lay 15. This is tlhe eve of my f-te-day, still my poor fGte-day, for my financial affairs are not beauteous. The law about tile National (Guard will oblige me to make a violent move, -that of living in the country two leagues from Paris; but this time I will live inl a house by myself. I shall thus b)e obliged very seriously to work my sixteen hours a (lay for three or four months; but at least (if the friendlly indlorsements I gave to tliat poor stlpil WVerdet do not cause trouble) I am all but easy in mind on financial matters. Adieu. You will receive still another letter this week. Many tender thiings to you and my remembrances to all about you. I reply this week to 5M. Hanski. 1837] Letters to licadacle EHanscea. 409 PARIS, May 20-29, 1837. I write to you on rising, for this is my birthday, and I shall be all day long with my sister and mother. ion Dieu! how I should like to have news of you; but I am deprived of it by my own fault, for you have put the lex talionis into our correspondence by not writing to me when I do not write to you. But that is very wrong. I am a man, and subject to crises. At this moment, for instance, Werdet has gone into bankruptcy, and I am summoned to pay the indorsements I gave him out of kindness, just as he had given some to me; but with this difference, that I have paid all the notes lie endorsed for me, and he has not paid those I guaranteed for him. So now I must work night and day to get out of the embarrassment into which I have put myself. You could never believe how crushing this last misfortune is. My business agents all tell me now is the time to make a journey. Make a journey! -when I owe to Girardin, for the "Presse," " La Haute Banque " and "La Femme SupSrieure;" to the " Figaro," " Cesar Birotteau," and " Les Artistes;" to Schlesinger, for the "Gazette Musicale," " Gambara; " and the end of the third dizain to Werdet's capitalist, - six works, all clamoured for by the four persons to whlom I owe them, and which represent fifteen thousand francs, ten thousand of which have already been paid. To pay my most pressing debts. I took all the money my new publishers gave me, and they only begin their monthly payments to me when I give them two unpublished volumes 8vo. I need at least three months to finish the six works named above as due, then three months for their two new volumes; so that here I am for six months without resources and without any means of getting money. Happily, the brain is in good health, thanks to my journey. This is a bad birthday. I have begun it by dismissing 410 lHo no r de Balzac. [1837 my three servants alnd living up my apartment in the rue de,- Batailles [Chaillot], though I ldo't know whether tlhe l)r)l)prietr will lbe willing to cancel the lease. And finally, I have heroically resolved to live, if necessary, as I livedl in the rue Les(liguicres, and to make tan etnd to a secret misery which is (lishonourilg to t te coiieielcee. Apropos of misery; I wrote you from Florence under tlhe imnpression of distresses revealed by one of your eouintrvinen. I beg you not to be vexed with me. Tell M. llaiiski that in view of what has junt hlappel)ned to me, I have mnade the good resolution never to oguarantee 1any one, either financially or morally. I beg him to regar(l all I said about that man as not said, a.nd1, inasmuch as I recommeniided himl througlt you'r gracinus lips, I beg' him to do onothing in his favour. D)o inot accuse me of carelessness, but of ignorance. Later I will explain by word of mouth thle reason of this change. The present makes me alter the past. May 23. Boulanger has written ine a very free ''and easy, ungrateful letter. iHe will not make tlie cop)Y he ei'gaged to make, whlich (li dtresses my mmotiher an(d sister. The placker is at this n1moment makiiig the case for thle ori(,ginal; it leaves in a few (lays, and I shall address it. according to 3M. IIa-nski's letter, to M1 MI. IIalperine, at 1h'ody, by diligence, direct; for neither thie Ro tischildi nor Rlougemont de L;iwenberg' are willing to take charg( of so cumbersome a l)arcel, amd the colour-merchant wlio is packing- the cainvas, assures mnc that lie hias sei' tlie most valuable pictures in lithis way. That's enougIl about my effigv. It is one of the ftinest thiinrs of thl school. The most jealous painters lhave admlired it. am glad you will not be disappointed after waitingt si long. I shall write you a little line thie day I put thU parcel in the diligence, and tell you the route it wil, take. 1837] Lettcrs to JiaX-dac t If1at ieC4. 411 I lhave persuade(l my minotller to go and live two years in Switzerland at Lausanne. The sight of my struggle and that of my brother kills her. Slhe sees us always working without pecuniary result, and she suffers dreadfully without having the material conflict which calls up strength. If you knew all I have done for Boulanger you would feel the bitterness that fills my soul at this betrayal; for if he had not trifled with me for nearly a year you would have had the portrait six months ago, and it has now become ridiculous. May 28. Here I am, as you hlave often (lesired to see me. I hlave brokeln away from every one, and I go, in a few weekls, to a hidden garret, hlavin-g bl(cked all the roads aIbout me. I have been making a recapitulation of my work, and I have enough to do for four years, without, even then, completing all the series of tlhe "'Etudes de Mteurs." My monk's g(own must not be a lie. I have but two thin's which make nme live: work, and the hope of finding all my secret desires realized at the close of this toil. To whoever can live by tlhose two potent ideas, life is still gratnd; and if I do not find again in the solitll(le to which I return that noble Mladamne d(le Berny, whom my sister Laure now calls my Josephine, at least she is not replaced by a Marie-Louise, but by glorious hope, the sole companion of a poet in travail. Tllis journey, in refreshing, my brain, rejuvenated nie, and gave mne back my force; I need it to accomplish lmy last efforts. I have just finished a work which is called " AMassimilla Doni," the scene of which is in Venice. If I can realize all my ideas as they present themselves in my brain it will be, assuredly, a book as startling as '" La Peau (le Chagrin," better written, more poetic possibly. I will not tell you anything about it. " Massimilla Doni 412 llo4'12,1 B l8,7c. [1.37 ad(l " Ga' baral" are, ill the " ]tudes Philosopllhiques," the apparition of Ilu.;ic, ul(er tlhe (lolble form of cxC'.i(on, anld com/poli;on, subjected to tle same trial as ThouI'it in 'I Louis la nn)iert: " that is to say, the work al ( its execution are hilled b1y the t>o great abundance of tlhe creative pri:ncil(e, that which di (tated to m1le tlhe "( hef-(d'p'uvrc1 in1(11iii " iii respect to painting; a study which I reu>rote l:st winter. You will soon receive two Pt.rts of tlie ltud(es Phlliooplhiiques " in which the work has b1een tremne:(l;ous. I have just 1ii.isled 'a little study, entitled " Le \Iartyr calvilniste," w iilch with '" Le Secret des iluggieri" and Les D)eux 'Lves " completes my study of tle chlaracter of Catherinte dle' iledici. I have lc:C; ln to write ' La Feimme Sulpdrieure " (for tlhe " l'resse,'' ad iin a few days I shall have finished (, C'sar Birotteau." All this in mnanuscript only; for, after composition, comes the lbattle of the proofs. Yomi see that my ideas for the stage are again dro(wned in the flood of mny obligations and my otlher work. As soon as tlIe above maluscrip'ts are d(one I sliall g;o into Berry, to Maldame Carraud, and( there finislh tile thlird (1],' z,f begun alas! ii G(eneva anld dated from EtauxVives and the (lear IPre-i'Evque! It is now two years since I saw you. So, when my |head refuses ideas, when t le ink-pot of my brain is empnlty, andl I must have rest, by that time I lopl)e I shlall have bo(ught, through privations, the necessary sum for a journey to Po(land and to see Wierzchownia tllis autumn. o (l grant that I then have a mind free of all care, and that I complete between now and then the books that are to liberate me! Iapl)pily, except for a fe-w sums, it is only a question of blackeningI paper, and that, fortunately, is in my own power. I am anxious to finishl the two other volumes which, under the title of '" Un (Grand hommne (de Province i Paris" is to complete '" Illusions Perdues " 1837] Letters to Jladcn-ae IHanska. 413 of which the introduction alone has appeared. That is, certainly, with " CSsar Birotteau," my greatest work in dimensions. May 29. From the way I have started I hope to finish "La Femme Suplrieure " in four days. I am stirred by a species of fury to finish the works for which I have already received the money. I live before my table; I leave it only to sleep; I dine there. Never did poet stay thus in a moral world; but yesterday some one told me I was said to be in Germany. I hope that the ridiculous stories spread about me will cease in consequence of the absolute seclusion in which I am about to live. At any rate, the commercial proceedings instituted against me by Werdet's creditors will have this good effect, that, being driven to hide myself, no one can gossip about me. But they will make fantastic tales about my disappearance! I entreat you not to forget my request relative to corrections of '" La Vieille Fille" and, in general, to all you find faulty in my works. I have none but you in the world to do me this friend's service. Be curt in your verdicts. When there was something very bad Madame de Berny never discussed; she wrote, "Bad" or, "Passage to be rewritten." Be, I pray you, my dear star and my literary conscience, as you are in so many other things my guide and my counsellor. You have a sure taste; you have the habit of comparison, because you read everything. This will be, moreover, an occupation in your desert. Alas! I can only talk to you about myself. I am now without letters from you, delivered over to all sorts of anxieties, because I had the misfortune, in travelling, to leave you a month in silence, - though I wrote to you from Sion in the Valais, and expected to find an answer in Milan on my return from Florence. I have written to Milan, to Prince Porcia, to forward your letter here. 414 EH41,o4' (c7e BaIz(c. (1. [1:;87 Have the kindness to write to Madame Jeroslas... that I can more easily go four montlhs hence and lay my homage at her feet than, write her a letter at this moment. Seriously, I go to bed witlh a te(l haie. I will -uend you a page for her in my next lettel, tolioufii 1 shall niot write you till I cean announce the ternhat;ttion of " Ctsar Birotteau " and "La Fenmme Supel)cuie7' the two great thorns I have in my foot at this ml(omenlt. The third di,'i(b may amuse me perha)ps at F'rapesle, 5Madame Carraud's house, where I shall live te-n days among the flowers, well eared for by her, who is like a sister to me. She is very delicate, very feeble; she will,o, too, I foresee it, that fine and noble intellect; anid of the three truly grand women whom I have knowni, you alone will reumain. Such friendships are not renlewed, co'at. Thlerfore, mine for you grows greater from all imy losses, and, I dare to say it, from all the illusionls that experience mows down like the flowers of the field. All my reeent griefs, that ignoble little treachery of Boulanger, this present misfortune due to my att-achmet to the weak, all these things cast me with greater force to you, in whom I believe as in God, to whom the troubles of earth (drive us l)ack. Thlere are affections that are like great rivers; all flows ilnto them. So the longer I live, th e thle river; welis; tlhe sea into which it casts itself is deLth. I hope that all goes well with you,:noid that M. IlIaski will be so kind as not to be vexed wilth me if I (do not answer his gracious letter; I am so Iurried! Tell him all tliat I would say to him; passing th-rolugh such an ilterpreter that which I should write to hlimn will be biettered. Take great care of yourself; after tlIe long nimght-niursing you have borne, I tremble lest you slhoull be ill; if that should happen, in God's name let me know<; I must go and nurse you. Adieu. I wish you good hefltlh, nlid Anna also. If my theory on huiman forees is trie, you ought to live iin 1837] Letters to Madame Hanskta. 415 the atmosphere that my soul makes for you by surrounding you with sacred wishes. Would that it were like the thorny hedges placed about private fields, that cattle may neither feed nor trample there. I would that I could thus drive off all griefs, all disappointments, all that herd of worries, pain, and maladies. To you, who give me such strength, would I could return it! PARIS, May 31, 1837. I have this instant received yours (number 28) of the 12th, written after you received the one 1 wrote you from Florence. But did you not receive one from Sion? which I do not, however, count as a letter, for there were only fifteen lines on a page. It is clear that some one kept the money for the postage, and read, or burned the letter. Mnm Diet! how vexed I am! I stopped at Sion expressly to write it. You ought to have received it early in March. Let us say no more about it. I admire the capacity of your intelligence in regard to tlhe person about whom I wrote you from Florence. The reasons that struck your mind struck mine later. But your letter grieves me. Such profound sadness reigns through the religious ideas it expresses. It seems as though you had lost all hope on earth. You ask me to make you confidences as I would to my best friend; but have I not told you all my life? I have often confided too much of my anguish to you, for it did you harm. This letter comes to me at a bad moment. It has singularly added to the dumb grief that gnaws me and will kill me. I am thirty-eight years old, still crippled by debt, with nought but uncertainty as to my position. Scarcely have I taken two months to rest my brain before I repent them as a crime when I see thle evils that have come through my inaction. This precarious life, which might be.a spur in youth, becomes at my age an overwhelmincg burden. AMy head is turning white, and whatever pleasant 1,~~~~~~~~~~~~~7 - 1 Ilioord de Balzac. [1837 tlhint's may be said about it, it is clear that I must soon lose all hope of pleasing. Pure, tranquil, openly avowed happiness, for which I was made, escapes me; I have only tortures and vexations, through which a few rare gleams of blue sky shine. My works are little understood and little appreciaited; they serve to enrich BIelgium, but they leave me in poverty. The only friend who came to me at my start in life, who was to me a true m(other, las gone to heaven. And you, you write me there are as maniy idc(s as there is distance betweenl us, andl you dissuade me from goin< to see you! Your letter hals done me great harm. Believe me, there is a certain measure of religious ideas beyond which all is vicious. You know what my relig'ion is. I am not orthodox, and I do not believe in the Roman Church. I think that if there is a scheme worthy of our kind it is thlat of human transformations causing' the human being to advance toward unknown zones. That is tlle law of creations inferior to ourselves; it ought to be the law of superior creations. Swedenl orgianism, which is only a repetition in the lChristian sense of ancient ideas, is rsy religion, with tle addition which I make to it of the incomprehensibility of G(od. That said (and I say it to you because I know you to ]be so truily Roman Catholic that nothing can influence your iniid(l alout it), I nmust surely see more clearly than you see it wlhat your (letachlnent from all tlhings here below conceals, and del)lore it if it rests on false ideas. To comfort myself as to this, I have read over a letter in which you toll me you wislhed to be always yourself, to show yourself - in your hours of melancholy, of piety, and of spring-tide returns. June 1. Your letter lias left long traces upon me, and I can scarcely say what impressions I lhave hiad on rea(ing tlhe 1837] Letters to Madame Hanska. 417 part where you separate your readings into profane and religious. There is a whole world between your last but one letter and this letter. You have taken the veil. I am deathly sad. June 2. I have begun I" La Femme Superieure " in a manner that promised to finish it in four (lays, and now it is impossible for me to write a line. My faculties seem unstrung. I had made my mother decide on spending two years in Switzerland to spare her the sight of my struggle, the triumph of which I placed at that date. But she is now ill. Two nephews to bring up, my mother to support, and my work insufficient! -that is one of the aspects of my life. Continual injustice, constant calumny, the betrayal of friends, that is another.' The embarrassments into which Werdet's failure flung me, and my new treaty which keeps me in a state of extreme poverty, that is a third. The literary difficulties of what I do and the continuity of toil, that is another. I am worn-out on the four faces of the square by an equal pressure of trouble. If my soul finds the ivory door through which it flees into lands of illusion, dreams of happiness, closed, what will become of it? Solitude, farewell to the world? It is sorrowful for those who live by the heart to have no life possible but that of the brain. When you receive this letter Boulanger's portrait will be on its way to you; it was packed this week. I wished to have it rolled, but the colour-dealer and a picture-restorer whom I consulted assured me it would go safely in a square box the size of the lictlure. You will have a fine work, so several painters say. The eyes especially are well rendered, but more in the general physical expression of the worker than with the loving soul of the individual. Boulanger saw the writer, and not the tenderness of the imbecile always taken-in, not the softness of the man 1 See Memoir, pp. 231, 232, 329. - TR. 27 418 4812onore (cd BIl(dzac. [1837 before the sufferings of others, which made all my miseries come from holding out a helping hand to weaklings in the rut of ill-luck. in order to do a service in 18:27 to a working printer, I found myself, in 1829, crushed down under a del)t of one hun(dred and fifty thousand francs and cast, witllout bread, into a garret. In 1833, just as my pen was.giving silns of enabling me to clear my oblioations, I connected myself with AVerdet; I wanted to make him my only publisher, and in my desire to make him 1)rosper, I signed engagemenits, so that in 1837, I finld mvself again with at hundred and fifty thousand francs of debt, and on that account so threatened with arrest that I am obliged to live in hiding. 1 make myself, as I go along, the I)on Quixote of the feeble; I wanted to give courage to Sandeau, and I dropped upon that head four or five thousand francs that would have saved another man! I need a barrier between the world and me; I must content myself with producing without spending; I must shut myself up within at narrow circle, under pain of succumbilrg. June 5. Yesterday I sent away my three servants; Auguste, whom you have seen, remains, on a salary that my new publishers, the printers, 'and I pay. lie will carry proofs. I am tryinug to get rid of my apartment rue des Iatailles; that of rue (assinli is paid up, and the lease ends October I of tllis year. I must resume the life I led in the rue Lesdiguieres: live on little, and work always. Alas! I need( a family! Per!haps I will go and settle in some village in Touraine. A garret in Paris is still dangerous. I have seven years' work before me, counting three works a year like the " Lys," and I slitll be forty-five when the principal lines of my work are defined and' the portions very nearly filled inl. At forty-five one is no logler lloug, in form lat least; one must, to preserve a few file (lays, p)ltl('ge ii'to tlhe ice of complete solitude. 1837] Letters to Madame Hanskca. 419 My mind is not tranquil enough to write for the stage. A play is the easiest and the most difficult work for the humant mind; either it is a German toy, or an immortal statue, Polichinello or Venus, the "Misanthrope" or "Figaro." The miserable melodramas of Hugo frighten me. I need a whole winter at Wierzchownia to adjust a play, and I have four months of crushing work to do before I can know if I shall have the money, and when and how I shall have it, to enable me to go there. Perhaps I shall take one of those sublime resolutions which turn life inside out like a glove. That is very possible. Perhaps I shall leave literature, to enrich myself, and take it up later if it suits me to do so; I have been reflecting about this for some days past. Are you not tired of hearing me ring my song on every key? Does not this continual egotistery of a man fighting forever in a narrow circle bore you? Say so, because in your letter you seemed disposed to turn away from me, as from a beggar who knows nothing but the Pater, and says it over and over again. Cara, I hold Florence to be a great lady, a glorious city, where we breathe the middle ages; but, as I told you, Venice and Switzerland are two conceptions which resemble nothing. I have not dared to say any harm to you of your bust, because it gave me too much joy to see it. As for the mouth, do not complain of Bartolini; he has made it beautiful and true. Your mouth is one of the sweetest creations I have ever seen; in the bust it has, certainly, the expression your aunt and others blame; but that is only on the surface of the thing. Without your mouth, the forehead would be hydrocephalous. There is an exact balance in the two, between sensations and ideas, between the heart and the brain; there is, above all, in the expression thus blamed, an extreme nobility and infinite sweetness, two attributes which render you adorable to those who know you well. 420 Honore de Balzac. 1 837 No one has analyzed your head and face more than I. The last timhne that I could study you, and have enough coolness to (ldo so, was in Dalfinger's studio [ill Vienna], 'and it was only there that I detected on your lips a few faint siogns of cruel passion. Do not be astonished at those two words: it is such indications that give to your mouth tlhe expression those ladies complain of; butt such evidences are repressed by goodness. You have something violent in your first impulse, but reflection, kindness, gentleness, nobleness, follow instantly. I (lo not regard thiis as a defect. The first impulse has its cause, and I will tell it to you in your chiIiney-corner at Wierzchownia, if you think to ask me; and I will ogive you proofs of whlat I say about you, examples taken from what I saw you (1o in Vienna - in thle affair of the letter, for instance, which was written under one stuch impulse. If you were exclusively good you would be a sheep - which is too insipid. Well, adieu, car((; a thousand tender regards, qt(aoul,cmie; for 1 have long since taken, with regard to you, the motto of the friends of the thlrone. Aiany prettinesses to tlhe pretty Anna for her tlhought andl for herself. I sliall write this week to AM. IIlaski. P'A1 n, July 8, 1837. I just receive your number 2)9, in whiech there is an "at last! " which makes me tremble, dear, for it is now nearly a month since I wrote to you. Thle explanation of my silence is in '" La Femme Superieure," which fills seventy-five columns of the " Presse" and which was written in a month, day by day. I sat tiup thirty nighlts of that damnmed month, and I don't believe that I slept more thlan sixty-odd hours in the course of it; I never had time to trim my beard, and I, tlhe enemy of all affectation, now wear the goat's b}eard of La Jeune France. After writing this letter I must take a batli, not without terror, for I amn afraid of relax" 1837] Letters to Mladame Hanskca. 421 ing the fibres which are strung up to the highest tension; and I must begin again on i' (>Csar Birotteau," which is growing ridiculous on account of its delays. Besides, it is now ten months since the "' Figaro" paid me for it. Nothing can express to you the sweeping onward of such mad work. At any price I must have my freedom of mind, for, another year of this life, and I shall die at my oar. I have done during tills month, "k Les Martyrs ignores " ' Massimilla Doni," and I' Gamb'ara." When I have finished " Cesar Birotteau " I must then do " La Maison Nucingen et Compagnie " and another book, which will bring me to the end of these miseries that give me so much toil and no money. I found time to see about the packing of that portrait, which you will surely have, I think, before this letter reaches you. The long delay of your number 29 has added to all my troubles the fear of some illness in your home; you cannot think what anxiety that puts into my mind. And I fear so much lest some breath of poisoned slander, sonime calumny may reach you, lest the sorrows of my life may have wearied you, that the failure of your letters puts me in a fever. I will not talk to you again of the difficulties of my life, for the affair you know of has rendered them enormous and insurmountable. While I work night and day to free my pen, my new p)ublishers give me nothing until I work for them; so that I must run in debt, and all my money worries will begin again. Werdet's failure has killed me. I imprudently indorsed for him, I was sued, and I was forced to hide and defend myself. The men whose duty it is to arrest debtors discovered me, thanks to treachery, and I had the pain of compromising the persons who had generously given me an asylum. It was necessary, in order not to go to prison, to find the money for the Werdet debt at once, and, consequently, to involve myself again to those who lent it to me. 4'2 lono),(,or, d, ailzta(<. [l837 Such a little episode in the midst of my toil! 1 will lno longer wring your heart with the details (,f my struggle. Besides, it would take volumes to tell you all of them aind explain them. The tritli is, I (0o not live. Always toil! I calnot sitl))ort thiss life for more than three or four months at a time. I hlave still fortytive days more of it; after that I shtil be utterly broken lowll, lid thell I will go and rex ive ili t!le solitude of the Ukraine, if God permits it. I ho(pe t) lat till thie end of "G sar Birotteau." "La Femnie Supl)rieure " mMakes two, thick Svo volunmes. It is eiended ill the nlewspap)er, l)ut not in tile b0ook form; I am addiJng a fourthl Part. I wish I lad strength ennloui t., give tile en.id of "' liusionis Perdues." utlt that is very,lillicult; tll)oug'l very urogent, because ly p):lymetlt of fiftee hundtTled frances.a month does not beg'il till then. Not only have I not cloe(,. 1l tOle gl!f of sorrows, tbut I have not closed thnIt of my bnei.ss affair s. I ho-"ve hopl)ed(l so often tltiat I am wea\ry of htoie, as I told you. I am a prey to (dee) dlisgust, ail(d I shut mivsilf 11) in colplete solitude. Neverthleless, a g'rand1( affair is lprel)paring' for ine il tlhe l)ublication of my w)orks, witli viglel tes, etc., restilng ul)o)I n a enterprise bot1l in(.itilgo anid attraetive t l the pullic. This is.an interest in a tltilie, create(l from a portion of tlme profit of sub[scril)ers, who are divided into classes and( ages; one to teni, ten to twenty, twenty to tlhirty, thirty to forty, forty to fifty, fifty to sixty, sixty to seveinty, seventy to eighllty. So,, tile sub)scriber will obtain a nagiieet volumne, ast I() t) ypograt)ili execution, and tile chlance of thirty thousand( fralncs illeone for having subscri)bed. Also tile caplital of tlie income will remain to the subscriber's family. It is very filue; but it needs three thousand sublscribers per class to make it lraetieable. tBut imagline that-t, in spite of tlme ardour of my i inai.-tion, I have received so 1837] Letters to JIacdame E11nskca. 423) many blows that I shall see this project played with an indifferent eye. An enormous sum is required for advertising; and four hundred thousand francs for the vignettes alone. The work will be in fifty volumes, published in demi-volumes. It will include the '" Etudes de MAeurs" complete, the "Etudes Philosophiques " complete, and the "Etudes Analytiques " complete, under the general title of " Etudes Sociales." In four years the whole will have been published. The vignettes will be in the text itself, and there will be seventy-five in a volume, which will prevent all piracy in foreign countries. But this depends still on several administrative points to settle. May fate grant it success! It is high time. I feel that a few days more like the last, and I am vanquished. I, who know so amply what misfortune is, I cry to you from the depths of my study, enjoy the material good that M. Hanski bestows upon you, and which you justly boast of to me. I wish with all the power of my soul that you may never know such miseries as mine. If this affair takes place, and taking place, succeeds, you shall be the first informed of it; and never letter more joyous will rush through Europe! But I have reached the point of very great doubt in all business affairs. You will some day read " La Femme Superieure," and if ever I needed a serious and sincere opinion upon a composition, it is on this. Twenty letters of reprobation reach the newspaper daily, from persons who stop their subscriptions, etc., saying that nothing could be more wearisome, it is all insipid gal)bbling, etc.; and they send me these letters! There is one, among others, froin a man who calls himself my great admirer, which says that <" he cannot conceive the stupidity of such a composition." If that is so, I must have been heavily mistaken. This distrust, into which such communications throw an author, is little propitious to a start on " Cesar Birotteau " 4i24 ]-io,'c dce bc tz'. '. [1837 whichl I make to-dyn aand must push with the greatest celerity. I have ro)bed you of the manuscript and proofs of " La Feinme Superieire " to the profit of my ca,'t so'11(el, who h1as none of these things, and who, on seeiug tlIe bound proofs brought home to me for you, said, inl a inelanchioly tone, ' Amn I never to have any of them myself? S ) I tlhought to give her those of '" La Feinme Sup)rieuire' " I [will keep those of tlhe reprints for you. On eolniiig out of my painlful labour of forty-five (lays, I have religiously put your dear Anna's heart's-ease into 1m1 " Imitation of Jesus Christ," where there is another onl a fragment of a yellow sash. What events, what thoughlts have passed beneath hel:tven's trch in sevein years and(l what terror must one fecl as one sees one's self advancing ever, with no lull in the storm! One must not think of happy fancies pictured on tlie horizon, especially when the soul is ever in m~ournillog. I senld ou a thousand caressin(r desires; I would that vyou had all tie happl)iness that flees from min. I see but tO) well thlat my life can never be other than a life of toil, and that f must place my pleasure there, in the oc(cupation 1by which I live. And yet, when my pen is free, two or three months hence, I slhall once more tempt fortune I shalll nake a lhst effort. B1it if I (lo so, it is be(enuse there is 1no risk of money. After that, if nothing comnes of it,, T shall retire into some corner, to live there like a country curlate without parishiolners, indifferent to all manterial interests, and resting on my liheart and my imagoination,-tl(hose two goreat motive powers of life. ''tliis s only telling you that you count for more than half in that vision. I (lid not finishl ' Berthe la Repentie" without thinking at every line that I bee'an it with fury at Pre-1' Eveque iln 18:l-, now nearly four years ago. I )oughlit never to have had debts; I ought to have lived like a canon in the 1837] Letters to LMadamle Halskla. 425 Ukraine, having no other function than to drive away your blue devils and those ef M. Hanski and write a dizain, every year. 'T would have been too beautiful a life. Between repose and me there are twelve thousand ducats of debt, and the farther I go, the more they increase. Chateaubriand is dying of hunger. He sold his past as author, and he has sold his future. The future gives him twelve thousand francs a year, so long as he publishes nothing; twenty-five thousand if he publishes. That to him is poverty; he is seventy-five years old, an age at which all genius is extinct, but the memories of youth reflower. That is how we love - the first time in reality, the second time in memory. Addio, cdrac. I must leave you to take up my dizain and " Csar Birotteau " alternately. I would give I know not what, all, except our dear friendship, to have finished those two works which will bring me in nothing but insults. I think it surprising that you had not received my New Year's gift in June, for Colonel Frankowski has been in Poland three months. Put a kiss on Anna's forehead from her horse, the quietest she will ever have in her stables. Remember me to all about you and to M. Hanski. I send nothing to you who possess the whole of this Parisian moujik. I conceived yesterday a work grand in its thought, small in its volume; it is a book I shall do immediately. It will be called by some man's name, such as " Jules, or the new Abeilard." The subject will be the letters of two lovers led to the religious life by love, a true heroic romance a la Scudery. PARIS, July, 19, 1837. Cara, you will end by being so weary of my jeremiads that when you receive a letter from me you will fling it into the fire without opening it, certain that it is a garretful of blue devils and the amplest stock of melancholy in 42( filonorc de Balzac. [1 83 the world. If my fat and daring countenance is at this moment installed before you, you will never behold my griefs on that swelling' forehead -less ample, less beautiful than yours -lor oll those rotund lcheeks of a lazy monk. But so it is. Hle wlio was created for pleasure Iand happy carelessiness, for love and for luxury, works like a galley-slave. I was talking to lecine yesterday about writing for tle statge. 'I Beware of that," lie said; '" lie who is aceustoitied to Blrest cannot accistom!himself to Toulon. Stay in yo(ur own galley." I am the lighter by tliree works: here is the third dl;zo(i done ill mlallnuscript, but not in proofs; here is "(xainara'" finished, and I am at tlle last proof of " Aassimilla I)oni; " anl( finally, in three days I shlall beoin time end of " C('sar Birotteau." I hope the woodman brings down trees; I hope the workman is no bungler. But I amn always meetingg worthy people, Parisians, who say to me, " AWhy don't you publish something?" Yesterday, after leaviing Ileine, I met Rothschild on thle b)oulevard, that is to say, all the wit and money of tlie lews; a~nd lie said to me, " What are you doing now?" L la Femnme Sup(rieure" bhas been inundatiilg tlhe " Presse " for tlhe last fortnig'ht! (Joar( you talk to me still of my dissipation, my travels, tand society. That is wrong in you. I travel when it is impossibl)e to rouse my broken-down brain. When I return, I shut myself up and work night and day until death comes-of the brain, b}e it understood, though a man may die of work. I did wrong not to go to the Ukraine, but I anm the first piunished; that wrong was caused by my poverty. But I have just discovered an economical means of convevanee which I shall use as soon as I anm free. It is to go from here to IHavre, Havre to Ilamburg, Hamburg to Berlin, Berlin to Breslau, Breslau to Lemberg, Leniberg to Brody. I think that route will 1837] Letters to Mlfadame Hanskca. 427 not be dear, as so much is done by water. From Paris to Hamburg, four days, is two hundred francs, everything included. Only, will you come and fetch me at Brody, where I shall be without a vehicle and ignorant of the language? That is the project I am caressing; and it makes me hasten my work. There is nothing new about the grand affair of my publication on the tontine plan. But the petty newspapers are already laughing at this enterprise, which they know nothing about, and solely because it makes to my profit. Is not this singular? I was just here when Auguste brought me your kind and very amiable number 30 - in the sense that there is an adorable number of pages. In the first place, cara, I see that you are not speaking to me with a frank heart iu fearing that your letter would be flung down with disdain! and you came near using a worse word. All! have we never understood each other? Have you no idea of friendship, -- no knowledge of true sentiments? It must be so, if you can imagine I am not more interested in your missing book and all that happens around you than I am in the finest or the most hideous events of the world. I am so angry, so shaken bly that passage in your letter that my hand trembles as if I had killed my neighbour. It is you who have killed something in me. But you can revive it by pouring out to me without fear your reveries. Next, you tell me that I am hiding from you some gambling loss, some disaster, and that I am a poor head financially. Dear and beautiful chlatelaine, you talk of poverty like one who does not know it and who never will know it. The unfortunate are always wrong, because they begin hy being unfortunate. Must I for the fifth or sixth time explain to you the mechanism of my poverty, and how it is that it only grows and increases? I will do so, if only to prove to you that I am the greatest financier of the epoch. But 428 4Honore, de Balzac. [1837 we will never return to the subject again, will we?- for there is nothineg sadder than to relate troubles from which we still suffer: - In 1828 1 was flung into this poor rue Cassini, when my family would not even give nme bread, in consequence of a. li(quidation to which they compelled me, owing one hundred thousand francs and being without a penny. There, then, was a man who had to have six thousand francs to pay his interests, and three thousand francs on which to live; total, nine thousand francs a year. Now, during the years 1828, 1829, and 1830 I did not earn more than three thousand francs, for Al. de Latouche paid only one thousand for " Les Chouans; " the publisher Mame failed and paid me only seven hundred and fifty francs, instead of fifteen hundred, for the " Scenes de la Vie prive'e;" the "' Physiologie du Mariage " brought me only one thousand francs, through the bad faith of the publisher; and MI. (le Girardin paid me only fifty francs a fe/eille [16 pages] in his paper "' La Mode." Thus in the course of three years my debt was increased by twentyfour thousand francs. 1830 came; general disaster to the publishing business. "La Peau de Clmagrin " paid me only seven hundred francs; three thousand later by adding the '" Contes Philosophiques " to it. Then the I' Revue de Paris' took ten feftilles a year, at one hundred and sixty francs: total, sixteen hundred francs. So 1830 and 1831 together gave me only ten thousand francs; but I had to l)ay eighteen thousand francs for interest and my living. Thus I increased the debt by eight thousand francs. The capital of tlie debt then amounted to one hundred and thirty-two thousand francs. 18:33 came; and thlen by mnaking my agreement with Madame B1elleet I found myself equal to my living and my debt; that is to say, I could live and pay my interest; because from 18t3 to 18s(; earned ten thlousand francs 1837] 1Lctters to illadclnae Jlanska. 429 a year; I then owed six thousand two hundred francs interest, and I supposed I could live on four thousand francs. But, at this moment of success, new disasters calne. A man who has only his pen, and who must meet ten thousand francs a year when lie does not have them, is compelled to many sacrifices. It was soon, not one hundred and thirty-two thousand francs that I owed, but one hundred and forty thousand, for how did I fight the necessity that pressed upon me? With an aide-de-camp who may be compared to the vulture of Prometheus [Werdet]; with usurers who made me pay nine, ten, twelve, twenty per cent interest, and who consumed in applications, proceedings, and errands fifty per cent and more of my time. Moreover, I had signed agreements with publishers who had advanced me money on work to be done; so that when I signed the Bechet agreement I had to deduct from the thirty thousand francs she was to pay me for the first twelve volumes of the " Etudes de Moeurs " ten thousand francs to indemnify Gosselin and two other publishers. So it was not thirty thousand, but twenty thousand francs only; and those twenty thousand are reduced to ten thousand by a loss I have lately met with, of copies that were worth that sum. The fire in the rue du Pot-de-Fer consumed the volumes I bought back from Gosselin. So my position in 1837 exactly corresponds with these facts, when it places me with one hundred and sixty-two thousand francs of debt; for all that I have earned has never covered interests and expenses. My expenditure in luxury, for which you sometimes blame me, is produced by two necessities. First: when a man works as I do, and his time is worth to him twenty to fifty francs an hour, he heeds a carriage, for a carriage is an economy. Then he must have lights all night, coffee at all hours, much fire, and everything orderly about him; it is that which 430 HIIoor, de Balzac. [ls837 constitutes the costly life of Paris. Second: ill Paris, those who specculate il literature llave no other thouglht than to extort from it. If I had stayed in a garret 1 should have earned nothin. Thllis is what ruinls tile ment of letters in P1aris, - Karr, (oslan, etc. They are neety, and it is known; publishers pay them five lhulndred francs for what is worth three thousand. I therefore considered it igood business to exhibit an exterior of fortune, so as not to be btnrgained with and to fix my owvn price. If you do not regard with admiration a man wh.o, bearing the weight of such a debt, writig with one handl, lighting with the other,,rlcci' co(0)01 tti[l/ ( boselcess, cringing to no usurer, nor to journalism, imploring no man, neither his creditor nor his friend, never tottering ill the most suSlpicious, most selfish, most mieinci-ly country in the world, where they lend to the ricih only, - maln whom calumny has pursued and is still pursuing, a man who they said was ill Sainte P1lagie when lie was witit you in Vienna, - then you know nothing of the world! t 1 For a fuller underst idling' of tllis, I refer tlh reader to Ils sister's account of his pecunli;rv trials, and to a brief statement of the then existing system of literary Ipayments, wilich will be found in my "Memloir of lBalzac," pp. 70, 71, 81, 08), 158-160(. It is possible that liad Balzac 1 (' (maotle —r i(tn lie iliglit have rid himiself of his ini'b.ls of debt -tlo()uglh it is difli-ull to say lhow a yo(mig mani owing 100.0(10 francs an'd (; per cent interest oi themii, without one penny to) pay either debt or iiiterest, could have,lone so. But the question here is: Could the iiuan wli( se lbusiless it was to know men live apart fronm their lives, a beggar ini a garret? Can tlie (elius wliose mission it was to giasp tlhe wliole of human society le jul(de (l in lhis lunsii:ess methlodls lile a citv halmke-,r? Edmond WVdetl tlie inpudishler. wlho said lie suffered tlronufrgh llis Imi)licatioji of l'lzac's wo ks, and wh), nio yvears after lhis deathl, wroto a 1io1 unpon himin partly for revena-e (" Portrait intime de IBalzac, sa vie, son hmienr, ot son anractere. 1 vol(., Paris, 1859), hrouglit no charge agalill-t hiim o)f wanit,of pro-liity, o- of failure to keep his money enga)ger.reents. (On the contrary, lie says in one place: "Ile wans an a honest st man in de)t, not a lmsiness man ii delt. as M. Tli'oe has said of limn" Th1 another place lhe says: " alzac lhail I is ahtridslities if vii) will, let lie was exei)mpt from vxies. "-T,. 1837] Letters to Aiadame Hanska. 431 The enterprise of the " Chronique de Paris" was undertaken to play a bold stroke and pay off my debt. Instead of winning, I lost. It was a horrible reverse. And in the midst of this hell of conflicting interests, of days without bread, of friends who betrayed me, of jealousies that tried to injure me, I had to write ceaselessly, to think, to toil; to have droll ideas when I wept, to write of love with a heart bleeding from inward wounds, with scarce a hope on the horizon - and that hope reproachful, and asking from a knight brought back from the battle, where and why he was wounded. Cara, do not condemn in the midst of this long torture the poor struggler who seeks a corner where to sit down and recover breath, where to breathe the sweet air of the shore and not the dusty air of the arena; do not blame me for having spent a few miserable thousand francs in going to Neufchatel, Geneva, Vienna, and twice to Italy. (You do not comprehend Italy; in that you are dull, and I will tell you why.) Do not blame me for going to spend two or three months near you; for without these halts I should be dead. Imprint this very succinct explanation in your beautiful and noble, pure, sublime head, and never return to these ideas that I gamble, etc.; for I have never gambled, never had any other disasters than those into which my own kindness dragged me. Alas! I thought my pious offering for the new year had reached your hands; for allow me the intoxicating pleasure of thinking that what I give you caused me a little privation. It is in that way that poverty can equal riches. If that poor man has sold it he must have been much in need. But I shall never console myself for knowing that the chain you gave me in Geneva is not in your hands. The misfortune I can repair. What is irreparable is that the mails arrive without 432 IIo4noreo de Baiz'a[C. [1837 brinlgilng me any letters from you. You make to yourself false ideas about me, and you do not know to what black dragons I fall a vi(tim when a fortnight passes without marina from thle Ukraine. What! you did not receive tlhat letter from Sion? In futlifre, whein I travel I shall prepay my letters myself. Oil! the honour of Swiss innkeepers! The rascal in wholl I truste(d must have )urne(l the letter and kept the francs I goave hin to preplay it. You al(l I are not of tlhe same opinion on religious questions, but I should be in despair it you adopted my idea s; I like better to see you keep your own; and I shall never do anythillg, even though I think I am right, to destroy them. Only, knowing you to be a good and true Catholic, I prefer the pages in whllich you disappoint me to those in which you preach to me Catholi('ism; and yet, they all give me the greatest pleasure. That is only telling you that I want both. I conceive of Catholicism as poesy, and I am preparing a work in which two lovers are led by love to tle religious life; then that btf of ~ l(ti/s whom vyo call your aunt will like me much and declare that I make a good use of my talents! Add;o. You have very cruelly proved to me that you have a prudent friendship for me; you ju(dge very sternlly tlie poor strivings of a stormy life which, from its youth tlt, ihas never hiad the satisfaction of saying to itself, Thills is really mine." I send you a letter I received yesterday from my sister; you will see that the poor child cannot help weeping when I weep, and laughing when I laugh. But then, it is true, she is near me, and you are in the Ukraine. And besides, those who are truly beloved are always sure of not wounding, for from them all is clear - even unjust bln me. A thousand friendly compliments to M. Hanski and 1837] Letters to Madame Hanska. 433 remembrances to all. A kiss on the hair of your dear Anna. Thanks for the heart's-ease. For you only. I should be most unjust if I did not say that from 1823 to 1833 an angel sustained me through that horrible war. Madame de Berny, though married, was like a God to me. She was a mother, friend, family, counsellor; she made the writer, she consoled the young man, she created his taste, she wept like a sister, she laughed, she came daily, like a beneficent sleep, to still his sorrows. She did more; though under the control of a husband, she found means to lend me as much as forty-five thousand francs, of which I returned the last six thousand in 1836, with interest at five per cent, be it understood. But she never spoke to me of my debt, except now and then; without her, I should, assuredly, be dead. She often divined that I had eaten nothing for days; she provided for all with angelic goodness; she encouraged that pride which preserves a man from baseness, - for which to-day my enemies reproach me, calling it a silly satisfaction in myself - the pride that Boulanger has, perhaps, pushed to excess in my portrait. Therefore, that memory is for much in my life; it is ineffaceable, for it mingles with everything. Tears are in me now for two persons only, -- for her who is no more, and for her who still is, and, I hope, ever will be. Thus I am inexplicable to all; for none have ever known tlhe secret of my life; I would not deliver it up to any one. You have detected it; keep it for me securely. Addio. It was liatural that I should not mix this great history of the heart with the tale of my disasters and that of a material life so difficult. But I could not let your analytical forehead cast a thought on my confession of misery that would say I had forgotten her who 28 434 ilonore de Balzac. l1 8;: 7 gave me the strength to resist it, or her who continues that rlde. But let us leave all this henceforth. Let me take up once more my llburden. I bear it alone; and I can but smile at those who ask why I (1do not run thus laden. But neither do I wish you, in thinking' of me, to see me always suffering and harassed. There come hours when I look from my window, my eyes to the sky, forgetting' all, lost as I am in memories. If the sorrowful had not the power to foroget their sorrows, if they could not make themselves an oasis where the springs and the palnms are, wlhat would become of us? Adieu; do not blam)e me a,,ain without thinking of all tlhat ought to keel) you from sayingv that I conceal some great catastrophe. I)o you think that I lose millions in the boudoir of an opera girl? ScnfIE:, August 25, 1837. I receive your number 31 here. I ended by gettiing an iniflammation of the lungs, and I came to Touraine b)y order of the doctor, who advised me not to work, but to amuse myself, and walk about. To amnuse myself is impossib)le. Nothing but travel can counterbalance my work. As for working, that is still impossible; even the writingc of these few lines has given me an intolerable pain in the back between the shoulders; and as for walkingl, that is still more impossible; for I cough so ct/edl// tlhat I fear to check the perspiration it causes by passing from warm to cool spots and'breezy openings. I thought Touraine would do me good. But my illness has increased. The whole left lung is involved, and I return to Paris to submit to a fresh examination. But as I must, no matter what state I am in, resume my work and leave a mild and milky regimen for that of stimulants, I feel thlat toil will carry me off. I have reached a point where I 1no longer regret life; i837] Letters to Madame Hanska. 435 hopes are too distant; tranquillity too laborious to attain. If I had only moderate work to do I would submit without a murmur to this fate; but I have too much grief, too many enemies. The third Part of the " Etudes Philosophiques " is now for sale. Not a paper has noticed it. Fourteen copies have been sold, though nearly all was new and unpublished"! The indorsements I so imprudently gave to that miserable Werdet have given rise to a keener pursuit of ine than I ever had for real debt; for I never met with such severity, having, ever since I lived in the world, been strictly punctual. Never was an illness more untimely for my affairs. You must think tlhat your (lear letter came as a benefaction from Providence in the solitude of Sachd. But, (ear, why do you make, like those spiteful little feuilletonists and so many others, the false reasoning that considers an author guilty of all that he puts into the mouth of his actors? Because I paint a journalist without faith or law, make him talk as he thinks, and begin the portrait of that hideous and cancerous sore, does it follow that my literature is that of a commercial traveller? You are so wrong in this that I will not insist; only, I don't like to find my polar star at fault, nor to catch myself smiling as I kiss her pages. You are infallible for me. 'Do not quarrel with me too much in the little time I have to live. The grand affair is coming on. They engrave, design, and print vigorously. But, if there is success, success will come too late. I feel myself decidedly ill. I should have done better to go and pass six months at Wierzchownia than to stay on the battle-field, where I shall end by being knocked over. When one has neither supports nor ammunition there comes a moment when one must capitulate. The whole world of Paris rises in arms against inflexible virtue, and beats it down at any cost. I meditate retiring to Touraine; but I cannot be there 436 lHonore dle Be lz(w,<. L1837 alone. There is no one to see there. One must have all inl one's own home. The moments when my energy deserts me are becoming more frequent, and, in those terrible phases, it is impossible to answer for one's self. There is neither reasoning, nor sentiment, nor doctrinle that can quell the excesses of that crisis, when the soul is, so to speak, absent. Journeys cost so much money, land ruin me for a year or more; thus I am forced to remain in France. The law about tlie National Guard drives me into ooing to Touraine, for it is impossible for me to submit to that rule. So I think tllat towards the middle of September I shall have chosen a little house on the banks of the Cher or the Loire. I am even in treaty for one now, which would suit me very well, but there are serious dilicculties. I am surprised that you have not yet received Boulanger's picture. They assured me it would go by a flying-wa(ggon which went so fast that in l moloth it would be (lelivered in Brody. Now it is mnore than two months since I announced to you its departure. Tills distance between us is somethlino very dreadful. Your letter has been so delayed thlat I feared illnesses; I felared lest your fatigues had affected your health. I see now thlat you and yours are well. I will write you from Paris after seeing the doctor. Why are you vexed with me for not having told you of Madame Contarini? I shlall be angry with you till death for always believing tlhat I need foreign female I)reachers to refresh my memory of my (colntry. Alas! I think of it too much. I have too much subordinated all my thoughts to what you, so distant from me, think, to be happy. In short, I am neither converted nor to be converted, for I have but one religion and I do not divide my sentiments. If my religion is too terrestrial, the fault is in God, '1who made it what it i. Madame Contarini did 1837] Letters to Madame Hanska. not know that she was following in your religious footprints; for it is you who have undertaken my conversion. You are always the providence of some one. That poor Swiss girl, will she love you better than the other? For we ought never to judge those we love; I am very fixed on that principle. The affection that is not blind is no affection at all. I resume this letter at midnight, before going to bed. My bedroom here, which people come to see out of curiosity, looks out on woods that are two or three times centennial, and I take in a view of the Indre and the little chaiteau that I called Clochegourde. The silence is marvellous. I leave to-morrow, 26th, for Tours with M. de Margonne, and the 28th for Paris, where my deplorable affairs need me. I always leave this lonely valley with regret. My mother is very unwell. She sinks under the distress which the precarious position of her childen gives her; for we have to take charge, my brother-in-law, my sister and myself, of the children of my poor dead sister Laurence. What makes me spur tlie principle of my courage so much is my desire to succeed in time to gild her old age. Do you know that your letter is dated July 27, and that I received it August 21?-a whole month! A month without news of you is a very long time for a friendship watching for it at all hours, and often, between two proofs, taking its head in its hands and asking itself, "What is she thinking of?" Well, adieu, for my fatigue is returning; I am going to bed and shall think of all I have not told you, forgetfulnesses which come of so short a letter; in Paris I shall have more to tell you. But, no matter what I say, find ever on my pages the purest and sweetest flowers of an affection that distance cannot lessen, which springs 438 lonorn e de Balzac. [1837 across that distance, - an affection known to you, and which, in a word, is ever prolix. I'vni, September 1, 1837. Careft, I hasten to tell you that the inflammation, which turned into bronchitis, is now cured. Ilut I must beiin work again, and ()od knows what will happ)en in collsequence of newv excesses. Thlough all goes wvell 1)lysically, tall goes ill pecuniar'.ly; ajn(l I will not tell yotu the particulals, lest they bring upon inme more utnjust suspicio(s. 1 begin tllis evening a comedy in five acts, entitled, 'Joseph Prud(homme;" for I unicst come to that klst resource; I am in the condition of "My kingdom for a horse! " Three months hence you will receive three very important works: "'Csar 1irotteau," tile third ([7,^'(i, a(nd tlle "Lettres de deulx Amants, on le nouvel Abeilard." I count the comedy as nothing'. I think I have never done anytiling that can be compared to "Berthe la Replentie," tile diamond of the thlird Yd'u/zz. You brought luck to that poem, for the first chapter was written in Geneva, three days after my arrival. I wish not to tell you anything about the "Lettres d( deuix Amants; " that is a surprise I desire to make to my dear preachleress, to teach her to com)lprehend that when one has undertaken to paint thle whole of a morlal world, one must paint it under all its aspects, with believers and uInbelievers, and every one in his 1)lace. Apropos of the comedy which I am now go(ing' to aittempt and to put upon the slage, I admnire to see how persistemie is necessary in art. That comedy lies been inl my head for ten years; it lhas come bLack a(nd back under divers faces, it has been a score of times cast alnd(l recast, modified, made, remade, and made ag:ain, and now it is about to come to thle surface, new ad vulgar, gratnd 1837j Letters to Madame Hanska. 439 and simple. I am delighted with it; I foresee a great success and a work which may maintain itself on the repertory among the score of plays which make the glory of the ThciAtre-Francais. I have a second sight about it, as about "La Peau de Chagrin" and "Eugonie Grandet." After being reassured by the friend to whom I confided the first doubt I had about it, I have seen in it the elements of a great thing. There is comedy and dumb tragedy, laughter and tears both. It has five acts, as long and fertile as those of "Le Mariage de Figaro." This work, brought to birth in the midst of my present miseries, is, at this moment, like a carbuncle glowing in the shadows of a muddy grotto. A terrible desire seizes me to go and write it in Switzerland, at Geneva; but the dearness of living among those Swiss alarms me. I have just seen the drawings made for "La Peau de Chagrin," and they are wonderful. This enterprise is gigantic. Four thousand steel engravings, drawn on copper-plate in the text itself. One hundred per volume! In short, if this affair succeeds, the "Etudes Sociales".will be brought forth in their entirety, in a magnificent costume, with regal trappings. Admit that if, in a few months, Fortune visits my threshold, I shall have earned her well; and be sure that I shall cling fast hold on whatever she deigns to fling to me. Never did I find myself in such a tempest as now, and never did hope show herself so serene or so beautiful; she is lustrous in her turquoise, she smiles to me, and I let myself go to that smile which helps me to bear my misfortunes. Without these celestial apparitions what would become of poets and of artists when unhappy? Adieu, dear. I must not tire you too long with the echoes of the storml- unless, indeed, they make Wierz 440 Honor'c de Balzac. [1837 chownia the sweeter to you, and the long expanse of the Ukraine more placid to your eye. I do not understand how it is that I am not, in the middle of August, installed in some corner of your mansion, duly framed and mounted, with all the monastic dignity that painter gave me. You cannot imlagine how beautiful Paris is becoming. We needed the reign of a trowel to arrive at such grand results. This magnificence, which advances daily and on all sides, will make us worthy of being the capital of the world. The boulevards Faved with asphalt, lighted by bronze candelabra with gas, tlhe increasing splend(our of the shops, of that fail, two leagues long, perpetually going on and varied by ever new handiworks, compose a spectacle that is unequalled. In ten years we slhall be clean; "Paris mud " will be out of the dictionaries; we shall become so magnificent that Paris will be really a great lady, the first of queens, crowned with battlements. I renounce Touraine and remain a citizen of the intellectual metropolis. But I shall exempt myself from the draconian tyranny of the National Guard by puttilng three leagues of distance between me and this terrible queen. Respect is good taste towards royalties. An obscure village will receive my miseries and my grandeurs. Your moujik will have a very humble cottage, whence he will now and then depl)art at lhalf-past six to reach the Italian Opera at eight, for music is a distraction, the only one that remains to him. Those beneficent voices refresh both soul and mind. Adieu, dear. You share in sorrows; it is right that I should send you rays of gentle lhope when she makes an azure rift athwart tlie dais of gray cloud. God grant thlat star may not fall like others, but lead me to some treasure-trove. I please myself in thinking that you are happy; that 1837] Letters to Ml3dame Ianskca. 441 your life has taken, after the departure of your guests, its accustomed way, that Paulowska brings you in her golden fleeces, that no one steals your books, that no wicked page of mine has furrowed that brow so full of dazzling majesty; in short, that you have all the crumbs of little happiness, for that is much. Materialities, which are the half of life, are not lacking to you; and if they bring monotony, at least the energy that may spend itself in sacred regions - where you bear it to the detriment of this poor passionate earth - is not exhausted. You know, this long time, what wishes I make that life be light upon you. I hope that Anna, and your tall young ladies, and the master, and the Swiss maid, in short, all your household, are well, and that you have no grief that makes you lift your eyes to heaven. After that phrase I pick up my spade, I mean my pen, and dig in the field "Birotteau," which still needs delving and rolling and raking and watering; and when you read the letter of Francois to Cesar, remember that it was there that my thought made a pause to turn to you and send you this letter across your steppe, like a flower of friendship asking asylum in your soil, which, in spite of wintry snows, will be always coloured and perfumed by a sincere affection. SEIVRES, October 10, 1837. Much timne has gone by without my writing to you; I have lived so tempestuously that I am not sure whether on my return from Touraine and after my convalescence I thought to tell you that my chest was quite well and had nothing the matter with it. In order to put myself outside of that atrocious law of the National Guard, I have removed from the rue Cassini and the rue des Batailles, and legally quitted Paris; that is to say, I have gone before three mayors 442 Honor ' de eBlzac. B1837 and declared that I quitted the capital; after which I installed myself and live here at S vres. Therefore take note that after you receive this letter you must a((ldress your letters to "AMonsieur Surville, rue de la Ville-d'Avrav, Sevres, Seine-et-Oise," for I must receive my letters under that name for some montlhs to come, so that lmy address may not be kno)wn at the post-ollice, partly for secret reasons (whichl are Werdet's failure, and the pursuit which I must endule tidl I can earn tlie money to pay u1) 1ny ilndorsemnelns), and partly to escape the great quantity of letters with wlhich ujiknown men and women overwhelin me. I lhave bought here a bit of grounld contfilling some forty ro{ds, on which my brotller-inlaw is going to build mne a tiny house, where I shall henceforth live until llmy fortune is made, or where I shall remlain forever if I stay a beggar. When it is built, and I tam in it, which will be in January next, I w ill let you know, and you can then write to ime under my own name, and put tihe address of my poor hermitage, which is "Les Jardies," the name of the piece of ground on whlich I hal ng' like a worm on a green leaf. Land about Paris is so parcelled lut tlhat I a(ld to negotiate with three peasants to collect this lot of forty rods, and a rod cont:ins only seventeen s(tuare feet. I am here at a distaiie which allows me to go ao n come from Paris in two hoturs. I can g~o to tlhe theatre and sleep at home. I ama in Paris without beinig there. There are neither heavy taxes nor tolls; living is cheaper, and the day when I can make sure of having a thousand francs a month for myself I can have a carriag(e. And finally, I escape that perpetual inquisition which publishes every step I take and every word I say. I shall neither see nor receive any onle. Th'lien instead of spending twenty tlhousaind francs witli other people where I may lodge, I shall spend tlhemi on mny ownl home, and nothing shall ever get me out of that. You 1Sl7] Letters to J!kdaine Han'ska. 443 would never believe how I like fixedness. Constancy is one of the corner-stones of my nature. You can easily understand that these turmoils have not left -me a minute to myself. I have looked at a hundred 'houses around Paris, and been in negotiations for several. For a whole month I have roamed the environs to find what I wanted on the exact boundary of the department of the Seine and Seine-et-Oise. I came very near buying one house; but after convincing myself that I should have to spend twenty thousand francs in re'pairs and alterations to suit myself, I determined to buy a piece of ground and build; for a house would cost only twelve thousand francs, built as I wished it, and the land, with the peasant's house on it, came to not more than five thousand. Reckoning the interior at three thousand, the who)le would be twenty thousand, and allowing five thousand for mistakes, that would make twenty-five thousand; that is, a rental of twelve hundred francs a year, and the comfort of having one's cabin to one's self without the annoyances of noise, for my land backs upon the park of Saint-Cloud. I have retained the apartment in the rue d(le Batailles for a few months to store my furniture until I install myself at Les Jardies. I hasten to write to you, because to-morrow I begin "La Maison NucinTgen " for the "'Presse." That meals fifty columns to hatch out before the end of the month, and then? -then my pen will be free, for my new editors have compromised with the defunct '"Figaro," now about to rise from its aslhes, and I have finished that third di;zain. So, about November 1 my pen will owe nothing to any one, and I can begin the execution of my new treaty by the publication of "C6sar Blirotteau." But, as that work cannot appearl before January 1, and as I have had an advance of twvo months, I shall receive no money till March. My distress must therefore go on for six months longer, and it is frightful. 444 4I44oi'o cle B(tlztc. [1837 This illness Ias made inc lose six irreparable weeks. I think ever, if my embarrassments are too great, of 4going to take refuge with you. for three months. I keep that project for a last resource, and I now repent that I have not already put it into execution; for when I aln kullOwn to be tiavelling everybody waits, and nobody says aulythi1ng. After that, returning with one or two plays in hand, all my money troubles could be pacilied. But I canlnot do that until I have paid my pen debts and,,iven one work to my new editors; which throws me over to the month of February. - if, always, my house is tinished and I am in it. I cannot give you an idea of thle turmL)il in which I have been for the last six weeks, iand the disconnectedness of my life, usually (in boly) so l)eacefll. And all the while I had to read proofs and write. You are ignorant, in your Ukraine, of what Parisian removals are; nothing describes them but a provincial saying: "Three removals are e(lual to one conflagration." In the midst of these worries and fatigues I have had two joys: they atre your two letters, which I shalll answer in a few days, for I have united them with their elders in a precious casket which I took to my sister, in order not to subject themn to these removal agitations. I think there is something in them I ought to answer. It is probable that I shall not go to the Opera, and this will be, I assure you, a great privation; because there is nothing that distracts my mind like music, and I do not know how else to relax my soul. Nothing will remain to me but the contemplation of the azure waves of hope, and I don't know whether this hovering with spread wings above that infinite, which recedes as we approach it, is not a pain- which pleases perhaps, but is none the less painful. I have had many griefs since I wrote to you. In the passing crisis ill which 1 am, every one has fled me like 1837] Letters to Madame Hanska. 445 a leper. I am all alone. But I prefer this solitude within my solitude to the fawning hatred which is called, in Paris, friendship. I have still a coite to write for my third dizacin, to replace one which was too free, and it is now a month that I have been trying to find something, without avail. Nothing but the want of that fetuille delays the publication.... Next month the announcement of our tontine on the ' Etudes Sociales " will, no doubt, appear; and from the 1st to the 15th the magnificent edition will b)e ready. They have begun with "La Peau de Chagrin." The second volume will be "Le Medecin de campagne," and the third "Le Lys dans la Vallee." God grant that the affair succeed! I am in despair at hearing tlhat your ccassolette is in Warsaw, and I cannot imagine why it has not been sent to you by some opportunity. Is there no communication between you and Warsaw? There are now strong reasons for suspecting the person in question, whose journey is inexplicable. I add to this letter a line for him, which you must seal and send to him, to hasten the delivery of that jewel. Write me a line, I beg of you, to let me know if the picture has reached Brody. Double the time it ought to have taken has elapsed, and I am very impatient to know if anything unlucky has happened to it on the journey. I hear nothing of the statue from Milan. Those Italians are really very singular. You wrote me that you might go to Vienna, but have never again mentioned that project. If you go there I could bring you, myself, a whole library of manuscripts which belong to you, and are beginning to be difficult to transport. This is the first time I have ever answered two letters from you; for if you reckon up, you will see that in letter-writing I have the advantage, in spite of what 446 flonore de Balzac. [1837 you call, so insultingly, your chatter. Whatever it is, 1 am grieved when I do not get it, and it is now a fortnight since I have seen Auguste enter, bearingo respectfully a little packet, neatly folded and(l very sprulce, which comes from such distaince and yet has nothing of the immensity of the steppes in its form. My play, the comedy in five acts, is all laid out, and as your opinion has made inme cillage and modify the one I first began, I (dare not tell you this one, because when your reply comes it will be written, and if you are against it you will throw me into terrible perplexities. Is not this falling on one's knees before one's critic? Wherefore, behold me there! I place myself at your feet with a good grace, entreatinog you to pay no attention to what I have just said, and to go your way with your female scissors through my plot, and cut up my (Iramatic calico mercilessly, for, in my present situation, this play represents a hullndred thousallnd francs, and I must make it a lnasterp)iece well and quickly, or succumb. You know '"Monsieur Prudhomme," tlie type mande by Ilenri Moinier? I take it boldly; because in order to seize success one nmust not have to obtain acceptlance for a creation. One must, like the alassa(lor making love, buy it reldy-made. Hence, there is lIO anxiety about the personlage; I am slure of tlie laughlter so far. Only, I must annihilate MIonnier, anll mly Prmlllolnlne nmust be the Prudhomme. Mtonnier mIade only a poor vaudeville of burlesques; I shall imake live acts for the Th(eatre-Fran ais. P'rudhomme, as type of our present bourgeoisie, as image of the Gannerons, of thle Autiks, of the National Guard, of that middle-class on whlicll / pio-drone rests, is a personage far more comic than Turcaret, droller than Figaro. HeI is wholly of tlie present day. Here is tihe sulject: - 1837] Letters to Madame IEanskca. 447 At thirty-seven years of age, Prudhomme is seized with a passion for the daughter of a porter, - charming person, who studies at the Conservatoire and has carried off prizes. She sees before her the career of Mademoiselle Mars; she has distinction, jargon, she is quite cornmne ilftuat; she is eighteen, but she has been already betrayed in a first love; she has had a son by a pupil at the Conservatoire, who has gone to America out of love for his child, being alarmed by his poverty, and resolved to make his fortune. Pamela mourns him, but she has the child on her arms. The desire to support and bring up her child makes her marry Prudhomme, from whom she conceals her situation. Prudhommne, at thirtyseven, possesses thirty thousand francs in savings; he has invested them in the mines of Anzin in 1815, and his shares are worth, in 1817, three hundred thousand francs. That incites him to marry. The marriage takes place. He has a daughter by his wife. The thousand-franc shares of Anzin are worth, in 1834, one hundred and fifty thousand francs. This is the prologue; for the play itself begins in 1834, eighteen years later. Monsieur Prudhonmme has realized fifteen hundred thousand francs on half his shares, and keeps the rest. He has made himself a banker; and, as happens to all imbeciles, he has prospered under the advice of his wife, who is an angelic and superior woman, full of propriety and good taste. She has known how to play the rile of a woman of means. But her attachment to her husband, inspired by the really good qualities of that ridiculous man, strengthened by the passion that lie has for her, by the comfort that he gives her through his wealth, is balanced by the maternal sentiment exalted to the highest p)itch which Pamela bears to her first child, whom, thanks to this wealth, she was enabled to bring up, with an invisible hand, until two years earlier, when she introduced him into her own home, without his knowing 448 IIonorc de Balzac. [1837 the truth. Adolphe is made head clerk, and the poor mother has played her dreadful part so carefully that no one, not even Adolphe, suspects the great love that envelops him. M. Prudhomme is very fond of Adolphe. Mademoiselle Prudhomnme is seventeen years old. The play is entitled "Le MIariage de Mademoiselle Prudho(mme." M. PrudhoLmme, rich from the shares of Anzin, rich with the profits of his bank, and possessing much private properly, will give his daughter a million. She is, therefore, with a mnillion and expectations, one of the best matelhes in P.iris. I must tell you tlhat, mulike the Antonys, Adolphe is a gay, practical young fellow, happy in his position, delighted not to have either father or mother, and never inquiring about them. In that lies a dreadful drama between the mother and her son, for poor Madame Prudhoinme is tortured a dozen times a (lay by the indifference of her son in the matter of his mother, and by a crowd of circumstances I cannot explain here; they make the play itself. The fortune of Mademoiselle Prulhomme tempts a young notary, who owes his business to his predecessor, who is eager to be paid for it. This old notary is a friend of Prudhom me; he has introduced the young notary to the house. Mladame Prudhommne's tenderness for Adolphe does not escape his eye; he believes that she intends to give him her daughter; and the two notaries open Prudhommne's eyes to his wife's love for Adolphe. Here, thenl, is the wife unjustly accused of an imaginary sin, from which she does not know how to vindicate herself. The comedy comes, you understand, from the ptUf/os of Prudhomme, and from his efforts to convict his wife. His wife accepts the singular combat of silencing her husband as if she were guilty, which is a satirical situation completely in the style of MIolibre. But she sees whence the blow has come. Slie 1837] Letters to Jladame Hranska. 449 fences with the two notaries, and, pressed by them, she shows them the infamy of their conduct, and declares that she will never give her daughter to a man capable of soiling the honour of the mother to obtain the daughter. They are forced to retract to Prudhomlme, and the mother, to secure the tranquillity of her husband, is forced to separate from her son. That is the main play; but, you understand, there is an enormous quantity of situations, scenes, movements. Servants are mixed up in it. It is a picture of our present bourgeoisie. There is a return of Adolphe's father, which complicates everything, and brings about the denouement. There is a horrible scene in which Prudhomme, in order to get light on his wife's passion, proposes the marriage of brother and sister, and arms himself with his wife's terror. There is also the most fruitful of all subjects, great ridicule of men and things through Prudhomme's magniloquence. Madame Prudhomme is the Celimtne of the bank, the true character of our women of the present day. But there is, above all, a keen satire on manners and morals. Prudhomme, accepting this false disaster, vanquished by the superiority of his wife, is a figure that was lacking to the stage. The solid happiness, marred by the slander of self-interested persons and restored by them for their own interests, has the true ring of comedy. Mademoiselle Prudhomme does not marry. Apparently, all this is vague; but the vagueness and want of outline is that of the "Misanthrope," the plot of which is in ten lines. The role of Madame Prudhomme, who is forty years old, can be played only by Mademoiselle Mars; but, with her tacit maternity, crushed down at every moment, she can be superb. Ecco, caia, the card on which I am about to stake my whole future; for I have but that chance left, so deplorable is the state of the publishing business now; and I 29 450 Hozlor6 de Balzac. [1837 must, if our grand affair fails, have something to fall back upon. I shall not do that play only. I shall do two others at the same time, so as to obtain the receipts of two theatres at least. Adlio. I will write vou between now and November 1, when I shall have got some piessing matters off my hands. iut, I entreat you, do not forg1et, and continue to me thle tale of your tranquil ULkraineanl life. I have flowers beneath my windows, dahlias, plants that make me think of your gtardens. When I open the book in which I put all the thoughts of my work, and so many other thiings, I turn ever to the one saying, "I will be Richelieu to preserve you." That, in this great corral of my ideas, is the flower that my eve caresses oftenest. Be indulgent to the poor third dizcoai, the third of which was written at tlhe htel de l'Are. Berthe la Repentie" is decided(ly the finest thingo in the " Contes I)rolatiques.." I gossip to you about Illy poor thoughts; my life is such a desert; there are so mlany inisconceptions, recent betrayals, dlitieulties, that I dare not tilk to you of my material life. It is too sad. October 12. Tlie ' Conte " is rewritten and sent to the printingofli(e, and( I can say that I am heartily glad to have finishled at last tlhat eternally " in thle press " dizain. I have many other boocks to finish also. " Massimilla )oni " lacks a chapter o(n "' A[oise, " which requires long studies of the score; and( as I must mnake them with a consuinmate musician, I c.aennot be master of my own work. Next I have a preface to sew on, like a collaret, to " La Feimne Supterieure; " and a fourth Part also, like a lbustle; for tlhe sixty-five columns in tile '"Presse" did iot furnish forth a volume; hence tlhe )refaee and tlhe added end of the vdluunme. Y(ou cannot imag'ie how 1837] Letters to lMadame Hanska. 451 these mendings, these replasterings, weary me; I am worn-out with such secondary toils. I have forgotten to tell you, I think, about Mademoiselle de Fauveau, who remembers you very well. She and her sister are such Catholics that the latter made difficulties about marrying the son of Bautte (the millionaire jeweller of Geneva where you and I went together, you remember?) on account of his religion, and yet these two poor women are in great poverty. Is not that splendid in faith? Mademoiselle de Fauveau, to whom I said that many persons objected to what I made Madame de Mortsatif say before dying, fell into a holy wrath with such profane ones, for she holds in admiration the " Lys dans la Vallee." When I told her that I had modified the cries of the flesh she said: - "At least, do not take out: I will learn English to say my dear.' She thought the Catholic theme magnificently laid down; for it is the combat of mind over matter. "Unhappily," I said to her, "it seems that none but you and I see it so." She is a charming person, but rather too mystical and mythic. She made me go to San Miniato to see primitive triglyphs, superb, in relation to the Trinity; but I saw nothing of the kind. Don't call me a " commercial traveller" again, on account of that blindness. I would like to be a traveller and travel to your cara patria, but not a commercial one. Adieu; I hope that this frail paper will tell you all I think, and that you will not think of my distress, or of my griefs; but that you will do as I do myself -lift, gaily and sad(ly both, my head to heaven, whence I have awaited, from my youth up, the Orient of full happiness. Do not scold me too much, cara, for my silence, for there has been no truce or rest to me since my last letter; and I have been saying to myself that I must have made 4)2 Hlonorc de Balzec. [1837 you anxious, without being able to sit down and write; for to write one word only is what I can never do. Some day, beside your fire, make me relate to you this month; you will then see wlhat it has been. These are real novels that nmust be kept for p)rivate talks; and then the lord of Wierzehownia will laugh, as lie did when I told him of my campaigns in China. CIIAILLOT, October 20, 1837. I receive tllis morling your number 34 and have just read the tale of your jourltoey. I am lhere for my mother's fete-day. Those cursetl builders demand the whole month of November to arrange mny cabinl at Syvres; and( I shall be here at least a fortnight to attend to the proofs of "' La Maison Nueinen." Mvy editors have arranged with the t Figaro 't and have bought back my agreement with it, so that my pen owes nothing to any one, no matter who, after the publication of " La Maison Nucingen." I am unusually content with the third dizatia. But you doni't know how that literature is proscribed; it is so blamed for obscenity tlhat I should not be surprised at a general line and cry against it. Eiglish manias are,gaining onl us; it is enoughl to make one adore Catholicism. " Massimilla D)oni," another book which will be much misunderstood, gives me immense labour from its dilliculties; but I have never caressed aJnything so much as those mythical pages, because the myth is so profoundly buried beneath reality. You have, no doubt, before this read " Gambara " in the " Revue de Saint-P:tersbourg; " for those worthy pirates will not have overlooked that work, which cost me six months toil. I have seen Versailles; Louis Philippe's action was so far good, as it saved the palace; but it is the most ignoble and the silliest l)iece of work in itself I ever saw; so l)ad is it in art and so niggardly in execution. sW.he: 1S37] Letters to Mtadame tIhanska. 453 you see it you will be amazed(; and when I explain to you what is Louis XIV., Louis XV., Louis XVI., and Empire, you will think the rest horribly mean and bourgeois. Your Aunt Leezinska is there a dozen times in family portraits, and I took pleasure in looking at her and saying to myself with a laugh, "Better a live emperor than a buried (dowdy; " for you are a queen of beauty, and she an ugly dowdy; though that must be the fault of the painters, for she was really very handsome. An extraordinary thing is, that there is not one of her portraits that is like another; so many portraits, so many different women. She was, no doubt, variable. What is really fine at Versailles, worthy of Titian and all that is noblest in painting, is the "'Consecration of Napoleon" and the "Crowning of Josephine," the " Blessing of tlhe Eagles" and " Napoleon pardoning Arabs " in the pictures of David and Gu.irin. What a great painter David is! He is colossal. I never saw those three pictures before. I write to you also in presence of a friend [her portrait] in the contenmplation of whom I lose myself as in the infinite. I have a quarrel to make with you, apropos of an insincere sentence in your number 33, about your regret at not having friends who can travel for your benefit. That sentence is one of the wounds that reach my heart; for you know well that if for you and yours it were necessary that I should go to the ends of the earth, or do daily something (ifficult and binding (which is more than exhibiting one's self in greater ways), I would not reflect a moment, I would do it with the blind ol)edience of a dog. If you know that, your remark is bad; if you do not know it, put me to the proof. My character, my manners and morals, all that is I. is so horribly calumniated that despair seizes me when I see that I have not even one little corner where doubt and suspicion do not enter. You tell me that I write to you less often; there is not 454 1o,,li, (IC -Balzac. L18,7 a letter of yours without an answer, and I ofte:i write to you in a scramble amid the desperate struggles I mlaiintail, which will end, perhaps, in colnquerilg my coura2'e. The announcement of our grand affajir is postponed to tlhe period of the gelneral elections, a mnomen:t whlein the newspapers are muhe read. The first nullmber will probably appear November 15. It will be my Austerlilz, or my Waterloo. You spoke of thle imaterial oblsta.cls t, your presecie among the works at Wierzehownia; Juilt I own thllt if yo understand very little my material olstacles, I under::tandll yours still less; I cannot conceive expeinse in tlhe solitiudlc of a steppe. Make inc your bailiff, and you will see that the man1 who cre:ited ( lrandec umdnerstaid1s domestic ecotnomiy. I would rather be your bailiff thlll be Lo>rt 1Byron; Lord Byron was not halppy, a;tid I should be very happy. lfle farther I go, the more fretquent:ire nmy momen.ts of depression atid despair. This solitude and tinis co.stant toil without compensation kill me. 1Every d(l y thintik back to those days when the person of wNhom l have told you provisiolid ine with cour:age, iand shared my labour. What an immense loss! Whalat can fill it? An, imagte? That image is mnute and (loes n.ot even look at me. -But, whatever she be, anid in spite of tlIe imperfections of memlory, she gilds limy solitutle anl 1 call stay that she enlilght ens it. You cannot think how l m:y d1:11 k dist1esses have resulted from tle blow tlhat dleprlived inc of AJ:tdamne le Berny. First, the tardy repar:ltions of.1ll my family, who did not like her, a:nd who repenlte'd the scelne of " Clarissa IIarlowe." The;n. all those little tlilg's of the heart which oughfit to be b1)urned, or re(mai in one's own possessiol. Her son luas, uindorstoodl nothilolg of all that; lie has not returned mne such tilhes,' adl I do (1 ot venture to ask for them. So that I, whom neitlher work, 1nor lgrief, 1837] Letters to Matdame Hcanska. 455 nor anything else seems likely to kill, I am making arrangements as if I were to (lie to-morrow, that I may grieve the heart of none. I heard yesterday your dear "Norma." But Rubini was replaced by a wretched tenor and they skipped his airs. I came away before the scene where Norma declares her passion to the Druids. The strangest set of people were in the boxes, for no one has yet returned from the country; the vine harvest was late this year, and the weather superb. Prince Ed. Schonberg occupied the box of the Apponys, who are still absent. But no princess. Was I not right when I said to you in Vienna that the fortnight I passed there was like an oasis in my life? Since that moment I have never had a day or an hour of repose. I travelled to gain a truce to such life; and no doubt the month, or months, I might again take, in which Paris could be completely forgotten, would be another oasis. But can I take them? There are days when a ferocious desire seizes me to drop everything. It would have been wise had I committed that folly. That alone would enable me to bring back a play; here, I am too much pursued by my obligations. You can hardly imagine how your letters carry me to you; and how those which seem to you long and diffuse are precious to me. Where there is heart and constancy, one cannot dwell on the merit and the grace that mark each detail; but I do assure you they make me very fastidious. There come heavy and peculiarly gloomy hours when I have only to read throug'h some past page, taken at random, to soothe my soul; it is as if I issued from a dungeon to cast eyes on a lovely landscape. Only - there have been some sad things, or rather, saddening things; for example, when you believe on the word of your sister Caroline; when you say you would not know what to do at Wierzchownia with a Parisian, a wit, who 4,56 IJonor' de Btalzac. [1837 needs Paris and would be bored in the Ukraine. That proxes that a hundred letters will not mlake you know me, nor tlle forty-five days we spent together. I own I am nlot saddelled, but humiliated, by that tirade from a chaIrniin g ereature. Apropos of thle thlird d(iz(J.; I earnestly desire tllat you will not read it until M. IIanski Las first passed ju(ldomet onll it; for if it were likely to injure me in your lnin(l I would rather that it should never go upon your bookshelves. It is specially a book for men; and I suffer when that easy and inoffensive pleasantry is illunderstood or ill-talkenl. I)o me this favour; let it unwrinkle the boyard's 1 row when hte lias his blue devils; but hlide tlte book away. I believe you 'are right as to the route I had better take, and tlat from IIavre to Lubeck and from Lubeek to Berlin would be best. Ilut by Berlin, one must go thro(ugol Warsaw; 1and I wanted to avoid AXVarsaw, because I hate tlhose stupid occasions when one is recognized an(l receptions are made for one without heart or soul, purely from vanity. But it is tlhe better route Perhaps also the least costly. Whteti you spoke to me in your number 33 of a happiness tlhat I (lid (not dream of in the rue (le lesdiguieres, believing that I should see disappointment in al peaceful, obscure, secluded existence, happy in, home and confideicee, you (lid not know how much ballast I have thrown into tie sea. how many of my soal)-luibb)les have blurst, how little I now cling to tlhat whiclh menl call fame (which is here the privilege of beilng' caluminimiated, vilified, disgraced). Reputation, political consistency, all is in the water. That which is not in the water, and on which I rely, is the youth of heart that will enable me to love for twenty years a woman whlo mighlt then be forty-six -- this counts tlhe form for little, and tlhe soul for all Why do you speak to) me of a journal in which I am a 1837] Letters to iMadame HIanska. 457 shareholder? Journal yourself, as the school-boys say. You believe in advertisements! You think our names are respected! People take them for puffs of a spurious Macassar, a sham perfume; but whoever would attack this singular humbug would be well scoffed at. I shall never again concern myself in business or a newspaper; a scalded cat fears cold water. I have a persecutor who wants to put me in prison (always that business of Werdet, who has got his certificate of bankruptcy and walks about Paris free of creditors). Jules Sandeau quarrelled with this man, whom lie despised on his personal account. Well, he has now ma(le up with him, and dines with him. I have been a father to Jules. I cry to myself, " IHere's another man stricken from the list of the living for me!" Do you think that makes me love Paris? Adieu for to-day. I will write you a few more lines before closing my letter. I must now apply myself to 't La Maison Nucingen " and, like Sisyphus, roll my rock. Monday, 23. I don't know anything more wearying than to sit a whole night, from midnight till eight o'clock, beneath the light of shaded candles, before blank paper, unable to find thoughts, listening to the noise of the fire and that of carriages sounding beyond the window panes from the Barriere des Bons-Hommes and the quay. This is what your servant has done for five nights past, without meeting the moment when some inner- voice, I know not what it is, says to him, '" Go on! " Such useless fatigues count for nothing to every one. Thursday, 26. Three days during which I have not been able to do anything - except torture myself. Yesterday I met one of your guests at Geneva, thlat relater of anecdotes, who spoke of the Z... He is to 4;38 Ion10ore dC Balzac. [1837 come and see me this morning; and I would like much to know, by return mail, whether, in case lie returns to 1( c(arc t/rica, I can hgie lhiim some of the manuscripts tlhat belong to you; for I think they will have to be sent in (letachmlents. My brain must be fatigued b)y thle proofs of " Les Co:ntes D)rolatiu(es " and of "' Massimilla Doni," for complete impotence in respect to what I have to do reigtls there. I have often had these checks, but they have never before lasted so lon,. I must bid you farewell and send tllis letter, which, by the blessed inventioin of the 1" bon roy Loys le unzieme," will l)e in your ha]nds within twenty days. Winter is.about to begin, so all chance of going to see you is postponed till sl)ring, - thougth snow-drifts do not terrify nme any more than wolves; those who are vtry unhappy need fear no accidents. They are the anointed of sorrows. I)eath respects them. I will own to you that when I found myself so ill at Saelic I had a sort of sensuous tranquillity in feeling my dull pains, for I li r, fr'o, daty o0l y. 1 am now to make two grand essays for fortune: the tontine affair and my comedy. After that, I shall let myself go with the current and see what comes of it. Believe that after a strugtgle of eighteen years, and a bitter fight of seven, if '" a campai'gn of France " should end them, I must, willing or unwilling, find my Saint Helena. Between now and the month of April all will be (leci(led. The tontine will have failed, I' Mademoiselle Prudhomme " will have been hissed, and I shall have flung myself into a diligence from Lubeck to Berlin in search of a rest most needful. You will see a literary soldier covered with wounds to nurse. But he will not be hard to amuse, l quoi qu'on die." Well, adielu. Write to nme oftener, and do not forget to remember men to your colony. 'Fell MI. lanski that 1 1837] Letters to Madame Hanska. 459 think I have found a means to naturalize madder in Russia. That will wake him up. Many caressing things to your Anna. Tell me confidentially of something that would please her from Paris, and find here the homage of my attachment, and the flowers of a heart that can never l)e withered of them. CHAILLOT, November 7, 1837. I have decidedly begun my comedy; but, after defining its principal lines, I perceived the difficulties, and that gives me a profound admiration for the great geniuses who have left their works on the stage. Yesterday I went to hear Beethoven's symphony in C minor. Beethoven is the only man who makes me know jealousy. I would rather be Beethoven than Rossini or Mozart. There is a divine power in that man. In that finale, it seems as though some enchanter raised you into a land of marvels, amid the noblest palaces filled with the treasures of all arts; and there, at his command, gates, like those of the Baptistry, turn on their hinges, letting you see beauties of an unknown kind - the fairy land of fantasy. There, flutter beings with the beauties of woman and the rainbow-tinted wings of the angel; you are bathed in an upper air, that air which, according to,Swedenborg, sings and sheds fragrance, has colour and feeling, which flows to you, and beatifies you! No, the mind of the writer can never give such joys, because whlat we paint is finite, fixed, and what Beethoven flings to you is infinite! You understand that I only know the symphony in C minor, and that fragment of the Pastoral symphony which we heard rattled off at Geneva on a second floor -of which I heard little, because two steps away from you stood a young man, who asked me, with straining eyes and a petrified air, if I knew who that beautiful lady was; the which was you, and I was proud as though I were a woman, young, beautiful, and vain. 460 Honore de.Ballzaec. [1 837 I live so solitary a life that I have nothing to tell you of Paris, nor can I paint its life, or repeat its cancans. I can only speak to you of myself, a subject of perpetual sadness. My little house gets onl; the masonry will be finished by the 30th of this month. But, no doubt, it will not be habitable for three or four months. I am plunged at this moment into laughable trouble, in the sense that I have in my own home one of the pleasures of wealth. My " faithful" Aug'uste doubts my future fortune and leaves inme, alleging a certain paternal will which desires hime to abandonl dolnestic service for com — merce; but the real truth of this flight is his own disbelief in my future olulence, and a species of certainty that my present (listless will last, and thus prevent himn from doing his own little business. I let h1im go; and I groan at haiving to find some other rascal. I like those I know; thou'gh this one cared as little for me as for the year I. of tihe liepublic. IIe paid no attent'mn to anything; he left me, ill in b)ed, one whole (lay without a drop to drink; though when he was ill I gave him a nurse, and I paid a thousand francs this year to exempt him from the conscription. lie had become intolerable to me through his negligence, so that his present ing'ratitude suits me. Imagine that for the last three ye:rs, at least, I have had on my hands an Irish lady, a Miss Patrickson, wllo lits appoi)ited herself to translate my works and propagate them in Englanl. The story is droll. Maldame de C..., furious a(ainst me for various reasons, took her to teach English to... alnld invented a trick to play me through her. She ma(le her write me a love-letter signe(d " Lady Nevil." I take the Engl lish nAlmnanach and I could not find in it either a Lord or a Sir Nevil. 3IMoreover, the letter was very equivocal. You know that when such thingst are feigned there is either too much or too little of themn; I saw therefore whiat it was. I replied with ar(ldor. A renldezvous w;is given me at the 1837] Letters to Madame Hanskca. 461 Opera. I went that day to see Madame de C..., who made me stay to dinner. But I excused myself, saying I had an engagement at the Opera. She said, "Very good, I'll take you there." But in. saying so she could not help exchanging a glance with her demoiselle de compagnie, and that glance sufficed me. I guessed all. I saw she was laying a trap for me and meant to make me ridiculous forever after. I went to the Opera. No one there. Then I wrote a letter, which brought the miss, old, horrible, with hideous teeth, but full of remorse for the part she had played, full also of affection for me and contempt and horror for the marquise. Though my letters were extremely ironical and written for the purpose of making a woman masquerading as a false Lady blush, she had got them back into her own possession. Thus I had the whip hand of Madame de C... and she ended by divining that in this intrigue she was on the down side. From that time forth she vowed me a hatred which will end only with life. In fact, she may rise out of her grave to calumniate me. She never opened " S'raphita" on account of its dedication, and her jealousy is such that if she could annihilate the book she would weep for joy. So this horrible, old, and toothless Miss Patrickson, feeling herself bound to make reparation, lives only as my translator. I met at Poissy a Madame Saint-Clair, daughter of some English admiral, I don't know who, sister of Madame Delmar, who is also infatuated to translate me, and has proposed to me a lucrative arrangement with the English reviews. I have said neither yes nor no, on account of my Patrickson. As it is now three years that the poor creature has been struggling with the affair, which is her livelihood, I imagined she would be glad of this help. I went to see her Wednesday evening, she lives on a fifth floor, but I myself know nothing more grandiose than poverty..I mount, I arrive! I find the 4d2 toil3or[l c1 e Balzac. [1837 poor creature as drunk as a Suisse. Never in my life was I so embarrassed; she spoke between her teeth; slhe did not know what I was saying; and finally, when she did understand that I was proposing to her collaboration in her translations, she bursL into tears; she tohl me that if this work did not remain solely hers shle would kill herself; thiat it was her living and her glory; ad(l then she toll me her troublles. I never listened to anything so dreadful; I came away frozen with horror, not kznowitng whether shle (drank from a liking for it, or to drown thle sense of her misery. I therefore refused Madame SaintClair. You could not imagine the tilth, tile hole, the frightful disorder in which that woman lives. It surpasses her ugliness. That is the chief episode of my week. In the desert of her life that woman has clung to my work as to a fruitful palm-tree, but it will be to her unfruitful, and I have no money with which to succour her. Yesterday, hlowever, I went by chance into the rue Neuve-du-Luxembourg, where there is an English pastrycook who makes the most delicious oyster-patties; I had an English lady on my arm. Whom did I find there? AMy Patrickson at table, eating and drinking. Certainly I am neither a monk nor a ninny, and I comprelhend that the more unhappy one is the more comi)eisations are sought, and it is lucky indeed to find themn at a pastrycook's. But the lady who was with me said she was sure that this unfortunate woman drcank qi, for she had all tlhe characteristics of a person who drank gin. I had said nothing to her about my miss of the translations. But whether she (lriliks gin or not,' she is none the less in the greatest poverty. It remains to be discovered whether she is in poverty because she drinks gin, or whether slhe drinks gin because she is miserable. As for me, the misery of others wrings my heart. I never condemn tlhe unfortunate. I am stoical under my own 1837] Letters to Madame Hanska. 463 misfortunes; I would give my bread while dying of hunger. That has happened to me several times, and those I served never returned it to me. Example: Jules Sandeau, who for two months never came to see me, and would not if I were dying. Well, though I know that, I don't acquire experience. If I marry, my wife must rule my property and interpose between me and the whole world, or I shall exhaust the treasures of Aladdin on others. Happily, I have nothing. When I do have something, I shall have to make myself fictitiously avaricious. I have taken my mother to Poissy, to a very agreeable pension. I took her by the railroad, by which one goes very fast. My heart bled in taking her there; I, who have dreamed of making her a comfortable end of life with a fine fortune, and who advance so little that my poverty is becoming, as I told you, burlesque. It has taken more diplomacy to get wood to burn this month than it would take to negotiate a treaty of peace between France and any power you please ten years hence. And the comedy gets on but slowly; it is like my portrait, which I was told yesterday had arrived, but the despatching agent did not know in what town! I hope it is Brody. God grant the same may not happen to my comedy! What I perceive most at this moment is the immense judgment that is needed for the poet of comedy. Every word must be a verdict pronounced on the manners and morals of an epoch. The subjects chosen must not be thin or paltry. The poet must go to the bottom of things; he must steadily embrace the whole social state and judge it under a pleasing form. There are a thousand things to say, but only the good things must be said. This work confounds me. I need not say that in saying this 1 am considering works of genius; for as to the thirty thousand plays given to us in the last forty years, nothing would be easier to write. I am absorbed by this comedy; 464 Honore' de Bt azc.[ L1831 I think of nothing else, and each thought extends thle (liticulties. It is not only the doing of it, there is also the representing of it, and it may fail. I am in despair at not havicng gone to Wierzchownia and shut myself up this winter to keel) to this work in your cenobitic life. I should have dole like Beaunarchdais, who ran to read lis comedy, scene b)y scene, to women, al(l rewrote it by their adv-ice. I am now at a moment of extreme depression. Coffee does nothing for me; it does not briing to the surface the inner man, who stays in his prison of flesh and bones. MIy sister is ill, and when Laure is ill the universe seems to me topsy-turvy. MIy sister is all to me in my poor existence. I am not working with facility. I do not believe in what they call my t lent. I spend nighlits in despairing. La Maison Nucingen" is there in proofs before me, and I cannot touch it; yet it is the last link in my chain, and with three (lays' work I should break it. The brain will not stir. I have taken two cups of clear coffee; it is just as if I had dirunk water. I am going to try a change of place and go to Berry, to Madame Carraud, who has been expecting me these two years; every three months I have said that I am going to see her. My little house will not be readly till December; the workmen will be in it unitil my return. To crown all troulbles, no letters from you. You minliht write to me every week, but you scarcely write every fortnigolit. You have much more time than I have, in your steppe, where there are neither synmphonies of Beethoven, asphalt boulevards, operas, newspapers, books to write, proofs to correct, nor other miseries, and where you have a forest of a hundred thousand acres. Dieu! if you had that near Paris you would have an income of two millions, and your forest would be worth fifty millions. All is in juxtaposition; I am here, and you are there. 1837]1 Letters to Madame Janskca. 465 November 12 Reparation to the poor miss. She drinks nothing bu, water; it was my unexpected visit that intoxicated her. I retract all I wrote to you, and leave it for my punishment; but you will not think me the worse or the better for it. I am about to start for Marseille, to go to Corsica and from there to Sardinia. I shall try to be back the first week in December. It is an affair of fortune of the highest importance that takes me there, and I can only tell you about it if it fails; for if it succeeds I must whisper it into the tube of your ear. It is now three weeks since I began to think of this journey; but the money for it lacks and I do not know where to find it. I need about twelve hundred francs to go and get a "yes" or a " 110o " about a fortune, a rapid fortune, to be made in a few months.1 Addio, cara. Here are three letters that I have written you against your one. I have never seen Provence or Marseille, and I promise myself a little diversion on this trip. I shall go by the mail-cart to the sea; the rest of the way by steamboat; so that I hope to have finished my errand in fifteen days, for no one must perceive my absence. My publishers would grumble. The tontine is withdrawn; my works will appear purely and simply in parts, with steel engravings inserted in the text. So we fall back once more into the rut of publications such as have been made for the last hundred years in France. November 13. My comedy has begotten a preliniinary. It is impossible to make "Prudhomme parvenu" without first showing "Prudhomme se mariant;" all the more because "Le 1 For the amusing history of this chimera, see his sister's account of it; "Memoir of Balzac," pp. 103-107. -TR. 30 466 4Honore' de Balzacn. L[S37 Mariage (le Prudhomme " is excellent comedly and full of comic situations. So here I am, with eight acts on my hands instead of five. November 14. Adieu; I must throw myself into unexpected labour which may give me an arach'/)li.s. I amin offered twenty thousand francs for ' Cesar Birotteau " by December 10. It is one volume and a half to do, but my poverty has made me l)romise it. I must work twenty-five nights and twenty-five days. So, to you all tender things. I must rush to Selvres and find the manuscript already begun and the proofs of the work. There are only nine feuilles done, and forty-six are needed; thirty-five to do. There 's not a minute to be lost. Adieu, I must be twenty-five days without writing to you. PA.nI, December 20, 1837. I have just finished, as I promised to do, and I wrote you hastily in my last letter I should do, '' Cesar Birottean." I had to do at the same time " La Maison Nucingen" for the ' Presse." That is enough to tell you that I am worn-out, in a state of inexpressil)le annihilation. It requires a certain effort to write to you. and I do it under the inspiration of horrible fears and anxieties. I have heard nothing from you since your number 31, diated October 6. You have never left me so long without news of you, and you could scarcely believe how, in the midst of my work, this silence has alarmed me, for I know it is not without some reason that you have failed to write to me. To-day I can only write in haste, to tell you tlhat I am not dead with fatigue or inflammation of the brain; that " Cesar Birotteau" and the third dizai' are both out; that "La Maison Nucingen," finished a month age, will soon appear; that I am about to finishl "Massiinilla Doni;" that the edition called "Balzac Illustrated" will 1837] Letters to iladame IIanska. 467 appear, and will be an astounding thing in typography and engraving; that for twenty-five days I have only slept a few hours; that I have been within an ace of apoplexy; that I shall never again undertake such a feat of strength; that my cot at Sevres is nearly built; and that you can now always address your letters to "Madame Veuve Durand, 13 rue des Batailles," because I am still obliged to stay there to finish certain pressing works which need constant communication between the printing-office and me. My house will not be ready till February 15 at the earliest. My portrait makes my head swim. I don't know precisely where it is. In any case, write to M. Halperine, who ought to have it, or could reclaim it on the road between Strasburg and Brody. M. Hanski may not know that the Rothschilds do not do business with the Halperines, and their couriers do not take charge of such large packages. I have no interesting news to give you, for I have not left my study and proofs since my last letter. Heine came to see me and told me all about the L... affair. It goes beyond anything I had imagined, as much for the illness as for the family details. The English lords are infamous. Koreff and Wolowski are demigods; I do not think a million could pay them. We will talk of this later in the chimney-corner. Perhaps you have been away; perhaps you have left Wierzchownia to nurse your sister. My imagination rushes through all the possibilities in the circumference of suppositions till it reaches the absurd. What has happened to you? I see no case in which you would leave me without one word from you or another. Adieu. Find here the expression of an old and tried friendship and the effusions of an affection that resembles no other. I cannot write more, for I am in such a state of exhaustion that nothing can better prove my attachment 468 Jlonwr' (le Baizac. [1837 than this very letter. Nevertheless, I must, in a few (lays, resume my yoke of misery. Then I can write to vou more at leng-th and tell you all that I keep) in my heart. Remember me to all of yours, and beg MI. 1-auski to claim the portaiat from the H1alperines, so that they in tUrn may inquire for it all along the linie. I have been to see the shippers here, and I shall sue them if you do not get the picture within a fortnight. Theref ore, answer me by a linie on this subject. Your devoted N oRLi 1838] Letters to Madame Hanska. 469 VI. LETTERS DURING 1838. CHAILLOT, January 20, 1838. I AM1 relieved of anxiety. I have your numbers 36 and 37. Number 35 has not reached me, remember that. Number 34 is dated October 6; number 36 December 10. So you did not leave me from October 6 to December 10 without a letter. Now, as I only receive at the end of January the 36 and 37, you can imagine how uneasy I have been, left two months without a word! These two letters are pricked in every direction, stigmata of the fears inspired by the plague, and perhaps it is to an earlier fumigation that I owe the loss of number 35. In any case, I ought to tell you of this loss, as it explains the doleful letter I wrote you last. To me it was a grief that consumed all others - your silence. I am the object of such atrocious calumnies that I ended by thinking that you had been told of them, and had believed those monstrous things: that I had eaten human flesh, that I had married an Ellsler, or a fishwoman, that I was in prison, that - that - etc. I have, perhaps, enemies in the Ukraine. Distrust all that you hear of me from any but myself, for you have almost a journal of my life. Now, as to the affair that takes me to the Mediterranean, it is neither marriage nor anything adventurous 470 Honorm de Balzac. [1838 or silly. It is a serious al(d scientific affair about which it is impossible to say a word because I am pledged to secrecy. Whether it turns out well or ill, I risk nothilng but a journey, which will always be a pleasure or a diversion for me. You ask me how it is that, klowing all, observing ald(l penetrating all, I can be duped and(l deceived. Alas! would you like nme it I were never duped, if I were so prildent, so observilng that no misfortunes ever hlappened to me? But, leaving the question of tLe heart aside, I will tell you the secret of this apparent contradiction. When a man becomes such an accompl)lished whistplayer that lie knlows at the fifth card played where all the others are, lo you think he does not like to put science aside and watch how the game will go by the laws of chance? Just so, dear and pious Catholic, God knew in a(lvance that Eve would succumb, and he let her lo so! But, putting aside that way of explaining tile tiling, here is another which you will like better. Wheln, night and (lay, my strength atnl my faculties are strained to the utmost to compose, write, relnder, paint, remember; when I take my flight slowly, painfrilly, often wounded, across the mental fields of literary creation, how can I be at tile same moment on the plane of material thlings? When Napoleon was at Esslinog he was not in Spain. Not to be deceived in life, in friendships, in business, in relations of all kilnds, (lear countess secluded and solitary, one must do nothing else than be purely and simply a financier, a niin of the world, a man of business. I do see plainly enouiigh tIlhat persons deceive me, and are going to (lo so, that such a man is betraying me, or will betray me, and (lep)art carrying with him a portion of my fleece. But at that moment when I feel it, foresee it, know it, I ama forced to,o and fighlt elsewhere. I see it when I ame being clarried away 1838] Letters to Madame Hlanska. 471 by some necessity of a work or event, by a sketch that would be lost if I did' not complete it. Often I am building a cot in the light of my burning houses. I have neither friends nor servants; all desert me; I know not why - or rather, I do know it too well; because no one likes or serves a man who works night and day, who does nothing for their profit, who stays where he is and obliges them to go to him, and whose power, if power there be, will have no fruition for twenty years; it is because that man has the personality of his toil, and that all personality is odious if it is not accompanied by power. Now that is enough to convince you that one must be an oyster (do you remember that?) or an angel to cling to such great human rocks. Oysters and angels are equally rare in humanity. Believe me, 1 see myself and things as they are; never did any man bear a more cruel burden than mine. Do not be suiprised, therefore, to see me attach myself to those beings and those thlings that give me courage to live and go onward. Never blame me for taking the cordial that enables me to get one stage farther on my way. It is twelve years that I have been saying of Walter Scott what you have now written to me. Beside him Lord Byron is nothing, or almost nothing. But you are mistaken as to the plot of "Kenilworth." To the minds of all makers of romance, and to mine, the plot of that work is the grandest, most complete, most extraordinary of all; the book is a masterpiece from this point of view, just as "St. Ronan's Well" is a masterpiece for detail and patience of finish, as the "Chronicles of the Canongate" are for sentiment, as "Ivanhoe" (the first volume, be it understood) is for history, "The Antiquary" for poesy, and "The Heart of Midlothian" for profound interest. All these works have each their especial merit, but genius shines throughout them all. You are right; Scott will be growing greater when Byron is forgotten, 472 Iionorc de Balzac. [1838 except for his form and his powerful inspiration. Byron's brain never had any other imprint than that of his own personality; whereas the whole world has posed before the creative genius of Scott, and has there, so to speak, beheld itself. As for what is called "Balzac Illustrated," do not be anxious; it is the whole of my work, except the "Contes Drolatiques." It is the work called "Etudes Sociales." M. Hallski is very kind to imagine that women fall in love with authors. I have, and sihall have nothing to fear on that score. I am not only invulnerable, but secure from attack. Reassure him. The Englishwoman of the times of Crebillon the younger is not the Englishwoman of to-day. I am now beginniing to work at my plays and at the "Memoires d'une jeune Marii(e, or else at "Somr Marie des Anges;" those, for the time being, are my chosen subjects. But from one moment to another all may change. The continuation of "Illusions Perdues" ("Un Grand honrmme de Province "t Paris") tempts me much; that, with "La Torpille," could be finished this year. HIow many stones I bring and heap up! The text of tlhe illustrated edition is revised with so much care that it ought to be considleed the only one existino(; it differs much from all preceding editions. This typographic seriousness has reacted on tlhe language, and I have discovered many additional faults and follies; so that I earnestly desire that thle number of subscribers may enable the publication to be continued, which will give me the opportunity to succeed in doing my best for my work, so far as purity of language is concerned. The arrival of thle cassoet( gave e as m uch pleasure as it did you; it is as if I had sent you twxo different things. I now hope that by tilis time Boulanger's portrait hlas reached you. Brulion, the colour and can 1838] Letters to Madame Ifansca. 473 vas dealer whom all the great artists here employ, and who despatched the case, is in despair; we consult each other as to going to law about it; but as such a suit would bring M. Hanski's name before the public, and the newspapers would get hold of it and make their thousand and one calumnious comments, - for my name would whet their appetite, - we keep to the line of correspondence. Brullon has sent thousands of pictures to all parts of the world, and nothing of the kind ever happened before. It is true that the case was sent by waggon, because, as the canvas was not rolled, its size would not allow of its going by diligence. You could not believe what errands, steps, and tramps that luckless picture has necessitated; but I will not say more about them, lest I make the portrait disagreeable to you. I have written to-day to the 31M. Halperine at Brody to know if, when my letter reaches them, they have the picture. If not, we may have to come to an arbitration here on the matter. The great Tronchin ciured the headaches of young girls which you mention, by making them eat a roll soaked in milk on waking; the thing is innocent enough to try. Be very sure that you will know all I do at the moment of doing it, or as soon as I can manage it. I wrote you of my departure for Sion a year ago, at this time, or very near it. I (lid not leave Paris a month ago, after finishing "C'sar Birotteau." As I had been twenty-five days without sleep, I have now been a month employed in sleeping sixteen hours a day and in doing nothing the other eight. I am renewing my brain to spend it again immediately. Financial crises are dreadful; they prevent me from amusing myself; for society is expensive, and I am not sure whether I may n.ot, within a week or ten days, go to Sardinia. But I will not start without letting you know. 474 fIoncori de Balzac. [1838 I never read the newspapers, so that I was ignorant of what you tell me about Julcs Janin. Some persons had casually said to me tlihat the papers, and Janin especially, had greatly 1)raised me ill connection with a little play taken from ' La Recllerehe de lAb5olu" which failed. lBut I am, as youi knlow, ilndifferelnt to both the blame and the eulogy of those who are not the elect of my heart; and es)eecially so to the opinions of the press and the crowd; therefore I kniow nothing to tell you about the conversion of a mlan I neither like nor esteem, anlld one wlho will never obtain anlythilng from me. As I do not know his friends or his enlemies, I am ignorant of lhis motives for tills praise, which, from what you tell inc of it, seems treacherous. Every time that you hear it said that I have failed on poinlts of honour and personal self-respect, (lo not believe it. You have misunder'stood ne; I like much that a woman shoulld write al](l stu(ly; but she oulght to have the courage, as you have, to b}urn her works. Sophie is the daughter of Prince Koslevski, whose marria'e was never recognized; you must have heard of that very witty diplomalist, who is with Prince Paskevitch iln Warsaw. The English lady is the Countess GuidoboniV isconti, at whose llouse I met the bearer of the (cssoJlefit. Mrs. Somerville is the illustrious matlhematician, dau'ghter of Admiral Fairfax, who is now in tlIe Russian service. I send you her autograph, for she is one of the great lights of modern science, and parliament has given her a national pension. You will know from otlhers tlhat the Italian Operahouse was burned down at the same time as the loyal Exchange in London and the Imperial Palace at SaintPetersburg. I will tell you nothing of all that. The winter is severe in Paris; we (1o not know!how to protect ourselves from cold, — crreless Frenchmen that we are. 1838] Letter.s to Ala anie Ilan.ska. 175 IMonday, January 22. Four Parts of "La Peau de Chagrin" have appeared, this frosty winter. In spite of the cold I meet in the Champs Ellysees flacres driven slowly along with their blinds down, which shows that people love each other in Paris in spite of everything; and those fiacres seem to me as magnificently passionate as the two lovers whomn Diderot surprised in a pouring rain, bidding each other good-night in the street beneath a gutter! I)o not end your letters gloomily, as, for instance, by thilnking, that I shall never visit Wierzchownia; I shall come soon, believe me; but I am not the master of circumstrances, which are peculiarly hard upon me. It would take too long to explain to you how my new editors interpret the agreement which binds nme to them, and this letter is already very long. After idling a little for a month, going two or three times to the Opera, twice to La Belgiojoso, and often to La Visconti (speakiing Italianly), I am now beginningll( once more my twelve or fifteen hours' work a day. When my house is built, when I amn well installed there, when I have earned a certain number of thousand francs, then I am pledged to myself as a reward to go and see you, not for one or two weeks, but for two or three months. You shall work at my comedies, an(d we, lTI. Hanski and I, will go to the Indies astride of those smoking benches you tell nme of. I don't know what '"C'sar Birotteau " is. You will tell me before I am in a state to make myself into the pulblic that reads it. I have the deepest disgust for it, and I am ready to curse it for the fatigues it has caused me. If my ink looks pale to you, it is because it freezes every night in my study. You have heard about La Belgiojoso and Migret. The princess is a woman much outside of other women, little attractive, twenty-nine years old, pale. black hair, 476 Jlonorc de Baelzac. [1838 Italian-white complexion, thin, and playing the vampire. She has the good fortmune to displease me, though she is clever; but she tries for effect too much. I saw her first live years ago at G(erard's; she came from Switzerland, where she had taken refuge. Since then, slhe has recovered her fo(rtune through influence of the Foreign Office, and now holds a salon, where people say good things. I went there one Saturday, but that will be all. I have just read "Aymar," by Henri de Latouche; his is a poor mind, falling into childishness. "Lautreamont," by Sue, is a work lace'e, as the painters say; it is neither done, nor could it be done. To secondrate minds, to persons without education, or those. who, being ill-informed or informeld by,prejudice, have not the courage to correct for themselves the false bias given to them and are content to accept judgments ready-made without taking the trouble to discuss them, Louis XIV. is a petty mind and a bad king.1 His faults and his errors are counted to him as crimes, whereas lie exactly fulfilled the prediction of Mazarin: he was both a great king and an honest man. Ile may be blamed for his wars and his rigorous treatment of 1 This letter is amono those which MNme. (le Balzac gave to the Ediition 1)dfinitive [vol. xxiv., pp. 273-282]. Thle passage relatinjg to Louis XIV. is so evidently false in " Lettres ha l'EtraiJgere" that I give it here in line. de Balzac's version. In " Lettres a 1' 'trangere " it begins tlrus: "To well-informed lmils Louis XIV. is a petty mind, a man ndl." This leing totally out of keeping with i Balzac's published opiinioi of Louis XIV. [" Six ois d(le France," Ed. Dl)f., vol. xxiii., pp. 525-535, written in 1837], I think it more just to Balzac to follow his wife's version here. The followiig passages are from "Six R1ois do France" and give his opinion briefly "lie had known adversity and even misfortune in his youth; it was, no doubt, to this circumstance that he owed the perspicacity, the knowle(lge of man that distinguished him almost constantly." I This prince, in his adversity, remained ever worthly of the title of Great, which history has preserved to him." See Appendix concerning -Mine. Ilanska's letters in the;Edition Definitive.- Ti. 18381 Letters to Madame Hanska. 477 Protestants; but he always had in view the grandeur of France, and his wars were a means to secure it. They served, according to his ideas, to guarantee us against our two greatest enemies at that period, Spain and England. After having, through the possession of Flanders and Alsace, established solid frontiers against Germany, he preserved France from Spanish intrigues by the conquest of Franche-Comte. Having thus given security to his people, he gave them a splendour which dazzled the world, and a grandeur which subdued it. One must indeed be neither a Frenchman nor a man of sense to blame him stupidly for that affair of the Chevalier de Rohan, a presumptuous fool and a State criminal, who was negotiating with a foreign country, selling France, and striving to lipght civil war, - a man whom the king had the right to condemn and punish according to the laws of the kingdom he governed. But, as you say, Sue has a narrow and bourgeois mind, incapable of understanding the ensemble of such grandeur; he sees only scraps of the vulgar and commonplace evil of our present pitiable society. He has felt himself crushed by the gigantic spectacle of the great century, and he has resented it by calumniating the finest and greatest epoch of our history, dominated by the powerful and fruitful influence of the greatest of our kings; pronounced Great by his contemporaries, and against whom even his enemies invented no other sarcasm than to call himn "le roi soleil." To-morrow, Tuesday, 23rd, I shall begin to finish "Massimilla Doni," which requires great study of music, and will oblige me to go and hear played and replayed to me Rossini's "Moise," by a good old German musician. You would hardly believe with what resignation I face the dull and malignant abuse which the publication of "Massimilla Doni" will bring down upon me. Seen 478 Ilonori de PBalzac. [1838 on one side only, it is trule that the subject is open to criticism; it will be said that I am obscene. But looking at the psychical sul)ject, it is, as I think, a marvel. But I have long beenl usedl to such detractio(n. There are persons who still persist in considering "LLa Peau (lde Chagrin" as a novel. But then, serious people and the appreciators of that composition are daily gainilng ground. Five years hence "Massimilla Donii" will be understood as a beautiful explanation of the inner process of art. To the eyes of ordinary readers it will be only what it is apparently, a lover who cannot possess the woman he adores because he desires her too much, and so is won by a miserable creature. 3Make them perceive from that the conception of works of art! Adieu, cara. A thousand tender effasions of friendship, and remember me to all about you. This is a long chatter; I have been writing it during three days, and doing little else. tBut it is so good to think to you! Think of me as of one entirely devoted, grieved when lie gets no letters, happy when he shares your lonely life, for he too is lonely amid this Parisian bustle. FIRAPESLE, near TSSOUDUN, Felruarv 10, 1838. I have just received your little number 38, and at tlle moment that I read it you must have in your hands tlhe rather long letter in which I explained my fears and ma(de the inquiry to which you now reply. I am thankful to know myself in painting at Berditchef, for in my uneasiness about that wretched canvas I was about to sue the despatcher of it. I am curious to knlow what you will think of the work. It is now said tlhat Boulanger has not given a delicacy that lurks under tlhe roundness of the lines, that lie hlas exatg-erated the character of my rather tranquil strength, andll bestowed upon me a hectoring and ao(ggressive expression. That is what sculptors and painters said to me a few days before 1838] Letters to Madame Hancska. 479 I left Paris, at a dinner at M3. de Castellane's, who is having some plays acted in private at his house. The merit of Boulanger is in the fire of the eyes, the material truth of outline, and the rich colouring. In spite of these criticisms, which concern only the moral resemblance - so closely united, however, to physical resemblance -they all said it was one of the finest specimens of the school for the last ten years; so I reflected that, at least, you would not have a daub in your gallery. We shall see vwhat you say to it. I came here worn-out with fatigue. The body is relaxing. I have come to do, if I can, the preliminary play of which I spoke to you, and the second Part of "Illusions Perdues," the first Part of which pleased you so much. I shall stay in Berry till the middle of March. They write me from Paris that "Cesar Birotteau," after two months' incognito, is obtaining a success of enthusiasm, and that in spite of the silence of some newspapers, and the cruel civilities of others, it is being borne to the clouds above "Eugenie Grandet,," with which they crush down so many other things of mine. I tell you that idiocy of Parisians, because you look upon such things benignly as events. Now that I see my inventions to give you little pleasures reach you, write me what Anna would like for her birthday. I have an opportunity to send to Riga. Riga is not far from you, and I will tell you where to send -for your idol's gift. Do you want any of that Milanese silver filagree, or anything in the way of Parisian taste? And if at our coming Exhibition M. Hanski wants one or two good p)ictures, well chosen, to increase his collection, some of those things that become in time of great value, tell him to feel sure that I am at his orders, and at yours equally. You could not believe how much I thought of you in 480 Honorl d e Balzac. L1838 crossing' La Beauce and Berry, for they are your Ukraine on a small scale, and every time I cross theml my thought is fixed on Wierzehownia. They are two very high plateaus, for at Issoudun we are six hundred feet above sea-level, and there is nothing on them but wheatfields, vineyards, and woods. In Beauce, however, the land is so precious that not a single tree is planted. You will see tlhat melancholy landscape some day, when you come to France, and perhaps, like me, you will not share the feeling it inspires in ordinary trave,'lers. I do not know if they told me truly, or if tlie person who told me was told truly, but my publishers are boasting that they have sold five thousand of the Illustrated Balzac, which leads one to supl)ose that, time and friendship aiding, we may sell ten thousand. Then all my financial misfortunes will cease in 1683'0. Gcd g(rant it! Do not play the coquette about your thirty-third anniversary; you know well what I think about the apge of women, and if you want me to give you new editions of it, I shall think you very greedy of compliments. There are women who will always be young, and you are one of them; youth comes from the soul. Never lose that innocent gaiety which is one of your greatest charms; it makes you able to thiink alloud to every one, al(nd that will keel) you youlng a long time. In spite of what you say, there are, I think, few clouds above the lake of your thoughts, but always the ilnfinite of blue skies. If you have a frame madle for my portrait, and it requires one, have it made in black velvet. That is economical and beautiful, and very favourable to Boulanger's colour and tones. Remember that nothing leads to the, malady of Lady L... so surely as the mystical ecstasies of which you tell me in Severine's sister; believe me, for it was in this way that the pure and sublime young daughter of 1838] Letters to lladame IHaunska. 481 Madame de Berny became insane. The mother died of that, as well as of the death of her son. What did she not say to me on the absurdity of our moralities, in the paroxysm of her sorrow! And what appalling mothercries! I beg you never to say to me in a letter, "If I die," I have causes enough for melancholy, and dread, and gloomy black dragons, without the added waves of bitterness that my blood rushes to my heart under the sudden faintness that those words cause me. Gracious greetings to tutti quanti, and to you, all tenderness. I reread at this moment the silly verses in which I fold my letter, and I send you, laughing, the homage of a poor collegian - for the ruled paper reveals the age of seventeen and its illusions. FRAPESLE, March 2, 1838. Cara contessina; I am here, without having done a single thing that is worth anything. I am a little better, that. is all. I have been ill of a malady that love abhors, caused by the quality of the drinking water, which contained calcareous deposits. Hence, complete dissolution of my brain forces. Poor human beings! See on what fame depends, and the creations of thought! Madame Carraud thinks I have escaped an illness; it is very sure that I have escaped making a comedy or a bad novel. I heard that George Sand was at her country-place at Nohant, a few leagues from Frapesle, so I went to pay her a visit. You will therefore have your wishedfor autographs: one of George Sand, which I send you to-day; the other, signed Aurore Dudevant, you shall receive in my next letter. Thus you will have the curious animal under both aspects. But there is still another; the nickname, given by her friends, of "le docteur Piffoel." When that reaches me I will send it. As you 31 482 Ionorc de Balzac. [1838 are a curious eminentissime or an eminentissime curious persolp, I will relate to you my visit. I arrived at the Clhteant de Nohant oil Shrove Saturday, about half-past seven il1 the evening, and I found co(mfade (eorgoe Sand in hler dressing-gowin, smoking a cigar after dinner in the chimney-coriner of an immense solitary chamber. She was wearing( pretty yellow slippers trimmed with fringe, coqtuettish stockilngs, and red trousers. So much for the moral. Physically, she has doubled her chin like a monk. She has not a silngle white hair in spite of her dreadfu' troubles; her swarthy skin has not varied; her beautiful eyes are still dazzling; slte has the same stupid look when she thinks, for, as I told her, after studyingt her, all her p)lysiognomy is in her eye. She has been at Nobant a year, very sad, and working elnormous! y. She leads albout tlhe same life as mine. She goes to bed at six in the morning and rises at midlday; I go to bed at six in the eveningl and rise at midniglit. Ilut, naturally, I conformed to her habits; and for three days we talked from five o'clock, after dinner, till five next morning; so tlhat I knew her better, and(l reciprocally, in those three talks, than during tlie four precedilg' years, when slle calme to my house at the time sle loved Jules Sandeau, and was connected with Mnusset. She knew me only as 1 went to see her inow iland then. It was useful for me to see her, for we made mutual confideinces on thle subject of Jules Sandeau. I, who am tile last to blame her for that desertion, have nothlinog now but tile deepest compassion for her, as you will have for me when you know with whom we had to (do, she, in love; I, in friendship. She was, however, even more unhappy with Musset; and slle is now in deep retirement, condemlning bothl mlarriage and love; beeause in both states slhe has met with nlothing but deceptinlls. 1838] Letters to Miadame lanska. 483 Her male is rare, that is the whole of it. He is the more so because she is not lovable, and, consequently, will always be difficult to love. She is a lad, she is an artist, she is grand, generous, devoted, chaste; she has the great lineaments of a man: ergo, she is not a woman. I did not feel, any more than I formerly felt when beside her, attacked by that gallantry of the epidermis which one ought to employ in France and Poland towards every species of woman. I talked as with a comrade. She has.lofty virtues, of the kind that society takes the wrong way. We discussed, with a gravity, good faith, candor, and conscience worthy of the great shepherds who lead herds of men, the grand questions of marriage and liberty: "For," as she said to me with immense pride (I should never have dared to think it for myself), "although by our writings we are preparing a revolution for future manners and morals, I am not less struck by the objections to the one than by those to the other." We talked a whole night on this great problem. I am altogether for the liberty of the young girl and the slavery of the wife; that is to say, I wish that before marriage she should know what she binds herself to, that she should study it all, because. when she has signed the contract and experienced its chances she must be faithful to it. I gained a great deal in making Madame Dudevant recognize the necessity of marriage; but she will believe it, I am sure, and I think I have done good in proving it to her. She is an excellent mother, adored by her children; but she dresses her daughter Solange as a boy, which is not riglht. Af[oralby, she is like a young man of twenty, for she is inwardly chaste and prudish; she is only an artist externally. She smokes immoderately; plays the princess a little too much, perhaps; and I am convinced that she has faithfully painted herself in the princess of 184 Ifonorj de l-EBaac. s1838 her "Secretaire intime." She knows, and said, of herself just what 1 think, without my saying it to her, namely: that she has neither force of conception, nor gift of constructing I)lots, nor faculty of reaching the tirue, nor the art of pathos, but - without knowing the French language - she has style; and that is true. She takes her fame, as I do mine, in jest, and she has a piofound contempt for the public, calling it Jmciento. I will relate to you the immense and secret devotion of tllis womlnan for those two men, and you will say to yourself that there is nothing in common between angels and devils. All the follies that shle has committed are titles to fame in the eyes of great and nolble souls. She was duped by 5Mindamne Dorval, Bocage, LIamennais, etc., etc. Throughl the same sentiment she is now the dupe of Listz and MIradame d'Agoult; but she has just come to see it as to that pair as she did in the case of la Dorval; she has one of those minds that are powerful in tlhe study, through intellect, and extremely easy to entrap on the domain of realities. Apropos of Lislz and Madame (I'Agoult, she gave me tlhe subiect of "Les 0Galriens," or "'Amours force's," which I amll goilng to write; for in hler position slie cannot do so. Keep tllhat secret. In sort, site is a man, and all thle more a main beenuse she wants to be one, because slie has comle out of woma eenhood, and( is not a womnan. Woman attnacts, and shle repels; and, as I am very much of a man, if sie lrodutlees tlhat effect on me slhe must produce it on all men wlho are like me; she will always be unhappy. rlTitlis, she now loves a man who is inferior to tier, and in1 that contracet there can be only deception and disenclhantment for a woman witlh a fine soul. A woman ought always to love a man superior to herself, or else be so well deceived tlhat it will be as if it were so. I did not stay at Nohant with impunity; I brought 1838] Letters to Mladame Hanska. 485 away a monstrous vice; she made me smoke a hookah and latakia; and they have suddenly become a necessity to me. This transition will help me to give up coffee and vary the stimulant I need for work; I thought of you. I want a fine, good hookah, with a lid or extrabowl; and, if you are very amiable, you will get me one in Moscow; for it is there, or in Constantinople, that the best can be had. Be friendly enough to write at once to Moscow, so that the parcel may reach me with the least possible delay. But on condition only that you tell me what you want in Paris, so that I have my hookah only as barter. If you can also find true latakia in Moscow, send me five or six pounds, as opportunities are rare to get it from Constantinople. And dare I also ask you not to forget the cr'evan, tea you promised me? I am much of a child, as youi know. If it is possible that the decoration of the hookah should be in turquoise, that would please me, all the more because I want to attach to the end of the tube the knob of my cane, which I am l)revented from carrying by the notoriety given to it. If you wish, I will send you a set of Parisian pearls, sulch as you liked; the mounting will be so artistic that, although the pearls are only Parisian, you will have a work of art. Say yes, if you love me. Yes, is n't it? I will write you a line from Paris, for I must go to Sardiiiia. Pray to God that I may succeed, for if I do, my joy will carry me to Wierzchownia. I shall have liberty! no more cares, no more material worries; I shall be rich! Addio, cara contesish a for the post has imperious and self-willed hours. Think that in fifteen days I shall be sailing on the Mediterranean. Ah! from there to Odessa, it is all sea-as they say in Paris, it is all pavement. From Odessa to Berditchef it is but a step. I send you my tender regards, and friendly ones to M. Hanski, with all remembrances to your young com 4 ) KI4o,8c (b, B[ilz<t,. [1 S;: 'S 1,panions. You ought to beC, as I write, iit full enljoymellt o)f the Boulaiv-er, ant I1 avwtit wilth ilipaticlice your.S(1t'o s((inct di(t oil tile work of, tlme pa'ainter. Think that if I pray it is for yoA-; if I ask GCod for anything with that cowl lowered it is fir you, alld tlat tihe fat monk now before yout is Cvc ] the molj ik of your lofty and powerful mind. Have you read "Birotteaul"? After that bootk I shall decideedly write "La Plremiire l )e nDoiselle; then a lo ve)oolk, very coqlettish, "Les Almoulrs forcfs." It is for those whllo ha \ the aldoral)l sweetliess to love actc )rd inlg to the laws of their own heart, and to pity the galleyslaves of love. \AJA(('~ i), 5!.1A:CII 'i26, S1'S. (<,;ia coItssin-,, I did not have a momlent to mnyself in which to write to you from Paris onl my return fromt Berry. The above date will slhow you that I am twenty hours froni Sardiiiia, where I make llmy expedition. I am waiting for an opportunity to (cr1, over to tlat is!and., al d O a rrival I shall have to do five days' quarlantine, - for Italy will no)t give 11) tthat customil. They believe in contagion and cho(ler:t; it })rolke out in Marseille six momilts ago, anid they sti l eontilue their useless precautilions. I)uring tlhe fewd ('lays I remained in P:rais I had endless ditliculties to conquer in order t~o liaike m3ly' journey; money was laboriou)sly olta ied, for monev is scarce with me. Whell you know tlhat tlis eniterolrise is a desperate effor t to l)t an (e11(1 to tlthe perpetual sturile between fortune 'and me, you will 1not 1. surprised by it. I risk only a mont]h of my time l aI(1 lidve lhundred fra nes for a fairly file fortune. 1\. Carraud decided mne; submitted my conjectures, whichl are scientific in their nature, to him, a'Ind as hle is one of t1lose (great soo.ots who (10 nothing, publlish n1otltillg, and live il idleness, 1838] Letters to Matdacme l]anska. 487 his opinion was given, without any restriction, in favour of my ideas, - ideas that I can only communicate to you by word of mouth if I succeed, or in my next letter if I fail. Successful or unsuccessful, I. Carraud says that he respects such an idea as much as a fine discovery, considering it an ingenious thing. M. Carraud was for twenty years director of our Military School of SaintCyr; he is the intimate friend of Biot, whom I have often heard deplore,- in the interest of science, the inaction in which M. Carraud now lives. In truth, there is no scientific problem that he cannot discuss admirably when questioned; but the trouble is that these vast mathematical minds judge life by what it is, and, not seeing a logical conclusion of it, they await death to be rid of their time. This vegetable existence is the despair of Madame Carraud, who is full of soul and fire. She was stupefied on hearing M. Carraud declare, when I submitted my conjectures to him, that he would go with me, he who never leaves the house even to look after his own estate. However, the natural man returned, and he gave up the project. His opinion ended by bringing my own incandescence to the highest point; and in spite of the terrible equinox in the Gulf of Lyon, in spite of five days and four nights to spend in a diligence, I started. I have suffered much, especially at sea. But here I am, in the native town of the Napoleons, giving myself to all the devils because I am obliged to wait for the solution of my problem within twenty hours' distance of that l)robllem. One must not think of going through Corsica to the straits which separate it from Sardinia, for the land journey is long, dangerous, and costly, both in Corsica and Sardinia. Ajaccio is an intolerable place. I know no one, and there is no one to know. Civilization is what it is in Greenland; the Corsicans do not like strangers. I am wrecked, as it were, on a granite rock; I go and look at 4S8 Jion'orc dc(' Balz,'. [1838 the sea and return to dinner, (o co bed, and begin over again, - not dariing to work, because at any moment 1 may start; this situation is the antipodes of my nature, whiclh is all resolution, all activity. I have been to see the house where Napoleon was born; it is now a poor hovel. 1 have rectified a few mistakes. His fattlher was a rather rich l:nd-owner, and not a cl'erk, as several lying biogrl'aphies have said. Also, whet Napoleonll re:lched Ajaccio on his return fromi Egypt, instead of being received by acclanmations, as historians declare, and obtaining a gener.al triumph, lie was slhot at, aild a price was pullt upon his head; they shlowed 111e the little beach were e lanlded(. He owed his life to the courage an'ld devotion of a peasant, wlho took hlimm, to the on11ultaiiis and put him in an iinaccessil)le retreat. It was the nephew of the mayor of Ajaccio wllo put tlie price upon his head, that told me these details. After Napoleon was First Consul the l)easallt went to see him. Napoleon asked him what he wanted. Tioe peasanmt asked for one of his father's estates, called "'11 Pantano," which was worth a million. Napoleon gave it to him. TIte son of that peasalnt is to-day one of thle richest men in Corsica. Napoleon lIad already giveln his father's estates to the Ramelibni, hlis motlher's family, - having no right to do so. The ona'partes said nothing, for during his peower they obtainedl everything from lhim. Since his death, an11( receltly, they have brought suits to recover this propeily from thle Ramolini. Pozzo di l ioro trim nllis in Corsica as he triuml)he(l over llis enemy Nalpoleon, - etternici, Wellington, and(l Talleyrand. aiding. hIis lephlew, who is payma'ster here, has an income of more thlan one hundred thousand francs. I am lo(lgingr in ole of his houses. T am ('oing to Saissari, thle second capital of Sardinia, and slhall stay there a few days. What I have to do 1838] Letters to Madame Hanska. 489 there is a small matter for the moment; the grand question, whether or not I am mistaken, will be decided in Paris; it suttices if I can procure a specimen of the thing. Do not crack your brains in trying to find out what it can be; you will never discover it.. am so weary of the struggle about which I have so often told you, that now it must end, or I shall succumb. Here are ten years of toil without any fruit; the only certain results are calumnies, insults, and lawsuits. You tell me as to that the noblest things in the world; but I answer you that all men have but one quantum of strength, blood, courage, hope; and mine is exhausted. You are ignorant of the extent of my sufferings; I ought not, and I could not tell you all of them. I have renounced happiness, but in default of that I must, at least, have tranquillity. I have therefore formed two or three plans for fortune. This is the first; if it fails, I shall go to the second. After which, I shall resume my pen, which I shall not have entirely relinquished. Yesterday I wanted to write to you, but I was overcome by gleams of an inspiration which dictated the plot of a comedy that you have already condemned: "La Premiere Demoiselle" [afterwards " L'1Ecole des MAnages"]. Iy sister thought it superb; George Sand, to whom I related it at Nohant, predicted the greatest success; it was this that made me take it in hand again, and the most difficult part is now done; namely, that which is called the scenario, - the arrangement of all the scenes, the entrances and exits, etc. I undertook the "Physiologie du Mariage" and the "Peau de Chagrin" against the advice of the angel whom I have lost. I am now, during this delay inl my journey, undertaking this play against yours. 490 fIonorS de Balzac. [1838 AJACCIo, March 27. I don't know from where I can send you this letter, for I have so little money that I must consider a postage that costs five francs; but from Sassari I go to Genoa, and from Gellnoa to Milan. That is the least expensive way of returning, on account of not being forced to stay anywhere, because opportunities are frequent. In Milan I have a banlker on whom I can countll in Genoa also. Therefore, youl must nlot be surprised at the great delay of this letter. After leavin,g Corsica, I shall probably have neither time nor facilities for writing; but the letter is all ready, and I shall pay the postage when I call. The Mediterra-nean has been very bad; there are merchants here who think their ships are lost. To risk as little as possible, I took the land route from Marseille to Toulon, and the steamboat that carries despatches from Toulon here. Nevertheless, I suffered terribly, and spent much money. I think, however, that the sea route to Odessa would be the safest, most direct, and least costly way of going to you. From Marseille to Odessa by sea it is only tour hundred francs. From Odessa to Berditchef it ought not to cost much, especially if you came to Kiew to meet me. You see that wherever I go I think of your dear Wierzchownia. Corsica is one of the most beautiful countries in the world; there are mountains as in Switzerland, but )no lakes. France is not making the most of this fine country. It is as large as ten of our departments, but does not yield as much as one of them; it ought to have five million of inhabitants, but there are barely three hundred thousand. We are beginning to make roads and clear forests which will yield immense wealth, like the soil, which is now completely neglected. There may I)e the finest mines in the world of marble, coal, and metals, etc.; but no one has studied the country, on 1838] Letters to ltadame Hanska. 491 account of bandits and the savage state in which it is left. In the midst of my maritime sufferings on the steamboat I bethought me of the indiscretion I committed in asking you to get me a hookah from Moscow, in my passionate ardour for the latakia which I smoked at George Sand's, and which Lamartine had brought her. I was so spasmodically unhappy about it that I laugh now as I remember my sickness. I am sorry I could not get a hookah in Paris; it would have wiled away my time here and dispelled the ennui which, for the first time in my life, has laid hold upon me; this is the first time that I have known what a desert with semisavages upon it is. This morning I have learned that there is a library here, and to-morrow, at ten o'clock, I can go there to read. What? That is an anxious question. There are in this place neither reading-rooms, nor women, nor popular theatres, nor society, nor newspapers, nor any of the impurities that proclaim civilization. The women do not like foreigners; the men walk about the whole day, smoking. The laziness is incredible. There are eight thousand souls, much poverty, and extreme ignorance of the simplest current events. I enjoy a complete incognito. No one knows what literature or social life is. The men wear velveteen jackets; there is so much simplicity in clothing that I, who have dressed myself to seem poor, look like a rich man. There is a French battalion here, and you should see the poor officers, idling in the streets- from morning till night. There is nothing to do! I shall now begin to sketch scenes and lay out projects. I must work with fury. How people must love on this desert rock! and truly the place swarms with children, like gnats of a summer's evening. Adieu for to-day. I was only eighteen hours at Mar, 492 Honor6e de Balzace. [1838 seille and ten at Toulon, and so could not write to you until to-day. AJACCIo, April 1. I leave to-morrow for Sardinia in a little row-boat. I have just re-read what I wrote to you, and I see I did not finish about the hookah. Yot understand tllat if it gives you the least trouble you are to drop imy commission. As for the latakia, I have just discovered (laugh at me for a whole year) that Latakia is a village of the island of Cyprus, a stone's throw fromt here, where a superior tobacco is made. named from the place, and that I can get it here. So mark out that item. I have just seen a poor French soldier who lost both hands by a cannon-ball, anll has nothing but stumps; he earns his living by writing, beatingr a drum, playilng the violin, p)layi:ng at cards, and shaving in the streets. If I liad not seen it I never should believe it. The Ajaccio library has nothilg. I have re-read "Clarissa Marlowe," and read for the first time "Pamela" and "Sir Charles Grandison," which I found horribly dull and stupid. What a fate for Cervantes and Richardson to have been able to do but one work! The same might be said of Sterne. I have had the misfortune to be recognized by a curse(l law-studenlt of P"aris, just returned to make himself a lawyer in his own land. HIe had seen me in Paris. Hence an article in a Corsican paper. And I, wlho wanted to keep my journey as secret as possible! Alas, alas! What a bore! Is there no way for me to do either good or evil without publicity? This is the eiglth day of my placil life. But Ajaccio is like one household. I have had a gmreat escape. If I had not taken tllhe route I did take, and had come dlirect from Marseille, I should have encountered a dreadful Lemplest which wrecked three ships on the coast. 1838] Letters to iitadame fluitska. 493 AJACClo, April 2. This evening, at ten o'clock, a little boat will carry nme away; then 1 have five days' quarantine at Alghiero, a little harbour you may see on the map of Sardinia. It is there, between Alghiero and Sassari, iLhat the (district of Argentara lies, and it is there that I am going to see mines, abandoned at the time of the discovery of America. I cannot tell you mlore than that. When this letter is in your possession in that pretty room at beautiful WVierzchownia, I shall be either a fool or a man of wisdom; perhaps neither the one nor the other, simply an ambitious heart defeated in an ingenious hope. Addio, cara; I hope that all goes well at Wierzchownia, that you have wept a little over "C'sar Birotteau," that you have written me your feelings and impressions about that book, and that I shall thus be rewarded for it in this world. All caressing things to those you love. I have again put off writing to 31. Ilanski, because I shall (do so at Milan after receiving certain news. But g(ive him my regards, and keep for yourself the most attaching and coquettish, which are your due. Off ALGIoERo, SARDINIA, April 8. I am here, after five days of rather lucky navigation in a coral-boat on its way to Africa. Put I now know the privations of sailors; we had nothing, to eat but the fish we caught, which thiley boiled into execrable soup. I had to sleep on deck and be devoured by fleas, which abound, they say, in Sardinia. And finally, although here, we are condemned to remain five days in quarantine on this little boat, in view of p)Ort, and those savages will give us nothing. WAe have just gone through a frightful tempest; they would not let us fasten a cable to a ring on the quay; but, as we are Frenchmen, one 494 Jliooro de.Balzac. [is8s sailor jumpl)eld into the water and fastened it himself by force. The governor came down and ordered the cable loosed as soon as the sea calimed down; which, nunlder their system of contagion, was absurd; because we ha(l already (given thle cholera or we had not given it. it;was a pl)ue notion of tlie governor, wl1o wants tlhings done as lie says. Africa begins here; I see a ragged population, almost naked, brown as Ethiopians. CA A; uIAI:, April 17. I have just crossed the whole of Sardinia and seen things such as they relate of the IIurons and(l about Polynesia. A desert kinlgdom, real savages, 1no0 husbandry; long stretches of palm-trees and cactus; goats everywhere browsing on the undergrowth and keeping it down to tihe level of tlle waist. I have been seventeen and eighteen hours on horseback - I who hiave not mnounted a horse these four years - without seeing a single dwelling. I came through a virgin forest, lying on the neck of my horse in fear of my life; for I had to ride down water-courses archled over with bralnches alnd climb)ing plants which threatened to put out my eyes.; break my teeth or wrellch off my helad. Gigaantic oaks, cork-trees, laurel, and heather tlhirtv feet high, - nothing to cat. No sooner did I reachl the end ('f mny exp)editioin than I had to think of returning; so, without takii ng any rest, I started on horseback from Alghiero to Sassari, the second capital of tlhe island, from which a diligence, lately esttablishcedl was to b)ring me here, Awhere there is, in port, a steambo'at for G(enoa. But, as the weather is t)ad here I must stay for two days. From S.assari to Cagliari I came through the whole of Sardinia, through the middle of it. It is alike everywhere. There is one district where the inhabilants make a horrible bread by p1ounding acorns of tlhe live-oak to flour and mixing it with clay, and this within sight of 1838] Letters to MAlidame Hfanska. 495 beautiful Italy! Men and women go naked with a strip of linen, a tattered rag, to cover their nudity. I saw masses of human beings trooped in the sun along the walls of their hovels, for Easter-day. No habitation has a chimney; they make their fires in the middle of the huts, which are draped with soot. The women spend their days in pounding the acorns and kneading the bread; the men tend the goats and the cattle; the soil is untilled in this, the most fertile spot on earth! In the midst of this utter and incurable misery there are villa~ges which have costumes of amazing richness. GENOA, April 22. Now I can tell you the object of my journey. I have been both right and wrong. Last year, at this time, in Genoa, a merchant told me that the careless neglect of Sardinia was so great that there were, in a certain locality, disused silver mines with mountains of scoriae containing refuse lead from which the silver had been taken. At once, I told him to send me specimens of these scoriae to Paris, and that after assaying them I would return and get a permit in Turin to work those mines with him. A year passed, and the man sent me nothing. Here is my reasoning: The Romans and the metallurgists of the middle ages were so ignorant of docimasy that these scoriae must, necessarily, still contain a great amount of silver. Now, a friend of Borget, a great chemist, possesses a secret by which to extract gold and silver in whatever way and in whatever proportion they are mixed with other material, at no great cost. By this means I could get all the silver from these scorive. While I was waiting and expecting the specimens, my Genoese merchant obtained for himself the right to work the mine; and, while I was inventing mv ingenious deduction, a Marseille firm went to Cagliari, assayed the lead and the scoria-, and petitioned, in rivalry with 496) 4H11 or'c ' de Ilazac. [. [L18,8 the Genoese, for a permit in Turin. An assayer from Marseille, who was taken to the spot, found that the scorhe gave ten per cent of lead, and the lead ten per cent of silver by the ordinary methods. So my coijeetures were well-founded; but I had the misfortune not to act prom)tlty enough. On the other hand, misled by local iinfornmation, I rode to the Argentara, another abandoned mine, situated in the wildest part of the islandt, and I brought away specimens of mineral. Perhaps chance may serve me better than the reasonings of intellect. I am detained here by the reftusal of the Austrian consul to visor my passl)port for Milan, whlere I must go before returning to Paris, to get some money. I will send you my letter from there, which is in the Austrian d(ominions, and time will be saved in its going to Brody. 1 thought I should only be a month on this trip, and I shall have been from forty-live to fifty days. I do not suffer less in my taffairs than in my habits by such a break. It is now fifty days since I had news of you! And my poor house which is building! Grant it be finished, and that I may be able to regain time lost. I must do three works at once without unharnessing. Adieu, cef'(t. If you have seen Genoa you know how dull the life is here. I shall go to work on my comedy. I)o not scold me too much when you answer this letter about my journey, for the vanquished should be consoled. I have thought often of you during my adventurous trip; and I imagined thlat MI. I-anski was saying more than once, "What the devil is he doing in that galley?" A j)ropos, the statue from Milan has been received in Paris [Puttinati's statue], and is thouight bad; so I shall not insist on sending you a copy; you have enough of me on Boulanger's canvas. 1838] Letters to lileadame Hlanskt. 497 MILAN, May 20, 1838. Dear countess, you know all that this date says [his birthday]. I begin the year at the end of which I shall belong to the great and numerous regiment of resigned souls; for I swore to myself in the days of misfortune, struggle, and faith which made my youth so wretched, that I would struggle no longer against anything when I reached the age of forty. That terrible year begins to-day, - far from you, far from my own people, in a mortal sadness which nothing alleviates. for I cannot change my fate myself, and I no longer believe in fortunate accidents. My philosophy will be the child of lassitude, not of despair. I came here to find an opportunity to get back to France, and I have remained to do a work, the inspiration for which has come to me here after I had vainly implored it for some years. I have never read a book in which happy love is pictured. Rousseau is too impregnated with rhetoric; Richardson is too much of a reasoner; the poets are too flowery; the romance-writers are too slavish to facts; and Petrarch too busy with his images, his concetti; he sees poesy better than he sees woman. Pope has given too many regrets to Heloise. None have described the unreasoning jealousies, the senseless fears, or the sublimity of the gift of self. It may be that God, who created love with humanity, alone understands it, for none of his creatures have, as I think, rendered the elegies, imaginations, and poesies of that divine passion, which every one talks of and so few have known. I want to end my youth - not my earliest youth - by a work outside of all my other work, by a book apart, which shall remain in all hands, on all tables, ardent and innocent, containing a sin that there may be a return, passionate, earthly and religious, full of consolations, full of tears and joys; and I wish this book to be without a 32 498 Jlonor c de Balzac. [1838 name, like the "Imitation of Jesus Christ." I would I could write it here. But I must return to France, to Paris, re-enter my shop of vendor of phra)lses, and between now and then I can only sketch it. Since I wrote you nothing new has happened. I have seen once more the D)uomo of Milan, and I have made the tour of the Corso. But I have nothing to say of all that which you do not know already. I have made acquaintance with the Chimnuras of the grand chaindelier on the altar of te Virgin, whllich I had seen superficially; with Saint Bartholomew holding his skin as a mantle; with certain delightful angels sustaining the circle of the choir; and that is all. I have heard, at the Scala, the Boccabadati in "Zelmira." But I go nowhere; the Countess Bossi came bravely up to me in the street and reminded me of our dear evening at tile Sisiondis'. Slie was not recognizable. The change in her forced me to a terrible examination of myself. It is now two months that I have had no news of you. My letters remain in. Paris; no one writes to me because I have been wandering in lands where there are no mails. Nothing has better proved to me that I ami an i animal living by caresses and affection, neitller more nor less like a dog. Skin-deep friendships (lo not suit me; they weary me; they make me feel more vivid(ly what treasures are inclosed in the hearts where I lodge. I am not a Frenchman, in the frivolous acceptation of that term. The inn became intolerable to me, and I am, by the kindness of Prince Porcia, in a little chamber of his house, overlooking gardens, where I work much at my ease, as with a friend who is all kindness for me. Alphonso-Serafino, Principe di Porcia, is a man of my own age, the lover of a Countess Bolognini, more in love this year than lie was last year, unwilling to marry unless he can marry tlhe countess, who has a husband from whom she is separated a imensd et thoJo. You see 1838] Letters to lMdame Hans/ca. 499 they are happy. The countess is very witty. The prince's sister is the Countess San-Severino, about whom I think I have already told you. Milan is all excitement about the coronation of the emperor as King of Lombardy; the house of Austria has to spend itself in costs and fireworks. Though I have seen Florence only through the crevice of a half-week, I prefer Florence to Milan as a residence. If I had the happiness to be so loved by a woman that; she would give me her life, it would be upon the banks of the Arno that I should go and spend my life. But after all, in spite of the romances of my friend George Sand, and my own, it is very rare to meet with a Prince Porcia who has enough fortune to live where he likes. I am poor, and I have wants. I must work like a galley-slave. I cannot say to Arabella d'Agoult (see the "Lettres d'un Voyageur"), "Come to Vienna, and three concerts will give us ten thousand francs; let us go to Saint-Petersbtlrg, and the ivory keys of my piano will buy us a palace." I need that insulting Paris, its publishers, its printing-offices, twelve hours' stupefying work a day. 1 have debts, and debt is a countess who loves me too tenderly. I cannot send her away; she puts herself obstinately betwixt peace, love, idleness, and me. It is too hideous, that fate, to cast upon any one, even my enemies. There is only one woman in the world from whom I could accept anything, because I am sure of loving her all my life; but if she did not love me thus, I should kill myself in thinking of the part I had played. You see I must, within a few months, take refuge in the life of La Fontaine. Whichever side I turn I see only difficulties, toil, and vain and useless hope. I have not even the resource of two years at Diodati on the Lake of Geneva, for I am now too hardened in work to die of it. I am like a bird in its cage, which has struck,against all its bars, and now sits motionless on 500 Honore de Balzac. [1838 its perch, above which a white hand stretches the green net that, protects it from breaking' its head. You would never believe wlhat gloomy meditations this hapl)y life of Porcia;'s costs me; hle lives upon the Corso, ten doors from the Bologonini. lunt 1 am thirty-nline to-day, with one hundred and lifty thousand francs of debt upon me; )Belgium has the umillion I have earned, and - I have not the coura(e to oo on, for I perceive that the sadness which consumes me would be cruel upon paper, and I owe to friendship tlie grace of keeping it in my heart. To-morrow, after writing a few letters for my lovers, I shall be gayer,,1and I will come to you with a virtue that shall make a saint despair. May 23. ('at, I have homne-sickness! France and its skygray for most of tlhe timne - wrings my heart beneath this pure blue sky of 3Milan. The l)uomo, decked witlh its laces, does not lift my soul from indifference; the Alps say nothing to me. This soft, relaxing air fatigues me; I go and come without soul, without life, without power to say what tlhe matter is; and if I stay thus for two weeks longer, I shall be dead. To explain is impossible. Tlhe bread I eat has no savour; meat does not nourish me, water can scarcely slake my thirst; this air dissolves me. I look at the handsomest woman in the world as if she were a monster, and I (lo not even have that common sensation that the sight of a flower gives. MIy work is abandoned. I shall recross the Alps, and I hope in a week to be in the midst of my ow-n dear hell. What a horrible malady is nostalgia! It is indescribable. I am happy only at the moment when I write to you, and say to myself that this paper will go from Millan to Wierzchownia; then only does thought break through this black existence beneath the sun, this atony which relaxes every fibre of the life. That is the only operative force which maintains the union of soul and body. I838] Letters to Madame Hans/ca. 501 May 24. I have again seen the Countess Bossi; and I am struck with the few resources of Italian women. They have neither mind nor education; they scarcely understand what is said to them. In this country criticism does not exist, and I begin to think that the saying is right which attributes to Italian women something too material in love. The only intelligent and educated woman I have met in Italy is La Cortanza of Turin. I have been to see the Luini frescos at Saronno; they are worthy of their reputation. The one that represents the Marriage of the Virgin is of peculiar sweetness. The faces are angelical, and, what is rare in frescos, the tones are soft and harmonious. There is no present opportunity to return to France. I must resolve to take the wearisome and fatiguing means of the Sardinian and French mail-carts. June 1, 1838. My departure is fixed for to-morrow, errors excepted, and I think that never shall I have seen France again with such pleasure, though my affairs must be greatly tangled by this too long absence. If I am six days on the road that will make three months, and, in all, it has been seven months of inaction. I need eight consecutive months of work to repair this damage. I shall enter my new little house to spend many nights in working. June 5. I have just been to the post-office to see if any one had had the idea to write to me poste restante. There I found a letter from the kind Countess Loulou [Louise Turheim], who loves you and whomn you love, and in whose letter your name is mentioned in a melancholy sentence which drew tears from my eyes; for, in the species of nostalgia under which I am, imagine what it 502 Ilonorc de Balzac. [183s was to me to recall the Landcstrasse and the Gemeindegasse! I sat down on a bench before a cafe and stayed there for nearly an hour, with my eyes fixed on the Duomo, fascinated by all that letter recalled; and the incidents of my stay in Vienna p)assed before me, one by one, in their tiutih, their marble candour. Ah! what (lo I not owe - not to her who Causes such memories, but - to this frail paper that awalkens them'! You must remeinl)er that I ama without news of you 1fr three months, by my own fault. You know wlhy. But you will never know wlhence this thirst for mlakiong( a fortune comes to me. I am g(oing' to write to the goo(l chanoinesse without tellig her all she has done by her letter, for such things are diilicult to express, even to that kind German Xwomtan. Iat sloe s)okIe of you with such soul tha't I can tell her that what in her is friendship in me is worship that can never end. She says so prettily that o,)i of my friends - not the verit/J/ce one, but tlhe oh)er - is in Venice; truly, she moved me to tears. What perpetual grief to be alw\ays so near you in tllouglht and so distant in reality! Aill, (ear, the I)uomno was very suiliime to me on the 5th of June at eleven o'clock! I lived there a whole year. Well, adlieu. I leave to-morrow, and in ten (days I shall aniswer all your letters, treasures amassed durinllg' this drea(dful journey. May G(od g'iard you and yours, and forget nlot the poor exile who loves you well. AUx JARIDIEg, S rE.S, July 26, 1833. I receive to-day your numlber 4-1, and I answer it, together witl thle three letters I found awaiting mine in the rue des Batailies a month a,,o. In the first place, (lear, you must know that time "Veuve I)Durai " no longer exists. Thle poor wo-man: was killed by the little journals whichlI puslhed their base 1838] Letters to Mladame Hanska. 503 ness towards me so far as to betray a secret which to any men of honour would have been sacred. So now I am established for always at Sevres, and my hovel is called "Les Jardies;" therefore my address now is and long will be: "-M. de Balzac, aux Jardies, a Sevres." You predicted truly in your last letter; I ought to pass a month here doing nothing but turning round and round to settle myself upon my muck-heap. 1 am still in the midst of plasterers, masons, diggers, painters, and other workmen. I arrived quite full of that book which does not exist, which has never been done, and which I desire to do, and I found the most foolish mercantile hindrances; the two volumes of "La Femlme Superieure," taken from the "Presse," lack a few pages before they can be sold as a book, which I must fill out by adding the beginning of " La Torpille." I found the contractor for my house at bay; I found the hounds of my debts awaiting me, with annoyances of all kinds. I have enough to do for a month in goings and comings, etc. I took a week to rest; my journey back was very fatiguing; I risked an ophlthalmia on the Mont Centis; having left the great heat of Lombardy, I came, in a few hours, into twenty degrees below freezing on the summit of the Alps, with snow and wind. August 7. Fifteen days' interruption, during which this letter has been constantly under my eyes, on my table, without my being able to tell you that the wind on the Mont Cenis drove a fine dust into my eyes, which pricked them with blinding particles. I know that my letters, which tell you my life, give you as much pleasure as yours give me. Only, your words sustain and refresh me; whereas mine communicate to you my vertigoes, my worries. my disappointments, my lassitudes, my terrors, my toils. Your existence is calm, gentle, and religious; it rolls slowly along, like a stream on its gravelly bed between two 50-1 Hlonord de eBalzac. [1838 verdant shores. Mine is a torrent, all noise and rocks. I am ashamed of the exchange, in which I bring you only troubles, an(l obtain from you the treasures of peace. You are patient; I am in revolt. You have not understood the last cry I uttered, at Milan. I had, there, a doublle nlostalgia, and I had not, against the more dreadful of the two, the resource, horrible as it is, of my struggles here. Here, moral aind physical combat, debts, and literatuie have something excitilg, bewildering. See it yourself; I am interrupted in a sentence in the middle of the nigillt, and I cannot resume that sentence for perlhaps two weeks. I have a world of thinigs to tell you. In the first place, remove from vour tranlquil life a trouble like that of procuring my hookatl. Just fancy! all that came of my ignorance! I thotigilt you lived near Moscow, and that Moscow was the principal market for such things. That was all, - except that I wanted to receive from you an article which is, they say, a chsse-c/,y'pial. But if it causes you the slightest trouble it will be painful to inme to see it. Among the thousand and( one tlhings thlat I have h.ad to do I must put in the front line a neg(otiation about the "Mariage de e oseph Prudhi(omme," with a theatre that agrees to give ne twenty tllousand francs on the day the play is mretd; and you can imlnaine what thirst a man has for twenty thousand francs when lie is building a house, and( how lie must work to obtainm them! I am, therefore, in spite of the doctor's orders forbidding nme to live in freshly plastered rooms, at Les Jardies. My lhouse is situated onl tle slope of the mountain, or hill, of Saint-Cloud, half-way up, backing on the king's park and looking south. To time west I see the whole of Ville d'Avray; to tlhe south I look down upon tlhe road to Ville d'Avray, which passes along tIhe foot of the hills where the woods of Versailles begin; 1838] Lctters to Jfadamee Jlanska.5. 505 and easterly I overlook Sevres and rest my eyes upon a vast horizon where lies Paris, its smoky atmosphere blurrino' the edges of tlhe famotus slopes of Meudlon and Bellevue; beyond which I see the plains of Montrouge and the Orldans highroad which leads to Tours. It is all strangely magnificent, withI ravishing contrasts. The depths of the valley of Ville d'Avray have all the freshness, shade, and verdure of the Swiss valleys, adorned with charming buildings. The horizon on the other side shines on its distant lines like the open sea. Woocls and forests everywhere. To the north is the royal residence. At the end of my property is the station of the railway from Paris to Versailles, the embankment of which runs through the valley of Ville d'Avray without injury to any part of my view. So, for ten sous and in ten minutes I can go from Les Jardies to the Madeleine in the heart of Paris! Whereas at Chaillot, and in the rue Cassini it took an hour and forty sous at least. Thlerefore, thanks to that circumstance, Les Jard(lies will never be a folly, and its value will be some (lay doubled. I have about one acre of land, ending, towards the south, in a terrace of one hundred and fifty feet and surround(led by walls. At present nothing is planted in it, but this autumn, I slhall make this little corner of the earth an Eden of plants and shrubs tand fragrance. In Paris or its environs anytlhing can be had for money; so, I shall get magnolias twenty years old, tiq/euolles of sixteen, poplars of twelve years, birches, etc., transplanted with balls of roots, and white Chasselas grapes, brought in boxes, that, I may gather them next year. Ohl! how admirable civilization is! To-day my land is bare as my hand. In the month of MIay it will be surprising. I must buy two more acres of ground about me, to have a vegetable garden and firuit, etc. That will cost some thirty thousand francs, and I shall try to earni them this winter. 506 HItorj C'e ( Ba lzac. L1838 The house is a 1)arrot's perch; tlhere is one room on each floor, and there are three iloors. On the groundfloor a dinilng-room and salon; on thle tirst floor a bedroom and dressilng-room; on the second floor a study, where I am writing to you at this moment in the mid(le of the night. The whole is flankedl by a staircase thlat somewhat resembles a ladder. All ro1ni(l the buillilng is a covered gallery to walk in, whiich rises to thle first 11foor. It is supl)ortel on brick pilasters. This little pavilion, Italian in appearance, is p),ailted blrick-colour, with stonle courses at the four corners, attl( tllhe a.pl)endlix in wihich is tlie well of the staircase is painte(l red also. There is room ill it only for mne. Sixty feet ill the rear, towards the park of SaintCloud, are Lile ollices, composed, on the groTund-floor, of a kitchen, scullery, palltry, stable, coach-house, and harness-room, blath-roolnm, woodhouse, etc. Above is a large apartment which I canl let if I clloose, anl above tlhat ag'ain are servaints' rooims and a room for a friend. [lie says elsewhere tlhat this buildilng was the peasant's house, bougoht with the lald.] I have a supply of water equal to tlme famous V ille d'Avray i atter, for it (comies from tlie same source. There is;no furniture here as yet; but all that I own in Paris will be b'lrought here, little by little. I have, just now, nivy mother's oid cook and her hlusband to serve me.;ut for at least, a month lon'Ier I shall live ii tile midst of masons, painters aimd other workmen;:Id(1 I am working', or atm1 going to wolrk to pay them. lhenl the interior is finished I will describe it to you.1 I shlall stay here until my fortune is made; and I am already so pleased with it that after I ilave obtained the capital of my tranquillity I believe thlat I shall end my days here in peace, l)iddin( farewell, without flourish of 1 See Tloh)plile Clantier's description of that interior; " Memoir of Bal/ac," pp. 224, 225.- Tl. 1838] Letters to lMardamle IlaUskca. 507 trumpets, to my hopes, my ambitions - to all! The life tlhat you lead, that life of country solitude, has always lhad great charms for me. I wanted more, because I had nothing at all, and in making to one's self illusions it costs a young man no more to make them grand. To(lday my want of success in everything has wearied my character - I do not say my heart, which will hope ever. That I may-have a horse, fruits in abundance, the material costs of living secured, such is my place in the sunshine, obtained, not paid for, but sketched out. I pay thle interest on capital, instead of paying rent. That is the change of front I have performed. I am in my own home, instead of being in the house of an oppressive landlord. My debt and my money anxieties remain the same; but my courage has redoubled under the lessening of my desires. To-morrow, cora(, I will continue my chatter and send it to you this week. Wednesdav, August 8. There are many things in your last four letters to which I ouglht to reply; but they are locked up in Paris, and before I can get them too much time will have passed. I will answer in another letter, quickly following this. But among other things tlhat struck me in them was the extreme melancholy of your religious ideas. You write to me as if I believed in nothing, as if you wished to send me to La G rande-Chartreuse, or as if you meant to say to me, "EEarth no longer interests me." You cannot think how many inductions, possibly false, I draw from tlhat state of mind; but (and you tell me so with sincerity) you express to me what you feel; otherwise you would be false and distrustful when you should be all truth with a friend like me. Even if I displease you, I must say to you witli confidence that I am not satisfied, and I would rather see you otherwise. To go thus to God is to renounce the world; and I do not comprehend why you should renounce 508 lJlonorc' (dc Balzac, [1838 it when you have so m'any tics tlhat bind you to it, so many duties to accomplish. None but feeble souls will take that course. The reflections that I make on this subject are not of a nature to be communicated to you. They are, inoreover, very selfish, andl concern only ile. Like tllose that I expressed in Milan, they woul( (isplease yoll, because, a.s you say, they trouble you; and for those my heart sinks (lownl. I see clearly that happiness will never cohme to me; aind who wont ld have no bitterness in thinlking tlhat thoulght? I was very unhalppy in my youth, but Ma(lname de Berny balanced ait by an absolute devotion, which was undl(erstood to its full extent only when tlle grave lhad seized its prey. Yes, I was spoilt by tlhat angel; I prove Io my 'gratitu(le by striving to perfect that which shle sketched out in mne. I meant to speak to you of new vexati)Ins; but I oug'lt to be silent. In one of my letters, I don't know whiclh, there is a promlise that I lnade to us both no~ to speak to you agrain of my troubles, to write to you only at the moments when all looked rosy, and to tell mny jerenmiads to the passing clouds, going northward. VWhen you see them look gray they atre telling them to you. How many black confidences lhave I not smothered! There is maniy a corner tliat I llide from, you; and it is those corners that would amaze yom could you penetrate thei and find - behind so an:Lly agitations, preoeeil)ations, toils, travels, i inward dissil)pations," as you sa,y-a fixed idea, (laily more intense, wlicllh surelyv las little virtue sil.nce it cannot remove mountains, tlhat miracle prolmised to faith! Often, friends lhave seen me tturn pale at thle loud cracking of a whip and rush to the window. They ask me what time matter is; and I sit down, palpitating, and saddened for days. Such fevers, such starts, shaken by inward convulsions, break me, crushl me. There are days when I fancy that my fate is being, decideld, that something happy or unhappy will occur to me, is preparing, and I 1838] Letters to MIadcame Hanska. 509 not there! These are the follies of poets, comprehended by them alone. There are days when I take real life and all about me for a dream; so much is this present life, for me, against nature. But now all that will cease amid these fields, which always calm me. Have I secured material existence, beneath which I would fain compress the life of the heart that I see is lost and useless, in spite of the ten good years that still remain to me? -for my passiol has a will of which you can form to yourself no idea. It must have all or nothing. As to that, I am as I was on the day I left college. I am much to be pitied, and I will not be pitied. I have never done anythiig to disprove the absurd and silly lies of society which give me the good graces of charming women, all of which are derived from the coquetries of Madame de Castries and a few others. I have accepted the accusation of self-conceit; I am willing that absurdity on absurdity should accumulate about me to hide the true man, who has but one sentiment, one ideal! I am at this moment- engaged in doing a part of my book on love, which will be detached; I want to paint well the soul of a young girl before the invasion of that love (which will lead her into a convent), and I have thought it true to make her abhor the Carmelites (to whom she will eventually return) at the beginning of life, when she long's for the world and its pleasures. As she has been eight years in the convent, she arrives in Paris as much a stranger to it as Montesquieu's Persian; and by the power of that idea I shall make lher judge and depict the modern Paris, instead of employing the dramatic method of novels. That is a novel idea, and I am putting it into execution. Nevertheless, it is very dillicult for me to resume my life of labour, getting up at midnight and working till five in the afternoon. This is the first morning that I have passed without dozing between six and eight o'clock. 510 IIoPnori d7 Ba14lzac. [I 838 Six months' interruption have made ravages;; there are forces that come from habit, and when habit is broken, farewell forces. I hope to continue working for three or four months, in order to repair the breaches caused by abselnce, and, if my plays succeed, perhaps I shlall have earned, over and above my debts, enough capital for the bread and water on my table, and my Ilo)wers and fruit. The rest may come, perhaps, hereafter. Addio, car(ta; I could not tell you how my comic-opera house, that cottage they push forward on the stage and where lovers give thelnselves a rendezvous, has awakened the housekeeping and bourgeois instincts in me. One could be so happy here! All the advantages of Paris, a!nd none of its disadvanltages! I am here as at Sache, with tle possibility of being in Paris in fifteen minutes - just time enough to reilect on what one is going to do there. lon Die u! have you read in the " Lettres d'un Voyageur " tile part about Moulin-Joli? the engraving of which I saw in her house without then knowing the terrible passage to which it gave rise, terrible to ill-mated bein's. AWell, Les Jardies are Moulin-Joli without thle woman who enlgraves. If you do not know this history, read it. (George Sand never related anything as well. I send you maniy caressing homages and all those flowers of the soul which are so exactly tlie same that I fear they bore you. Many kind remenmbranlces to those about you. I cannot send you an autograph), unfortunately; I had one of Mainzoni for vou, but they have just lit my fire with it! This is tlie second time soimetlhing precious has been burned up here. The newspapers have told you of thle (leplorable end of tihe poor Duchesse d'Albrantos. She lias ended like the Empire. Sonime (lay I will explain her to you, - some good evening at Wierzchow)nia. I can now reply to your bucolics on your beautiful flowers and turf by idyls on Iy own; but alas! there's 1838] Letters to Jiadame Ifanska. 511 a difference in quantity. You have a thousand acres, and I have a thousand square feet! All affectionate and good things. Do not neglect to tell me about your health, your beauty, your incidents in the depths of the Ukraine; you will do so if you form the least idea of the value I attach to the most minute particular. Aux JARDIES, September 17, 1838. Since I last wrote I have done nothing but work desperately; for one must conquer during the last years, or bury one's self under a barren success. I have just written for the " Presse " the beginning of " La Torpille," and the "' Presse " would not have it. I have written the beginning of "Le Cure de Village," the religious pendant of the philosophical book you know as "Le Medecin de campagne." I have written the preface to two volumes about to be published, containing 1' La Femme Superieure," " La Maison Nucingen," and "La Torpille," I have written two volumes in 8vo, entitled, " Qui Terre a, Guerre a; " and finally, I have written for the " Constitutionnel" the end of I' Le Cabinet des Antiques," under the title of "' Les Rivalit-'s de Province." You will understand from that, eart, that I have been unable to write you even two lines in the midst of this avalanche of ideas and labour. Nothing of all that gives me a sou. I had prepared, to save me, certain dramas, and they are all begun; but I wish to go to the grand, and I am discontented; so much so that, seeing how ill I do things while I see such fine thilngs to do, I have abandoned my attempts. And yet, my salvation is in tlle theatre.. A success there would give me a hundred thousand francs. Two successes would clear me, and two successes are only matters of intelligence and toil, - nothing else. At the moment of present writin( I have begun a drama in three acts, entitled, "' La G(ina." It is Othello the other 512 Tonore' de Balzac. [1838 way. La Gina will be a female Othello. The scene is in Venice. I mast essay thle stage. Proposals are not lacking to me. I am offered in one direction twenty thousand francs first payment for fifteen acts; and I have the fifteen acts in my head, but not on paper. ATell, all thle manuscripts are at the printing-office; proofs are rolling; the printers will not beat me in rapidity, for it is not the mechanical invention witli its thousand arms that gets on fastest, it is the brain of your poor friend! September 18. The time to turn the page, and I find " La Gina" too difticult. Reasons have killed it. In ' Othello " Iago is the pillar which supports the conception; I have only a money motive, instead of the motive of hidi(len love. 1 found my personage inadmissible. A vaudeville writer would not have been stopped by that difficulty. So I return to a former play, imagined some time ago, called " Richard Cowur-d'Eponge." I will tell you about it if I (ldo it. My house does not get on. 1 have the walls of the enclosure still to (do, and much to the interior. It is alarming. I have found a source -not of fortune! only clear water. October 1. I am into money matters up to my neck. It is demoralizingr. I have not ha(d two hours to myself for reflection since I wrote you tlie above few lines. Do not be vexed with me. I need calmner times to relate to you a life like mine. I must say mass every second, and ring it. I have had the hope of buying) out my publishers, who are ruining me, and I have just spent two weeks in Paris in crushin1g, killing efforts. \Yol must remember that I have no help or succour, but, on tile other hand, infinite obstacles, without number. If I cannot overcome them I shall go to you for six months' rest at Wierzchownia, where I can write my plays in peace before returning lhere. Many perscns 1838] Letters to 3ladame Hanska. 513 whom I love and esteem advise this, telling me to " go somewhere." But as for me, I cannot abandon a battlefield. The two volumes containing " La Femme Superieure," "' La Maison Nucingen," and " La Torpille" are out. October 10. For the last seven years or so, whenever I have read a book in which Napoleon was mentioned, if I found any new and striking thought said by him, I put it at once into a cook-book that never leaves my desk and lies on that little book you know of, which will belong to youalas, soon, perhaps — in which I put my subjects and my first ideas. In a day of distress (one of my recent days), being without money, I looked to see how many of those thoughts there were. I found five hundred; hence, the finest book of the century; I mean the publication of the " Maximes et Pensees de Napoleon." I sold the work to a former hosier, who is the big-wig of his arrondissement, and wants the cross of the Legion of honour, which he can have by dedicating this book to Louis-Philippe. It is about to appear. Get it. You will have one of the finest things of the day; the soul, the thought of that great man, gathered through much research by your moujik, Honore de Balzac. Nothing has made me laugh so much as this idea of getting the cross for a sort of grocer, who may perhaps recommend himself to your Grace by his title of administrator of a charitable enterprise. Napoleon will have brought me four thousand francs and the hosier may get a hundred thousand. I had such great distrust of myself that I would not work my own idea. To the hosier, both fame and profit. But you will recognize the hand of your serf in the dedication to Louis-Philippe. May the shade of Napoleon forgive me!1 1 This book, extremely rare to-day, appeared at the close of the year 1838, without the name of any publisher, under the following title: "Maximes et Pensdes de Napoleon, recueillies par J. L. Gaudy jeune. Paris. 1838." 5~14 Il1onorel de Baizac. [1838 October 15. I receive to-clay youi' answer to my last letter. Never before dlid it hap~pein to me, to receive a reply to one letter while I was writing- another. This jpheniomeflof takes place now at the enid of five years, during which time I have written to you once a fortnight at least. To tell you all the whys and wherefores, belongs to the domain of tallk,, not to that of epistolary conversation. Ca,)'a, you are mfore thanr ever bent oii conve)tInr' me. Your letter is that of a grave and serious abbess and an ominipotent, 0/futi-scautalcte, gracious and witty Countess Hauska. I kneel at your feet, dear and beautiful sisterMassillon, to tell you here that the sorrow of my life is a long prayer, that my soul. is very white, not because I do not sin, but because I have no time to sin, which maktes it perhaps all the blacker in your eyes. But you know that I have in the shrinie of my heart a madonna who sanctifies all. What have I said or done to you that should bring me all this Christian advice? I work so hard that I have not always time to sleep or, more alarming symptom, to write to you. A man so unfortunate is either the most g-uilty or the most innocent of menc on earth; anid in either case there 's nothing to be done. Would you know what that means? I am weary of the life thus alill'otted to mc, and, wvere it not for iiy (luties, I would take another. I must have received many blows, be very tired of my fate, to abandon myself to chance, as I do to-day, with a character as strongly telnlered as minie. You have reticencees about my affections which grieve me all the more because I cannot reply to them (the reticences), and you ask me superfluous questions about my health. Why have yon not divinied, with that grand perspicacious forehead of yours and your other attributes, flint the unhlapply are always robust in health? They can pass through seats, conflayrtitions, battles, bousand 1838] Letters to 2Macdame Hanska. 515 fresh plaster; they are always sound and well! Yes, I am perfectly well, without aches or pains, in my young house. Have no uneasiness as to that. Beyond a great and general fatigue after my excesses of work during the last fortnight, I am well, and if white hairs did not abound I should think I were the younger by ten years. JfMon Dieu! how I suffer when, in reading your letter, I see that you have suffered from my silence, and that you have taken to heart my anxieties and the agonies of my poor life. 1)o you know it? do you feel it? Nonever see me, as you say, joyous and tranquil! When I write to you joyously all is at its worst, and I am trying to conceal how ill that is. When things are going ill with me if I do not write to you, it is because - No, I cannot write it to you; I will talk of it to you some day, and then you will regret having written to me some words that are sweet and cruel both in relation to my delayed letters. There are things that you will never divine. Do not fear that anything can change or diminish an attachment like mine. You think me lightminded, giddy; it makes me laugh. Believe, once for all, that he in whom you have been good enough to recognize some depth of thought, has depth in his heart, and that while lhe displays such courage in the battle he is fighting, there is just as great constancy in his affections. But you are ignorant of the claims of each day; the dreadful difficulties on which I spend myself. If you knew what wiles were necessary - like those of the "Mariage de Figaro "-to make that hosier pay four thousand francs for the thoughts and maxims of Napoleon; if you realized that my publishers will not give ine money; that I am trying to break up that agreement; that to break it I must pay them fifty thousand francs; and that after believing that my life was secured and tranquil it is now more in peril than ever, you would not treat as folly my enterprise in Sardinia! Oh! I entreat t16 Ilonoric de Balzac. [1838 you, do not advise or blame those who feel themselves sunk in deep waters and are struggling to the surface. Never will the rich comlprehend the unfortunate. One nmust have been one's self without friends, without resources, withlout food, without money,. to know to its dep)ths what misfortune is. I have the knowledge of all thatt; and I no longer complain tlhat I am the victim of a poor unfortunate man who, for food, sells a jest of mine thlat I may have said on the boulevard, but which, whell pulblished, formins a horrible attiackl upon me. I coml)lain l1o longer of caluinnies and inlsults; those poor unfortunates live upon1 them, and though I would rather (lie than live so, I have not the courage to blame them, for I know what it is to slttfer. However rare my letters are, they are the only ones that I write to-day (except those on business); and what quarrels and ill-will I have brought upon myself by not answering letters! You cannot know what a literary life busy as mine is must be. Whatever they tell you, or however lmy silence may appear to you, know tllis: that 1 work day and night; that thle phenomenon of my production is doubled, trebled; tlhat I have brougllt myself to correct a volulme in a single night, and to write one in three days. The world is foolishl. It thinks that a book is spoken. Tis grieves mne only from you; I laugh with pity at others. I have done eigolt works since the month of last November. CG7i, each of those eight works would have foundered for a year the strongest of tlme French writers, who barely do half a volume a year. Among those eight I do not mention tlme book of love, of which I have told you somnetling, which is there, on my table, beneath your letter; I have about twenty-five feui//es of that written. Neither (do I speak of five "Contes DrolatiIques " written withinl two months. 1ion Dieu! I lhave not onle soul to understand me; I 1838] Letters to Mad lame Hanska. 517 have never had but one. Poor, dear Madame de Berny came to see me daily in those days when she thought that I should perish beneath my burden. What would she say now if she saw it tenfold heavier? Yes, I work tenfold harder in 1838 than I did in 1828, 1830, 1831, 18:32, 1833. In those days I believed in fortune; to-day I believe in misery. There are men who want me to sell myself to the present order of things. I would rather die! I:must have -my freedom of speech. When you speak to me of fatal death, such as that of your cousin, I call it happy death, for I do not believe we are placed here below for happiness. Withold was right; I pity his mother much; but he is happy, believe it. You asked me when I shall calm that French fury which carried me to Italy, to Sardinia. Is not that asking ine when I shall be imbecile? Do you expect a man who can write in five nights "Qui Terre a, Guerre a" or "Cesar Birotteau" to measure his steps like a capitalist who takes his dog to walk on the boulevard, reads the "Constitutionnel," comes home to dinner, and plays billiards in the evening? I will allow you here five seconds to laugh at the most charming person in the world, who, to my thinking, is Madame Eve. Nothing remains now but to blame la fuiriu which will take me to see certain Northern people in their steppe. Know, beautiful great lady, that if 1 abandoned myself to Providence, as you propose to me, Providence would already have put me in prison for debt; and I don't see that there is anything providential in a sojourn at Clichy. What would the plants that creep out of caves in search of the sun say if they heard a pretty dove asking them why they climbed that fissure to the air? You curse our civilization; I await you in Paris! But I would also like to know who are the impertinent people who write to you about me; and who think there is a sun for me elsewhere than in the North. 518 51o)iorc de Baizac. 1, [lS8o Theophile Gautier is a yonllg man of whom I think I have spoken to you. lie is one of the talents that I discovereld; but lie is without force of conception. "Foitunio" is below ''MIademoiselle de Maupl)in, and his poems, which have pleased you, alarm me as a decadence in poesy and language. Hie has a ravishilng style, much intellect, of which I think he will not make the most because he is in journalism. lie is the son of a customhouse receiver at the Versailles 1barrier of Paris. ile is very original, knows a great deal, a(nd talks well on art, of which he has the sentiment. IIe is an exceptional man, who will, no doubt, lose his way. You have divined tie mant; lhe loves colour aud flesh; but he comprehends Italy, without having seen it. I am struck by the manner in whichl you return, three several times to the "'levity of my character, and tlhe multiplicity of my enthusiasms." There must be under all that some calumny which has snaked its way to Wierzchowiiia, God knows how! Well, I must bid you farewell, without having said one tenth part of the things I had to say to you, and( which I will return to later. After all, it would te onlly describing to you the worries of my l)resent life, which are innumerable. I must correct for to-morrow "Le Cure (le Village" for it annoys me to have further dealings with the "Presse." Adieu, dear azure flower; keep all safely for one who lays up treasures of affections and feelillgs in your direction. I know not why you say that old friendships are timid(; mine grows very )old witll time. All graceful things to those about you, and to MI. H-anski my frienlly regards. October 16. I am in treaty witlh the "4'l),')ts " to take all my prose at a franc a line. That would make MI. Sedlitz, the 1838] Letters to iMadame Hanska. 519 German poet, howl; but he is a baron, and has estates, and was scandalized in the Landstrasse at hearing me talk about the profits of literature. If this affair comes off you will see me very soon at Wierzchownia. I want to be there in winter. Much tenderness, preaching or laughing, mundane or Catholic. A bientot. Aux JARDIES, November 15, 1838. To-day I meant to have closed and sent to you a letter begun a month ago; but it is lost, -lost from my desk. I have spent three hours of this night in looking for it. I am vexed, I weep for it, because, to me, all expression of the soul fallen into the gulf of oblivion seems irreparable. You would have known what has happened to me since the date of my last letter. In two w6rds, I am about to enter a happier period, or, to use a truer word, a less unhappy period than the past, financially speaking. A few days more and I shall, perhaps, have paid off half my debt. Material success is coming; it begins. My works are to be issued in several formats at the same time. My publishers allow me to buy off my agreement, which bound me too closely, and I am going, in a few months, to be free. These are results. You will be ignorant, until I can tell them to you, of the marches and countermarches, and goings and comings, and conferences which have made me mount and descend all the rungs of the ladder of hope. My pen will have brought in mounds of gold this month.' "Qui Terre a, Guerre a" more than ten thou1 In the midst of this constant calculation of the money to be gained by his work, it is well to remind ourselves now and then that never did he sacrifice that work, the fruit of his genius, to gain, terrible as his need of money was. Htis difficulty in his art was with form; and4 his laborious nights were spent in unflinching efforts to remedy that defect in his mechanism.- TR 520 Honiore de Balzac. [1838 sand francs; "Le Cabinet des Antiques" five thousand francs, etc., etc.; " Massimilla 1)oni " a thousand francs. I have sold for twenty thousand francs the right to sell thlirty-six thousand 1lSno volumes, selected from nmv works. ILa, Physiolog'ie du Mariage" in 8lno has been soldl fo)r live thousand franes. In short, it is a sud(lell, unlh)pe(l-'(or harvest, 'land it comes in the nick of time. I hope, between now and five months hence, to have paid (ff (Tone hl1ul(lred thousand francs of my debIt. But I have eight volumes to finish. They have bought prefaces of a f.I/tile/ in lenrtlh for five hundred francs. All this will give yotu pleasure, will it not? Nothing will as yet give me any ease; for tlis money goes only to clear off the old debt; but at least I can breathe. Another tlilng that will give you pleasure and rejoice your Catholic soul is that my affairs took on this smilingo aspect from tle (lday whlen my mIother hung about rmy neck a imelal blessed by a saint, which I have religiously wornl with aniother amulet [probably her miniature], whi-ch I believe to be more ellicacious. The two talismlans get on very well together, and have not displeased each otilier. I am not willing to disappoint my mother, but this miracle does not convert inme, because I am ignorant which of tlhe two chlarms is tlhe most powerful. I have bee:n very miserable of late; my publishers arce piling up their ducats, while I have not had a brass farthingi(, and this war of diplomatic conferences costs me much. I have now returned to my shell, at Setvres, where nothing is yet finished or habitable. I have the removal of my furniture to do and many other expenses besides. The moral is less satisfactory than the material condition. I am growing older, I feel the need of a companion, and every day I regret the adored being wlho sleeps in a village cemetery near Fontainebleau. My sister, who loves nme much, can never receive me in her 18381 Letters to Mladame Hanska. 521 own home. A ferocious jealousy bars everything. MIy mother and I do not suit each other, reciprocally. I must rely on work unless I have a family of friends about me; which is what I should like to arrive at. A good and happy marriage, alas! I despair of it, though no one is more fitted than I for domestic life. I have interior griefs that I can tell only to you, which oppress me. Ever since I have had ideas and sentiments I have thought wholly of love; and the first woman that I met was a faultless heroine, angelic in heart, a mind most keen, education most extensive, graces and manners perfect. Diabolical Nature placed its fatal but upon all this. Buat she was twenty-two years older than I; so tllat if the ideal was morally surpassed., the material, whicllh is much, erected insurmountable barriers. Therefore, the unlimited passion that has always been in my soul has never found true fulfilment. The half of all was lacking. Do you think, therefore, that I can meet with it now that time is flying at a gallop with me? My life will be a failure, and I feel it bitterly. There is lno fame that lasts; I am resigned to that. There are no chances for me. My life is a desert. That which I desired is lacking, - that for which I could have made the greatest sacrifices, that which will never come to me, that on which I must no longer count! I say it mathematically, without the poesy of wailing, which I could lift to the height of Job; but the fact is there. I should not lack adventures; I could play, if I chose, the role of a man ( bonnes fo)'ttnes, but my stomach turns against it with disgust. Nature made me for one sole love. I am an ignored Don Quixote. I have ardent friendships. Madame Carrand, in Berry, has a noble soul; but friendship does not take the place of love, - the love of every day, of every hour; which gives infinite pleasures in the sound at all moments of a voice, a step, the rustle of a gown through the house; 522 HonorJ de.Balzac. [1838 such as I have had, though imperfectly, at times in the last ten years. Add to this that I hold in profound detestation all young girls, that I count much higher leveloped beauties than those that will develop, and the problem is still more difficult to solve. MIadame Carraud, whose letters give me great pleasure if that word can be employed for other letters than yours - has divined my situation. She awakes my sorrows by a letter I have just received from her, in which she talks marriage to me, which makes me furious for a long time. I will not listen to it. You know lhow fixed my l)pinion is. I must have much fortune for that, and I have none. I must have a person who knows me well, and I doubt if that is possible in one who is, after all, a stranger. What a sad thing is life, You will certainly see me when my great works are done. At the first inanition of the brain I shall turn to your dear Wierzehownia, and pay you a visit; for I cannot endure to be so long without seeing you. Last night at the Opera, where I heard l)uprez in "Guillaume Tell," I was the whole evening in Switzerland, - tile Switzerland of Pre-l'Evque and the two shores of the lake where we walked together. There are details of our trips to Coppet and I)iodati which occupy me more than my own life. Looking at the scene of the Lake of tlhe Four Cantons, I remembered, word for word, all you said to me as we passed the Galitzin house, and what you said about such and such a portrait at Coppet. And I said to myself - in my way of telling myself the future - 'Such a period will not pass without my seeing the Ukraine; as I live so much by memories, these are the treasures I ought to seek, and not silver mines." I was happier in that Opera-Switzerland than the millionnaire Greffulhe, who yawned above me. From those letters of yours, so serious, so dun-coloured 1838] Letters to Madame Hanskca. 523 and ascetic, I fear to find you changed. No matter, we must love our friends as they are. What I do not like in your last letter is the remark that "old friendships are timid." In that there is a distrust of yourself or of me that I do not like. You know that nothing can prevail against you, that you are apart from whatever may happen to me, like a true king who can never be reached. I am afraid that you forge ogres. If my letters are delayed, be sure there is some good reason; that I have been hurried about night and day, without truce or rest; that I have not written to a living soul, and that, if I were ill or happy, you, in spite of distance, would be the first informed of it. You know the good your letters do me, whatever they are, relig'ious, or sad, or gay, or domestic. I am the more reserved because 1 have nothing but troubles to send you, and no flower other than that of an eternal affection., as much above all petty, worldly imitations as Mont Blanc is above the lake. Do not be surprised therefore if I hold back a letter which tells you of misery and toil without other compensation than that of talking to you about them. You complain of Polish divorces, whereas here we are doing all we can to restore the admirable section on divorce to the Civil Code such as Napoleon contrived it; which met all social disasters, without giving an opening to libertinism, change, vice, or passion. It is the only institution which can secure happy marriages. There are in Paris forty thousand households on promise only, without either civil or religious contract; and they are among the best, for each fears to lose the other. This is not said pulblicly, but the statistic is correct. Cauchois-Lemaire, for instance, is married in that way. The Napoleonic law allowed only one divorce in a woman's life, and forbade even that after ten years of marriage. In this it was wrong. There are tyrannies 524 Itlonor dce Balzac. [1 838 which can be borne in youth, that are later intolerable. I knew an adorable woman who waited till she was fortyfive and her daughters were married, in order to separate from her husband; having put off until that moment when she could no longer be suspected the liberation without which she would have died. What! do you dare to tell us there is but one man in this "stupid nineteenth century"? Napoleon is lhe? And Cuvier, c('Po! And Dupuytren, carat! And Geoffroy de Saint-Ililaire, cara(;(! And Mlassena, carilna! And Rossini, (ri.'ssim(t! And our chemists, our secondatry men, who are equal to the talents of tlie first order! And Lamennais, George Sand, Talma, Gal l, Broussais (just dead), etc.! You are very unjust. Lord Byron, Walter Scott, and Cowper belong to this century. Weber also, and Meyerbeer; also several y<un'ins de Par)is who could make a revolution by a wave of their hand. Victor Ilu'o, Lamartine, and Musset are, they three, tlIe small change of a poet, for neither of them is complete. Apropos, "'Ruy Bias " is immense nonsense, and an infamy in verse. The odious and tlhe absurd never danced a more dissolute saraband. I-e has cut out two horrible lines: - * G * gafjreuse co)ipa f/??Onc' Dont 1(a bac rlb fjce Uie et do)lt le }c^z troyoomlee; but they were said at the first two representations. At the fourth representation, when thie public became aware of them, they were hissed. I cannot tell you anything of the war in the Caucasus, except that I deplore for you the loss that grieves you [Count Withold lRzewuski. ('aia', I would like you to explain to me how I have (leserved a plllrase thus worded and addressed to me in your last letter: " Tlle natural levity of your character." In what do I show levitv? Is it because for the last 1838] Lctters to la damlee Hatnskcea. 525 twelve years I pursue, without relaxing, all immense literary work? Is it because for the last six years I have had but one affection in my heart? Is it because for twelve years I have worked night and day to pay an enormous debt which my mother saddled upon me by a senseless calculation? Is it because in spite of so many miseries I have not asphyxiated or drowned myself, or blown out my brains? Is it because I work ceaselessly, and seek to shorten by ingenious schemes, that fail, the period of my hard labour? Explain yourself. Is it because I flee society and intercourse with others to give myself up to my passion, my work, my re ease from debt? Can it be because I have written twelve volumes instead of ten? Can it be because they do not appear with regularity? Is it because I write to you with tenacity and constancy, sending you with incredible levity autographs? Is it because I go to live in the country, away from Paris, in order to have more time and spend less money? Come, tell me; have no hidden thought from your friend. Can it be because, in spite of so many misfortunes, I preserve some gaiety and make campaigns into China and Sardinia? For pity's sake, be fearless, and speak out. Can it be because I am delaying to write my plays that I may not risk a fiasco? Or is it because you are - through the blind confidence of a son for his mother, a sister for a brother, a husband for a wife, a lover to his mistress, a penitent to his confessor, an angel towards God, all, in short, that is most confiding and most a unit -so aware of what passes in my poor existence, my poor brain, my poor heart, my poor soul, that you arm yourself with my confidences to make of,we another myself whom you scold and lecture and strike at your ease? Levity of nature! Truly, you are like the worthy bourgeois who, seeing Napoleon turn to right and left, and on all sides to examine bis field of battle, remarked: Konort' de, Bazac1te8 [1 SS "That man cannot keep quiet in one pluAce; he has no fixed ideas." Do me the pleasure to go wherever you have put the portrait of your poor moujik and look at the space between his two shoulders, thorax and forehead, and say to yourself: "'There is the most constant, least volatile, most steadfast of men." That is your punishment. But, after all, scold, accuse your poor 1lonore (le Balzac; he is your thing; and(l I do wrong to argue; for if you will have it so, I will be frivolous in. character, I will go and come without purpose, and say sweet things without object to the Duchesse Zl'O...; I will fall in love with a notary's wife, and write feuilletons to enrage the actresses, and I will make myself a superlative rip. I will sell Les Jardies; I will await your sovereign orders. There is but one thing in which I shall disobey you, and that is the tlilng of my heartwhere, nevertheless, you have all power. I entreat you to add also that I am a lioht-wCeioht in botly and thin as a skeleton. The portrait will then be comnplete. Expllain also, if you can, the "'multiplicity of my dissi1l)atio>ns [f'ntnoo/Z inegfztcs]," -I, of whlom it is s-aid that no one can make ine do anytiling but what I choose to do! (Those who say so do not know that I am moujik on the estate of P'aulowska, the subject of a Russian countess, and the admirer of the autocratic power of my sovereign.) Alas! I never doubt you, I never rebel a,"ainst anything-except the invasion of mystical ideas. And even that is from all adminirlable istinct of jealousy. Moreover, if I must say so, I hold the dcwiut s)i,it in horror. It is not piety which alarms me, but devoutness. To fly from this and that to the bosom of God, so be it; but the more I admire those sublime impulses, the more tlle minute practices of devoutness harden me. Quibbling is not law. 1838] Letters to IJIadame Hanska. 527 Addio, cara; I must finish "Massimilla Doni," do the opening part of "Le Cure de Village " (in that book you will adore me in the quality of Brother of the Church; it will be pure Fenelon), correct "Qui Terre a, Guerre a," and, finally, deliver within ten days the manuscript of "Un Grand homme de Province a Paris," which is the conclusion of "Illusions Perdues." So you see that my idleiness is a busy one. Find here all treasures of affection, and prayers for the happiness of you and yours in the present and in the future. If God heard or paid attention to what I ask of him, you would have no anxieties, and you would be the happiest woman upon earth. I have busied myself about your Parisian pearls, and I shall have an opportunity to send them. God grant they may get to you in time for the New Year. Did you receive the autographs of Scribe, Hugo, and Byron? I sent them all. 5:) lotwOi' c de Baizac. VII. LETTERS DURING 1839, 1810, 1841. Aux JTAiz)1s, February 12, 1839. WVIEN this letter reaches you, it is probable that the fate of "IL'Ecole des M1nages [formerly "'La Premiere Demoiselle " ] will have been decided; and while you read these words they may be representing that play, so long meditated, which perhaps may fall flat in two hours. It has taken on great prop)ortions; there are five leading roles and the subject is vast. It touchles tlhe painful spot of modern morals: marriage; but perbaps the personages lack certain conditions in order to becomle types. To my eyes, the play is precisely the bourgeois family. But it has a certain inferiority tlhrough tllat very thin-g. I ala going to-morrow to come to ani understanllding with the mantagers of tlhe'Renaissance, after mantly protocols exchalned between them and a friend whlo hlas undertaken to fight for my interests; tlhe play will be mounted in twenty (dlys. I took, to lay out my ideas and write them down for me, a poor young man of letters, named Lassailly, who has not written two lines worth preserving. I never saw such incapacity. Blut he has been useful to me in making the first germ, on which I can work. Nevertheless, I would hlave liked some one of more intelligence and wit. Theophile G(autier is coming to do the second play in five acts, and I expect much from him. Nevertheless, dear countess, it is impossible for me to do all that I have undertaken, and all that I must 1do to 1839] Letters to MIadame Hanska. 529 get out of my embarrassments. Here is what I have accomplished the last month: "t Batrix, ou Les Amours Fore's," two volumes 8vo, wholly written and corrected, which is coming out in the " Siecle; " Un Grand homme (le Province a Paris," the end of " Illusions Perdues," of which only the second volume remains to do, and that will be done this week. Besides which, three plays: "L'l;:cole des MAnages,' " La Gina," and "Richard Coeur d'Eponge." Well, after such great labour (for I have just as much for the month of March) shall I gain my liberty, shall I owe nothing to any one, shall I have the tranquillity of soul of a man from whom no one has money to demand? I begin to feel some fatigue. Just now, on beginning to go to work, I found it impossible to take it up with my usual ardour; I thought of you; I wanted to tell you across space how often you are here, and to confide to you my little sorrows and my great works, or, if you like, my little works and my great sorrows. March 13. I-ow many things have happened in my life since I wrote the last lines! In the first place, twenty days employed in correcting and rewriting my play for the people of the Renaissance theatre; who have brutally rejected it from want of money to make the first payment agreed upon. Then, the reading of it before certain of the actors and the director of the Theatre Frangais who thought it magnificent, but impossible to act as it then was, because of the union of tragedy and comedy. They want it either the one or the other. Next, a reading at the house of Madame Saint-Clair, sister of Madame Delmar, in presence of three ambassadors, English, Austrian, and Sardinian, with their wives,.Madame Mole, M. de Maussion, Custine, etc. Delight and criticism. After which, second and last reading at Custine's, in presence of another wave of the great world, who all wish to see it performed. I 34 580 Ilonore' de( Balzacc. [1839 have coldly put away my play in a box, and this morning Planche came and asked me for it, to see what it is like. He is to give me his opinion next Sunday. So, dear, much to do, much company, much annoyance, and little result. Iowever, let me tell you that Taylor, the collector 'of Spanish pictures and former Commissary for the King to thle The'ttre Francais, and the director Vedel and Desmousseaux have takenl so higih an opinion of me as a dramatic writer that they have asked me to give them, as soon as possible, a play entirely comic, saying that they would have it played in-imediately. They are convinced that I can write for the-staSge. March 16. Planche took my play to read; lie is to return it in two days, and will doubtless tell nce what it is worth. Stendhal, whlo was present at thle reading at CLstiSe's, writes me the little line which I enclose in this letter, and which he signs, by an inexplicable habit, Cotonet. He never signs, except officially, his real name, Henri Beyle. I am not well in body or in mind. I feel a horrible lassitude, which, in regard to my head, is not without danger. I have no longer either force or courage. The obstacles I have been accustomed to overcome increase enormously and terrify me. Anxieties about money have become for me what the Furies were to Orestes. I am without support, enervated, without even kindly sentiments, without the faculty of feeling any, of any kind. I am a negation. Ali! these moments are terrible, especially when, for want of money, I cannot shake myself together by a journey. There are no pleasures for me; none but those of the heart. That is the only thing that intellect has not yet overrun; it is the only thing it can never displace. Adieu; this is a letter on which I have written for two 1839] Letters to lJMadame Hansca. 531 months; for two months it has lain among my papers and I take it up when I have exhausted the feuillets beneath which I place it. April 14. Dear, here is another month gone by. What a month! I have just received your letter. If my irregularity grieves you, yours kills me; it has made me think you did not want any more of my letters, and that you have left me like a body without a soul. I have, however, been working day and night. The endless corrections of the "Grand hommne de Province" and of "Beatrix," also articles to write, obliged me to put myself into a garret in Paris. where I am close to thle printing-offices, and thus lose no time. I have not had even a fleeting moment to continue this letter; I have only slept by chance, when I dropped from fatigue. I am wholly weaned from life, and absolutely indifferent whether I live or do not live. Here is the news. You will see AM. de Custine; he goes to Russia. He will take you the manuscript of Seraphita,"- the manuscript, you understand, not the proofs; they are too voluminous. He will see you; he is rich; he is happy in being able to travel at his ease! He will make, if necessary, a detour to see you. I have reached a point when, in contemplating coldly my situation, I see I have now but two ways of cutting the Gordian knot. Either I must sell my work, to be made the most of by others during ten years, for one hundred and fifty thousand francs; or, if I do not succeed in recovering tranquillity by that means, I must insure my life for that sum, which is the total of my debt, and fling myself into work as into a gulf from which I know I shall never issue; for, from the weakness that assails me after my toil has passed a certain limit, I feel that a man can die from excess of it. Planche has brought back my play. He thinks it is above what is now being done; but we are not of the Ilonlor)(c dc Balzac. [1839 same opinion as to its faults. Brought to the point of view of art, it has many. Beyle has just )published the finest book, as I think, which has appeared these fifty years. It is called '" La Chartreuse (le Parne." I don't know whether you can procure it. If Macchiavelli had written a novel, it would hlave been this one. Jules Sandleau has lately dragged George Sald through the mire in a book called " Mlariannal." He has given himself a fine role, that of Henry! lie! good God! You will read tl-e book and it will horrify you, I am sure. It is anti-French, anti-gentleman. Henry ends as Jules ought to have ended (when one loves truly and is betrayeld), - by death. But to live, and write this book, is awful. Dear, do not blame my friendship. Some day you will know the life I tam now leadting, tlhe burdens I am bearing'. The terrace walls of Les Jar(lies have all rolled down. I must buy more ground, with a house on it, and I have no money. This house, my dream of tranquillity, my d(ear Chartreuse, needs fifteen or twenty thousand francs to settle nme in it; and I don-'t know if ever my (lays can flow here peacefully. Twelve years of toil, of pain and grief, have left me as I was the first day, with a burden as heavy and as diliecult to remove. Madam e de Stael said, "' Fame is the brilliant mourning of happiness." Your project of coming to the banks of the Rlhine makes my heart beat. Oh! come. Bult you will not come. It would be so easy for me to go to Baden and see the Rhine; the journey is neither long nor costly, and a journey is so necessary to rme. The mail-cart goes to Strasburg, and from there, in two minutes, to Germany; it is only ten (lays and twenty louis. Oh! I don't know if you have not warmedl up my courage, and re-tempered my soul. I will not give the manuscript to AM. de Custine. I will bring it to you, that and the others. If you do this, 183,9] Letters to Madame Hanskca. 533 I will bring you a fine pianist for Anna; I will-I don't know what I will not do, for those lines in your letter have warmed me, - I have returned to the idea that life is endurable. You will find me much changed, but physically; horribly aged, with white hairs, -iin short, un vieux bonhomme. " You show now that you wear your laurels," M. de Beauchesne said to me the other day. The speech was pretty, if exaggerated. I am sure that on the other side of the Rhine I shall grow young again. When I think that as soon as this letter reaches you (which takes a month) you may be coming, and that I shall see you in June, precisely at the moment when I shall be unable to write a.nd in need of rest! -But it is all a dream; I must return to post and letter-paper, to the power of the ilnagination of the heart, to memory. Adieu; in my next letter I will tell you what happens, and how the present crisis ends for me; the matters pending between Louis-Philippe and the Chambers have complicated it. Aux JAR DIES, June 2, 1839. I received your last letter to-day when I have just missed, fortunately, breaking my leg in going to see the devastation of my grounds produced by a storm. My foot slipped; and the whole weight of the body came on the left foot which twisted. under me and all the muscles about the ankle were violently wrenched, and cracked with a great noise. The amount of will I put into supporting myself gave me a pain of extreme violence in the solar plexus; I suffered there more than I did in the ankle, though that pain made me suppose I had broken my leg. The head surgeon of the hlospital at Versailles same, and I shall have to stay in bed two weeks. There, dear countess! I find one compensation, namely: that all my horrible financial and literary affairs, etc., being inter. 534 lHonor ' de Balzac. [18s39 rupted by a superior power, I can write yon to my heart's content, for it is very long since I h1ave been with yol. Alas 1 I have had so much to ldo. Les Jardies have cost me many wakeful nilghts. But we won't speak of that. Well, as 21. (le Talleyrand used to say, foresee griefs and you are sure to be a prophet. No more trip to tlle banks of tle Rhine! llow\ever, for one piece of bad nlews I will (ive vont a good piece. If the Chamber of Deputies votes our law on literary rop)erty I shall doultless have to go to Saint Petershurg, and I shall returnl'l through the Ukraine. But in any case, (lear of dears, my first journey will be to you. So long as Les Jardies are not in order I cannot travel; it -wouid be too great a folly, it would be ruin. Happily my aeei(Ident has happened just as I had finished t" Un Grand hommne de Province a Paris." Otherwise, I don't know wNhat would have become of me with my publishlers. MI. de Custine is not going to Rus'sia; only as far as Berlin. So I took your l)recious manuscriplt out of its hidintg-place for nothing. l)uring the two (lays that I have l)een in ble(l a rage. a veritable rage, possesses me to see you. EvAery tile that I anm alone, that I re-enter my,,self, that my brain is cleared, that I am with my heart, it is always so. Your letter distresseod me. It camle whenl I was ill the mi(lst )of those sweet reveries that are my elysium, a11tl I thlo(ugl( t your letter col(l, ceremoni)ous, religious. I hated you for two d(ays. I hid that letter' it put inme out of temper. You say in it tlhat you are my ()ld friend. If that is so, learn that I have loved you o).nly since yesterlday. Treat me withl more coquetry. W\Ihen have yon received a letter without an autogoraph? Kniow, cou l:te,;ss, that out of vour eleven million friendls in France aid ot!her co)ui tries there is not lialf a miilion w-lho w>ould have perpetuated that little attention; it shows a, peren1lial affection which proves tlhat my friend(ship is still i: its spring. Were vyo 1839] Letters to Madame Jlanska. 535 fifty years old, my eyes would always see you in that heart's-ease-coloured gown, looking as you did on the Cret at Neufchatel. You have no idea of either my heart or my character. Fy 1 Do not think it so easy to get rid of me. My health has borne up under work which has amazed literary men. I am at my twelfth volume. You must read " Un Grand homme," a book full of vigour, in which you will find those great personages of my work, as you are" good enough to call them, --- Florine, Nathan, Lousteau, Blondet, Finot. That which will commend the work to foreigners is its audacious painting of the inner manners and morals of Parisian journalism, which is fearful in its accuracy. I alone was in a position to tell the truth to our journalists, and fight them to the death. That book will not be forbidden in Russia. I have at this moment under my pen "Le Curd de Village" to finish, the second episode of which, entitled "Veronique," will appear in the " Presse." This book will be loftier, grander, and stronger than " Le Lys dans la Vallee" and "Le Medecin de campagne;" the two known fragments of it have justified my promises. In a life as busy as mine nothing produces much effect; I have worked as usual through the riots. But a month or so ago Planche and I said to each other, " Shots will be fired within six weeks." And so it was. A Russian professor from Moscow came to see me lately, -- M. Chevireff; I love all that ends in eff on account of Berditchef; I am child enough to fancy it brings me nearer to you. It is thus that the words Geneva," " Vienna" never sound in my ears without effect. The longer I love, the more Hoffmannesque I become on that subject. So it is all over about the Rhine! You could not believe what agitation was caused me by those two fatal lines, written perhaps unconsciously, in which you tell me 536 0on10or' d1e Bazlzac. [1839 that your journey is put off. It was so easy for me to go to the Rhine, even with all my business matters and the newspapers oin my hands. The mail-carts go so rapidly now from Paris to the lEhine. Well, I must put this, too, with many a goldlen dreamn! The springti(le will console you; nothing consoles me. I see by the date of your letter tlhat you wrote on my fte-(lday, and1 you (lid( n>t think of it! I still my complaints; f)r I should seem very ridiculous in both cases; but I renmarked that you put fewer lines inl your pages, and that you were, ill point of fact, getting rid of me. Perhaps I deserve it for telling you, in one of my former letters, how little time I have to write to vou, with an air as if I boasted of lmy fidelity. Alas! that was only a bit of childish candour, which you oulght not to punish. Some day I will tell you the truth about that p)assage; you will be touched, and as!hamed that you were ever angry with me. Do not think that because there are four hundred leagues between us I do not know how to read the thou(ghts that lie bleneath your sublime forehead. I can parade themt before you, one by one. It sutfices me to examine your letter with the attention of a Cuvier to know the exact frame of mind il which it was written; and you hlad, when writing tlhis letter, something against me, no (ldoubt. You will tell ine later wlhat it was. My Jalrdies get onl but slowly. The btuildings are still of little importance; but all is heavy on those who have nothingo. I ami l betinning to have trouble with my eyes, and that grieves mne; I shall have to cease working at night. Did I tell you tlhat." lBatrix" is finisled? You will see it, no dou bt, il the " Revue de Saint PI'tersbourg," but b1)(1 and emasculated. It will only be good in the 8vo edition now in press. Those puritans of liberalism who managce the '" Sicele " in wlhiichl " latrix " appeared assume to have morals, andl demolish the archbishop's 1839] Letters to JMtadam(e ianskca. 537 palace! This is the buffoonery of folly. They are afraid of the word " bosom," and trample morality under foot! they will not allow the word r'olapte to be printed, but they upset social order! The wife of the director-inchief is as scraggy as a bag of nails, and they suppressed a joke of Camille Maupin on the bones of Beatrix! I will make you laugh heartily when I tell you all the negotiations required to get into that newspaper a joke on the bitch of AM. de IIal]ga. Unfortunately for me, you will read that book mangled and expurgated. What a pretty nest Les Jardies will be when finished! How happy one might be here! What a beautiful valley, cool as a Swiss valley. The royal park a few steps off! Paris in a quarter of an hour, and Paris a hundred leagues away! 'What a beautiful life if - But I begin to think like the capucin monk: we are not pllaced here below to take our comfort. The Exhibition of pictures has been very fine this year. There were seven or eight masterpieces, in several styles: a superb Decamps; a magnificent Cleopatra by Delacroix; a splendid portrait by Amaury Duval; a charm ing Venus Anadyomene by Chass(eriau, a pupil of Ingres. What a misfortune to be poor when one has the heart of an artist! The first?qoitg girl work tlhat I do I shall dedicate to your (lear Anna; but I shall await a word about that in your next letter; for I must know if it be agreeable to you that I should do this. It seems there is to be, next autumn, a dahlia-Balzac. If you would like a cutting tell me how to send it to you. It will be, they say, a magnificent flower; in case the attempt to vary the stock succeeds. You wish me the tranquillity of soul that you enjoy. Alas! I have passions, or, to speak more correctly, passion, too living, too palpitating, to be able to extinguish my soul. You would never imagine in what agitations I 538 Hho8Luo(,' (IC B, (I 'o1. [ t139 live; for me, nothing is lost or forgotten; all that,affects me is of yesterday. The tree, tlhe water, thle mountain, the dress, the look, the fear, the pleasure, thle danger, the emotion, even the sland, the colour of a wall, the slightest ineident, all things shine in my soul, as fresh, and more extended daily. I forget all that is not within the domain of the heart; or, at least, whatever is in thle domain of imagination needs to be recalled and firmly mleditated. But all that belongs to lly love is my life; and when I yield myself to it, it seems to me that then, alone, I live. I count those hoars of delieigltful abandonment only; t!hose are my hours of sunsllile and of joy. But vou will nlever imaginle th:it; it is the poesy of the lheart, heighlteed by all incllredible power of intuitionl. [ mnever pride myself on wllat is called talelnt; nor yet on my will, which is lield to be kindred with tliat of -Napoleon. But I do render thanks and take lride in my heart, in the constancy of my affections. ThJere is my wealth; there are the treasures beyond tile reachl of tlle one who coinled tllhat gold; the workmnan wilo made those dumeats is far away, but tile miser hollds tllem ever in his hand. '" I know you have a great and(l noble soul; and I know whllere to touch you; I will mike you blush for me." That speech is olne of my (lue:lts. I:o,)r many 'a fool it would have been notlling; t) me it ring's sul)limne; and if I did not love like an imblecile, a collegian, a nilnny, a madman, like anything you please that is most extravagant, I should have worshipped tha't woman as a diviIIity. I don't know whether all this will not seem to you Swedenborgian; but it belongs to my history, and I will some day exlain it to you. At any rate, I will say this. Those words were said to me byv a rather extraordinary woman, whom I will not nanme, in a fit of mistaken jealousy. Well, I assure you thlat a monlh never passes that I do not remember the look of the sky at the 18.39] Letters to Madaime Hanska. 539 moment they were said, and the colour of the cloud I saw there. Adieu. In ten days my leg will be much better; but I shall have written to you again before then. I will tell you my reveries, one by one. You will count for much in my idleness; which is for me the mother of memori es. I am glad to know that all goes well in your States. But, on the word of aln honest man, I don't understand why the count does not arrange his affairs so as to have no longer any care. When I have settled mine - and I slhall then be, incontestably, a far greater financier than he - I will go and offer him my services to make something out of nothing - forgive that joke! All gracious things to Mademoiselle Severine, and to your dear Anna; my affectionate compliments to the Grand Marshal, and to you the most precious and sweetest offerings of my heart. No Custine, no pearls; that is a loss to you, for the set is very fine; you would have been queen of the balls at Kiew next winter. But you will be that without the pearls. Aux JARDIES, July, 1839. I am cured. The accident, which k apt me in bed forty days without moving, has left no traces except some pain in the muscles. But your silence disquiets me much. Is anything going wrong with you? Are you travelling? All this exercises my mind, tortures me, besieges me with a thousand dragon-fancies. I am overwhelmed with business. The disaster of my fallen walls is not yet repaired. I have been obliged to purchase land, which has ruined me. The masons must be here for another month. It is all the more impossible for me to g6t away because my illness has put my work into arrears, and also because I have let Honor)'e dI Batlza c. [1839 one of the three houses on the place to the Visconti fallily.1 A novel of mine is about to appear, named l "Pierrette," with which you will no doubt be pleased. ''U ne Princesse 1arisiennllle " will also be out soon. "V (ronique," the seeon(l framlnient of tile "Cure d(le village," is already out. "Ies Pavsals, that is, ( i Terre a, "( Lerre a," is in process of beillg bougtht and piublished by the "Constitutionnel." Alnd finallyI "Le i I\nage d'un G(aro'n " and "Le Martyr calviniste " are ill thle hands of the colmpositors of the "Si'cle " "'Massimilla D)oui," appears with the trule edition of "Lan Fille d'Eve;" "Beatrix" is ilearly printed. I.-Il lnow 'oiillo tgo work onl tile last part of ''"llusions Perdules," Iillishl tlle "C''ur de village,' anld do a great dralna for the Porte-SaintMartin. There, (lear, tilere is where we now are; and I have certainly drawn (1own up)on me tile hatred of all the men of tile pel lmy '"in (Grand lhommn te Pde rovince." Growls resoulnd in tile press. But you see I continue my work ilntrepidly, keel)in on01 wiith evell steps, and tolerably ilsellsible to calulmnly-like all those who have never given cause for slander. I si'all hlave three hlouses to let, each looking out on ilclosed gardens; and I will only let this eleganllt village to extremely distinguished people. Our railway will begin to run in a few days, and( I can enter a carrima,'e from my garden; so that I am really in tlie heart of Paris (which I hlave never been before), because for eiglit sous and in fifteen or twenty mnintutes I am there. So I am enchanted with Les Jardies. Wlhen all the necessary ground is bought and the gardens planted, it 1 Count Elmile Gnidol),mii-Visconti, to whom Balzac had relndered a service iii settling a questioln of familv inheritance. Madame nisconti was an Englishwomani, and to her "B1atrix " is dedicated under her Christian name, Sarah. - Ti. 1839] Letters to Midaelae Iancska. 541 will be delicious, and envied by all the world. Railways change all the conditions of life around Paris. I have still some things to remove from Chaillot; some furniture to bring out; so that various material annoyances have delayed this letter, for I can trust no one to do anything. I am alone, bachelor that I am, without servants, except a gardener and his wife. I will have nothing until my debts are paid. So I am living devilishly, without in the least caring what people think of me; for I will attain to independence and tranquillity. I shall have, a few days hence, a delightful little story whicll Anna can read; I would like to dedicate it to her; you must tell me if it would be a pleasure to her, and to you, also. Alas! the brutal indifference of the powers that be and the Chambers to literary men, who have now reached the last degree of endurance, is such that the bill on literary property remains between the two Chambers and has never been brought forward, so that our journey as the representatives of the lettered class (of which I told you, and which would have given me the chance to go and see you) will not take place. But I have not lost all hope. I -shall go to Germany, to the banks of the Rhine, probably, and once there, I may be able to go and bid you good-day; if I have only a few moments to stay, at least I shall see you. This would take two months, and two months means that I must leave four or five thousand francs for payments in my absence. I must have good luck to get them! If my buildings are finished by August 15, and I can provide for all my payments, it is possible I may escape. That is why I am, just now, very busy in stuffing the newspapers with articles. But if the "Constitutionnel" decides to take "Les Paysans" I shall have to put off going till September. We say in France, "No letters, good news." I hope 542 ilowore de IBalzac. [1839 the interruption in your letters means that result; but why not have written me a single little line? It is conceivable that I who lead the triple life of literary man, debtor, and builder, and also that of a man defending himself against feuilletonists, and who now am managing, so to speak, the Socited des Gens-de-lettres (one of the greatest things for the future to be done in France), - it is, I say, conceivable that my letters should be sometimes involuntarily delayed. But you, who have only to let yourself live in your Ukraine! Ali! you are very guilty; for you know the happiness given by your judgments, your ideas. "'1 is from the North our light doth come," said Voltaire, to flatter the Empress. Bllt J - I say it piously. Well, I must leave you for "Pierrette." I have just risen; it is two in tlhe morning. I belong to thle printer. July 15. I have not spoken to you of "L'Epicier," "La Femnme comme il faut," "Le Rentier," and "l'e Notaire," four figures I have done for Curmner's "Les Fran(.ais peints par eux-mlCmes." You will, no (doubt, read those little sketches. I have just been (iving a last touch to "U'ne Princesse Parisienue; " it is the greatest moral comedy that exists. It relates a mass of lies by wliich( a woman, thirty-seven years of ag(e, the l)ulelesse dc Maufrigneuse, now become thie Plrincesse (le (adig'tan, succeeds in getting herself taken for a saint, a virtuous, modest young girl by her fourteenth a(dmirer; it is, in short, the last degree of depravity in sent imnent. She is, as Madame de Girardin said, "'Cdelimnce in love." The subject is of all lands and of all times. Tlhe masterly part of it is to have made tlle lies seem necessary and right, justified by love. It is one of thle diamonds in the crown of your servant. Pltt it with the other old trinkets of my literary jewellery. 1839] Letters to Madame HIanska. 543 Adieu, for I am overwhelmed with work. Alas! few pleasures; all is anxiety and disappointment. My life is a strange and continual deception; I, who was manufactured expressly, as I believe, for happiness! Is that providential? Many affectionate things to all. The autograph I send is Berryer's. Aux JARDIES, August, 1839. I have received your last letter, and I think there is something wonderful in our double existence: with you the deepest peace, with me the most active war; with you repose, with me incessant struggle. You could never imagine the ever up-springing torments to which I am subjected. But I don't know why I tell you these things, for many a time you have told me they were my own fault and that I was wrong. Les Jardies are nearly done; a few days more and I shall have finished the buildings. Only a few trifling things remain to do. But I shall not be easy till all is paid for, and that all is a fortune; thousand-franc notes are there engulfed like ships in the sea. The burden of literary production is doubled, and also complicated by the exactions of publishers who want all their books at once, whereas critics say I write too much. Then everybody wants his money at once. A terrible desire has seized me the last few days to abandon this lifenot by suicide, which I shall always consider silly, but by quitting, in imitation of Moliere's Maitre Jacques, my coachman's top-coat for a cook's jacket; that is, by making believe that my work, my Jardies, my debts, my family, my name, tlhat all that is I is dead and buried, or as if it had never existed, and then go off to some distant country, America of the North or South, under another name, and there (taking, perhaps, another form) begin another life with happier fortunes. 544 lon orey de Balzac. L1839 September. I am excessively agitated by a horrible affair, -the Peytel affair. I have seen thltt poor fellow three times. IIe is condemned to death. I am starting inl two hours for Bonrg. 1 October 30. You will perhaps have heard that, after two months of unheard-of efforts to snatch hii frolm his doom, Peytel went, two days ag'o, to time scaffold, " like a Christiaml," the priest said; I say, like a man who was not guilty. You can now understand this horrible gap in my correspondence. All! dear, my affairs were already in a bad enough state, but tilis devotion of mine has cost nme a crazy sum, live thousand francs at least in money, and five thlousand mnore in non-working. Calumnies of all kind(s have been my reward. Henceforth I shall, I think, see an innocent man murdered without meddling; I will do as the Spaniards do-run a+way when a man is stabbed. We will talk of that, for I am going to see you; I can promilise you that; [ shall be, beyonl a doubt, out of all condition to write for several months, in consequence of fatigue. I am now prepa,ring the drama of "Vautrin" in five acts, at the Porte-Saint-Martin. I am finishing "'Le CurSl de Villag'e;" idemn '"Stur Marie des Anges;" idein "Les Paysans; idem "'Les Petites Mise'res (le la Vie conjugale;" idemn "Pierrette," dedicated to your dear Anna; i(lem ",La Frl]ore." When all that is done, if I do not have a brain-fever, 1 Tills curious episode in Balzac's life, in whlich Gavarni took a leading part, seems to have been a piece of generous and imaginative fu'lly. But with MAI. Zola's late action in milnd, the reflection suggests itself that if we knew all the circumstances of the case (now passed into oldivion) we might find that B13zac and Gavarni had cause to think themselves right. A brief outline of the affair is given in the Appendix. Balzac's arguiment of tlle case will be found in the ldition D)dfinitive, vol. xxii.; lolemique Judiciare, pp. 579-625. -Tiz. 1839] Letters to Madame Ifanska. 545 I shall be on the Berlin road, to divert my mind, and I shall go as far as Dresden. And one does not go to see the Dresden Madonna without keeping on to see the Saint of Wierzchownia. November 2. I have had frightful troubles about which I cannot write you a word; it would be suffering them twice over. I was on the point of wanting food and lights and paper. I have been hunted like a hare, worse than a hare, by sheriffs. I am here, alone, at Les Jardies. My mother is much distressed. I alone am in the secret of the future. I see, within two months, events which will carry me onward in the difficult path of liberation. 1 work so fast that I cannot tell you of what I am doing. You will read later a little pearl, the "Princesse Parisienne," who is the Duchesse de Maufrigneuse at thirty-seven years of age. You have not yet received, I think, "Un Grand homme de Province at Paris," which is not only a book but a great action, and, above all, courageous. The howls of the press continue. But -now, exhausted by so many struggles, I am going to give myself up to that delightful composition, "Soeur Marie des Anges," - human love leading up to divine love. "Pierrette " is one of those tender flowers of melancholy which are certain in advance of success. As the book is for Anna I will not tell you anything about it, but leave you the pleasure of surprise. December, 1839. You see me stupefied. I find a letter which I join to this one. I thought it posted, but, in the midst of my turmoil, it was slipped under the papers of "Pierrette." In finishing "Pierrepte " and clearing up my desk, I found it, when I thought it was in your hands! I now understand why you have not written to me. You think me dead and buried, or something. 35 546 HIonor dce LBalzac. [1839 Yesterday I received a great literary affront. "Pierrette " was refused by the "Siecle." 1 can truly say it was a pearl sweated from my sufferingis, for I am all suffering. There is nothing extraordinary ill beleving tiat I sent you a letter that was lying. in my desk. i forget to live. I had presented myself for the Academy (thirty-nine visits to pay!), but to-day I have withdrawn before Victor iugo, whoso auttograph o(n tlhe subject I inclose. I work eioghteen hours ind stee) six. I eat while I work, and I believe I do not cease to work while sleeping, for there are literary dillicultics on which I postpone decision till I wake, and I lind them all solved when I do wake; thus my brain must niork whlmie I sleep. F still count, as soon as I have an instant of tranquilility on going via DI resden to yot. I lhave hlad thirteen stlccessive proofs of 'Pierrette; that is to say, it has been remade thirteen times. I (lid "Cdsar Birotteait " seventeen times. But as I (lid "Pierrette " in ten days vou can inmg(,'ine what the work was, and it was not thle only tlhing I had on my lan(ls. I lhave passed into the condition of a steamn-engine, but an engine wlmici, unf1ortuntely, has a heart, - a heart which stifflers, which fee's at all plints of a vast circumference, whichl everything affects, afflicts, wounds, and which never misses aniy pai. There is no long'er consolation for ne; tlhe bitter cup is drained. I believe no more in a happy future; butll I live on, pushef by the v.igorous hland of duty. I stretch my sorrowing hands to you across the distance, wishing tlhat you may always have tlhat good and peaceful, tranquil life in which, at tiines, my thought, unkniown to you, has gone to rest. Yes, there are hours when, sinking beneahli my burden, I fancy myself arriving and living without cares, if not without griefs, in that oasis of tlie Ukraine. A thoulsand friendly thliiigs to those about you. Be '840] Letters to Madame Jfanska. 547 lieve in the eternal affection of your more than ever poor moujik. January 20, 1840. I hear nothing from the Ukraine. It is more than three months that I have had no letter from you, and I do not comprehend it. Have I given you pain? Have you taken ill the silences to which I have been compelled? Are you punishing me for my miseries? Are you ill? Are you at the bedside of any one of yours? I ask myself a thousand questions. 1 have seen by the merest chance the Princess Constantine, at a ball given by Prince Tuflakin, the only one to which I have gone for two years. From her I heard that she had news from you, while I, nothing! That fact has caused me the most violent distress. The troubles of money are nothing but annoyances; but all that touches the heart - ah! those are the real griefs. To be thus overwhelmed on all sides, is it not enough to make life intolerable! It is already heavy enough to me who have not a single prospect on which my eyes can rest themselves. AX is savage, barren, gashed with precipices. At forty years of age, after fifteen years of constant toil, one is permitted to be weary of work which gives, as its result, a doubtftul fame, a real misery, superficial friendships without devotion, wasted sacrifices, growing worries, burdens more and more heavy, and no pleasure. There are those who paint my life very differently, but this is what it is. I have lost the taste of many joys; there are pleasures of which I can no longer conceive. I am frightened at a species of interior old age which has come upon me. I don't know if I could now make those campaigns in China which so diverted M. Ilanski at Geneva. At this moment "Pierrette," the story that belongs to your dear Anna, is appearing in the "Sietcle." They have taken out the dedication, which will be put at the 548 ionor C de Balzac. [1840 end, as an en'oi. The stoppage of your letters makes me fear that this may no longer be agreeable to you. Miy situation is horribly precarious. The desire to pay what I owe inmade me condemn myself to a life of extreme misery, but it serves for nothing to live in that way. IMy conscience only is satisfied. At this moment I am hoping that- Rothschild will aid me. If he does not, then I shall fall once more into tlhe disasters of 1828. 1 shall ble ruined for the second time. There is sometlinng fatal in money. lBut I shall recover life by writing for the sttoage. This is now the 20th. of January. 3My play " Vautrin," which is rehearsing at tlhe 1)orte-Saint-Martin, will be played on the 20th of Feblruary, an(l it seems that I may count on a gre:at financial success; I wrote it for that. Still, if Rothschild does net help me, it is (quite impossible tllhat I can get over the coming molth. I slall have to lose my house, furniture, and evervthing' I have gathered to myself for tlhe last twelve years; and even tha:t will not relieve me. Mv creditors will gain nothinig. I ~liall lose all, and owe just as much. It is horrible; but it will happen; I foresee it. To tell you my efforts, my ma relices and countermarehes for the last three monthis would l}e to write volumes. And all the while I had to work, to get my plays accepted, to invent them, to write them. The royal ind(lifferece that pursues French literature is communicated to all about us. I have still two works to do, print, andl publish to fulfil the agreement I signe(l in 18,38, whichl obliged me to give fourteen volumes. I have given birth to ten between November, 1838, and January, 1810, - fourteen months. Those I shall now finish are S. Scur Marie des Anges," and "Le MInage n d'un Garqon." You have said nothingei to me about 1 Un Grand homine de Province ( Paris," which has raised such storms around me. J840] Letters to Madame lIantska. 549 I am preparing several works for the stage. May heaven grant me help and I shall be free through the profits of the stage combined with those from plublishers. In three months I could earn a great sum by pledging myself for new books; and if luck would grant that publishers might think of selling me under a cheap form I should be saved. If there is any good news of this kind you shall have it very quickly; as you shall that of the success or fall of ''Vautrin." Frederick Leinmatre, that actor who is so sympathetic to the masses and who created the part of Robert Macaire, plays Vautrin. At this moment I am organizing another play for a man of great talent, Henri Monnier, from which I hope success. It is a piece in which Prudhomme plays the leading part. Adieu. Miserable or fortunate, I am always the same for you; and it is because of that unchangeableness of heart that I am painfully wounded by your abandonment. I may miss writing to you, carried away as I often am by a life that resembles a torrent; but you, dear countess, why do you deprive me of the sacred bread that came to me regularly and restored my courage? Tell me. 1low will you explain it to me? February, 1840. Ah! I think you at last excessively small; and it shows me that you are of this world. Ah! you wvrite to me no longer because my letters are rare! Well, they were rare because I often did not have the money to post them, but I would not tell you that. Yes, my distress has reached that point and beyond it. It is horrible, and sad, but it is true, as true as the Ukraine where you are. Yes, there have been days when I proudly ate a roll of bread oni the boulevard I have had the greatest sufferings: self-love, pride, hope, prospects, all have been attacked. But I shall,' I hope, surmount everything. I had not one farthing, but I earned for those atrocious Lecou Honoitr (de Bcalzact 1840 and Delloye seventy thousand francs in a year. The Peytel affair cost me tel thousand franes-and people said I was paid fifty thousand 1 That affair and my fall which kept me forty days in bed retarded everything. Oh! I do not like your w'ant of confidence. You thllink tlhat I have a great lind, but you will lnot admit that I have a great heart! After nearly eighlt years you do not know me! My God, forgive her, for bhe knows not what she does! No, I was not 1/'tiV)/ in writing "1 Batrix; " you ougllt to have known it. Yes, Sarah is Madame Visconti; yes, \Ilademoiselle des Touches is George Sand; yes, EBatrix is even too much Madame d'Agoult. George Sand is at tlie height of felicity; sihe takes a little vengeance on her friend. Except for a few variations, tMe stor,/ is htt,. All! I entreat you, never make comparisons between yourself anl Madalme (d Berny. She was a woman of infinite kinlldness aill absolute (levotioll; slle was whlat she was. You are complete in your own way as shle was in hlers. Two grand( tllings should never be colmplared. They are what tiley are. "Pierrette" lias appeared i:n tlie ' Sihele." 'lie m'luserilpt is bound for A\nna. Friends andl enemies proclaeim the little book a masterpiece; I shall hbe g1lad if thev are not mistakern. You will read it soon, as tile book is being printed. People put it beside tlme " Reelhercile (lde l'Absolu." I am willing. 1 myself wish it put beside An I a. Alas! yes; I am always writing; I blaeken much p)aper, though I advance lut little. I ami asilamned of my forced fecundity. Your letter was no longer expected I hlad lost all hope. I did not know whlat to imagine; I b)elieved you ill, and I went to inquire of Princess Constantine. I should have gone to you, were it not for poverty. Oh! you do not know what you are to me; but it is an u:nhappy passion. 1840] Letters to JfEadcame Hanska. 551 Faith is not given; yours is not an absolute sentiment, and mine is. I could believe you dead, I could not suppose you forgetting. Whereas, under the pretext that I am a man, living in Paris, you imagine monstrous things. Count my volumes on your fingers and reflect. I am more in a desert in Paris than you are at Wierzchownia. I do not like to have you write to any one in the world, still less to any one in Paris, but Custine's address is 6 rue de La Rochefoucauld. Write, Sevigne! I have obeyed as a moajik. You have truly divined the affair of that poor Peytel; there are fatalities in life. Oh! the circumstances were more than extenuating, but impossible to prove. There are noblenesses in which men will never believe. However, it is all over. I will let you read some day what he wrote to me before going to the scaffold. I can take this matter to the feet of God and many sins will be forgiven me. He was a martyr to his honour. That which men applaud in Calderon, Shakespeare, and Lope de Vega, they guillotined at Bourg. I, who wish to marry, who desire it, and who, perhaps, may never marry, for I wish to marry - in short, you know! But wlhat you do not know is this: in the first place, I have the most absolute kindliness, and the will to let the being with whom I should have to walk through life be happy as she wishes to be, never to shock her, and never be stern except on one point, respect for social conventions. Love is a flower, the seed of which is broug1,ht by the wind, and flowers where it drops. It is as ridiculous to be angry with a woman because she does not love us, as to be angry with fate for not giving us black hair when we have red. In default of love, there is friendship; friendship is the secret of conjugal life. One can bear not being loved, but this must not be shown; it is losing half the fortune that remains to us, in despair at having lost the other half. 552 Jluionort d& Balz(ac. [1840 This woman squintecd, she was uncouth, her nature was horrible, but the man was bent on having her; lie lost his head a first time on seeing an inferior being preferred to him, and lie lost it a second time for having lost it thle first, in avenging himself. The woman was beneath vengeatlce. I would not blame a woman too mucll for loving a king. But if she loves RIuy IWas, it is viec tlhat has 1t hler there where she lhas lowered herself; she no longer exists, she is not worth a pistol-shot. That's enough said about it. "Vautrin" is being mounted, vigorous'y. I llave a rehearsal daily. When you hold this ietter in your hand, the great question will have been decided. It is almost certain that "Vautrin " will be represented tlhe evening you hiold this, for it will be between February 28 and Mlarch 5. A fortune in money and a fortune in literature are staked uponl a single evenillng! Frdderick Lemnaitre anllswers for its success. IIarel, tlhe director, believes in it! As for me, I despaired of it ten days ago; I thought tlhe play stupid, and I was rig-ltt. I wrote it all over again, and I nlow think it passable. But it will always be a, poor play. I have yielded to the desire to put a romailtic figure on tile scene, an(l I did wrong. Yes, certainly, I want the view of Wierzchownia. February 10. I have surrnounted many miseries, and if I have a success,now they are all over. Imaginc. therefore, what will 1)e my a'gony (luring the evening when "Vautrin" is performed. In five hours of time it will be decided whether I pay or do not pay my debts. I have been crushed by that burden for fifteen years; it hampers the expansion of my life, it takes from my heart its natural action, it stifles my thought, it soils my existence, it embarrasses my movements, it stops mny inspirations, it weiglis upon my conscience, it hinders all, it has barred 1840] ' Letters to Jadame Hanska. 553 my career, it has broken my back, it has made me old. My God! have I paid dearly enough for my place in the sun? All that calm future, that tranquillity I need so much, all is about to be staked on a few hours, delivered over to Parisian caprices, as it is at this moment to the censor. Oh! how I need repose! I am forty years old. Forty years of suffering; for the happiness I enjoyed beside an angel from 1823 to 1833 was the counterpoise of an equal misery, and it needed strength to bear a joy as infinite as pain. And then, how death put an end to that! and what a death!- I sigh for the promised land of a tender marriage, weary as I am of tramping this desert without water, scorching with sun and full of Bedouins. Ten years hence, and who, good God! will care for me! To go to see you is my constant desire; but for that I cannot leave behind me either bills to pay or business, money anxieties or debts, which still amount to sixty thousand francs at least; but "Vautrin" may give them in four months! Madame Visconti, of whom you speak to me, is one of the most amiable of women, of an infinite, exquisite kindness; a delicate and elegant 'beauty. She has helped me much to bear my life. She is gentle, but full of firmness, immovable and implacable in her ideas and her repugnances. She is a person to be depended on. She has not been fortunate, or rather, her fortune and that of the count are not in keeping with their splendid name; for the count is the representative of the elder branch of the legitimatized sons of the last duke, the famous Barnabo, who left none but natural children, some legitimatized, others not so. It is a friendship wlhich consoles me under many griefs. But, untortunately, I see her very seldom. Nothing is possible in a life so busy as mine, and when one goes to bed at six to t)54 Honor( de lBalzac. [1s840 get up at midnight. SMy system, my crushing obligations are all against my taking any comfort. No one can come to see a workman who is fifteen hours at his work, and I myself cannot fulfil ally social duties. I see Madame V isconti once a fortnight only, which is truly a grief to me, for she and my sister are my only comnpassionating souls. My sister is in Paris, Madame Visconti at Versailles, and I scarcely see them. Can that be called living? You are in a desert at the farther end of Europe; I know no other women in the world; I have the honour to assure you that no one believes ime overwhelmed by feminine hearts all att my orders, and that I am, as to women, miserably neglected. What a savage joke! JMo DL)ieu. how stupid people are! There is in it a bitter sarcasm on the hours when I sit gazing at the embers and thinking of my life with bent head and wounded heart, and tears in my eyes; for to no one more than to ine would the daily happiness of nights and mornings be more fitted. I have in my soul and in my character an equal)le quality wlhich would make a woman happy; I feel within me an infinite, inexhaulstible tenderness,- alas! without employment. Always to dream, always to wait, to feel one's good days pass, to see youth torn out hair by hlair, to fold nothing in one's arms, yet filld one's self accused of being a I)on Juan! A gross and empty Don Juan! There are momeints when I envy my poor sister Laurence lying these fifteen years in a coffin watered by our tears. February 14. Adieu; I close this letter, placing in it for you as much affection as inl all the others put together. If "Vautrin" succeeds, the year 1l40 will see me in your manor. At this moment I am overwhelmed by work. I have in press "Pierrette," to which I must add another story 1840] Letters to AMadame Hanska. to make the required two 8vo volumes. I have a book to do for the "Presse," and also in the press a novel in letters, which I shall call I don't know what, for "'Sceur Marie des Anges" is too long, and that is only.one part of it. I must finish all this to get my liberty of coming and going, which I have never had since Geneva - no, I have never had but six weeks really to myself, and for those escapades I paid dearly enough. I am going to finish "La Torpille" and also "Les Lecamus" for the "Siecle," and the last part of "Illusions Perdues," which is the end of "Un Grand homme." And there is still the end of "Beatrix" to do, a fourth Part, the last meeting of Calyste and Beatrix. In all, six works to be done, besides two plays to be represented. What (do you think of that? Do you believe I have time to idle? Alas, I have not time to think; I am swept onward by the current of labour as by a river. I have scarcely a moment to write to you, and I take that from sleep. To yield myself up to a thing of the heart is a luxury to me. How privileged are the rich! And how little they know how to enjoy their facilities! I think that money makes men dull. For the last three fweeks I have hoped that Rothschild would help me to arrange my affairs; I asked him to do so. But bah! if I have to ask him twice, I prefer my poverty and toil. Many tender things to you, dear. Present my remembrances and friendships to all about you, and my wishes for the happiness of your family. You have your wolves, I have my creditors; I wish I had no wolves to encounter but your kind. J hear that Colonel Frankowski, who took you the cassolette, is here. Can I trust-him with Anna's "Pierrette" and your pearls? Tell me; answer this at once. Adieu once more. Take all the flowers of sincere and faithful affection here inclosed, pure, if any ever were so. 556 IhonorJ de Balzatc. [1840 I open my letter to beg you not to write to Mi. de Custine. This is imperative; you will soon understand why. PARIs, March, 1840. I am in bed, at mly sister's house, ill since the day after the first representation of "Vautrin." I left my bed to-day for tlhe first time in ten days. I have been well nursed by my sister. My illness, which is nearly over, was an attack of cerebral neuralgia, caused by a draught in a railway-carriage, which, combined with the mental condition in wllich I was, gave nme both a hlorrible fever, which I had, and the atrocious sufferings of neuralgia. You know, of course, by this time, that "'Vautrin" lhas had the misfortune to be forbidden by LouisPhilippe, who saw a caricature of his own person in the fourth act, where Fr6derick Lemaitre plays the part of an envoy from Mexico. Thus, I have but one representation of the play to tell you of. Thle misfortune of the mana(ger of the Porte-Saint-Martin was that he was forced to let to unknown strtangers a large part of tlhe house. Tlhe other part belonged partly to my enemies, the journalists, and about a third to friends of minle and friends of tlie manag(er and of the actors. I had expected some lively opposition; but, in spite of hostile efforts, a great success in the sale of tickets was obtained. That was all I wanted for the theatre and for myself, when the prohibition came.' Here, then, I AwNas: Sunday, master of sixty thousand francs; Mol(lay, witll nothing. First, all my agonies of money over; next, my position more perilous than ever. Victor iHugo accompanied me to see the minister, 1 Fr(d(rick Lemanitre, withl or without satirical intention, dressed himself as a Mexican general in a way to VrsenIlOIe Lonlis Philippe, especially by wearing a wig rising t,, a point, givinl his head the famous pear shape for which that of Lonis-Plilippe was ridiculed. -TR. 1840] Letters to lMadame Ianskca. 557 and we there acquired the certainty that the minister himself counted for nothing in the prohibition, but Louis-Philippe for all. Throughout this affair, at the representation and at the ministry, Victor HIugo's conduct has been that of a true friend, courageous, devoted; and when he heard I was ill he came to see me. I have been well helped by George Sand and Mine. de Girardcin. Frederick Lemaitre has been sublime. But the affair of the likeness to Louis Philippe was perhaps put forward against Harel, the manager of the Porte-Saint-Martin, whose place he wanted. All this is still a mystery to me. However it be, the blow has fallen. My situation is more painful than it has ever been. Doctor Nacquart preaches vehemently a journey of six weeks. Perhaps I can go to you. Now, this is what has happened. The newspapers have been infamous; they have said that the play was revolting in its immorality. I shall say but one thing to you about that: read it! It may not be very good, but it is eminently moral. Thereupon, tlhe minister, to screen the royal fury, made the pretext of immorality, which was cowardly and base. One thing you may believe in, namely: terrible attacks on my part on that tottering throne. It shall not have two farthings. I will be the emulator and assistant of M. de Cormenin, and you shall see the effect of my change from a peace footing to a war footing. I will have neither truce nor armistice until I have driven - May, 1840. Nothing can better paint to you my life than this interruption. After six weeks' delay I must finish a sentence left unfinished in my desk without the possibility of returning to it. The end of that sentence is: "claws of steel into their hearts." I resume my narrative. They came and offered me indemnities; five thousand 558 Honorc d(e 11(tZTe.[ [t1840 francs to begin with. I blushed to the roots of my hair, alnl replied that I accepted no alms; that I had earned two hundred thousand francs' worth of debts in doing sundry masterpieces which counlted for something in the sum total of tle glory of F'rance inl the nineteenthl century; that I had been three months reheai sing "Vautrin," during which time I might have earned by other work twenty-five thousand francs; that a pack of creditors were after me, but that if I could not pay them all, I did not care whether I was hunted by fifty or a hundred of them; and that my close of courage to resist was the same. The director of tlie Beaux-Arts, Cave;, went away, saying that he was full of esteem and admiration for me. "This is the first time," lie said, "that I have ever been refused." "So much the worse," I replied. Since I wrote you the two preceding pages my life has been that of a stag at bay. I have come and gone about Paris helped by frienlds. And now, without a farthing, I begin the fight once more. Frd('rick Lemaitre will entice other actors, and I have obtained permission to present a new play, in five acts, at one of the closed theatres; about six weeks hence we shall re-appear, and then we shall see! Anx J.Ixn)vTs, May 10. (t'a rer I have just received your last letter, and(1 again I must complain of the rarity of those letters. Oh! do not let what I have written of my distresses keep youm from writing to me monthly. If I do not write to you as often in my periods of trouble, (lo not blame my heart. I often make my prayer to Ilope, turning my face toward the Ukraine. Do not punish me for my confidences, which may, which must sadden you. Alas! with what rapidity time is flying. How many white hairs are in my head, faithful to all, even to toil. You are laughing at me, and that is not right. 1840] Letters to IMadame IIt;Iska.5 559 Madame Visconti is an Englishwoman, not an Italian; and I have no vanity in my friendships; you know that. A man as busy as I am call attend very little to trifles. Certainly, I will acknowledge that I am not without the vanity of love, and I think that when we love we ought to love in all ways, and be very happy to see lat dilectt carry off the palm from others in even the smallest things, - her toilet, for instance. I should have all those weaknesses, including blazons. But this was no ground on which to twit me; look in your mirror, dress yourself very elegantly to-morrow, and vindicate me, cara. Every one comes up to nme in Paris, admiring my courage as much and even more than the rest. They thought me crushed, buried under my disaster, and hearing that I amn about to deliver battle once more, both friends and enemies have been equally surprised. Fred6rick Lemaitre rejected my drama of "Richard C,:eur d'Eponge," saying that paternity was a selfish sentiment which had little chance of success with the masses. Moreover, he was not pleased with the denouement; and as one must only give him things to play that he likes to play, I have been under the necessity of finding another play. It is found at last, and I write to you in the midst of labours necessitated by "Mercadet." "Mercadet" is the battle of a man against his creditors, and the schemes he employs to escape them. It is exclusively a comedy, and I hope this time to reach success, and also to satisfy literary requirements. Besides doing this comedy I am at this moment finishing " Le Cure de village," one of the works to be included in the " Scenes de la Vie de campagne," and by no means the least of them. But it needs much labour to add a book to the '" Lys dans la Vallee" and " Le Medecin de campagne." However, I hope that " Le Cure" will surpass both; and you will think it does yourself; for the 560 50l ilurc,' de Balza(c;. 1 840 "Cur' de village " is the application of Catholic repentance to civilization, just as the I' MAdecin de canpagne " is the app))lication of philanthropy; and the first is far more poetic and loftier. One is of man; the other is of God. I shall do this year " Les Paysans " which has been composed these two years, and the proofs are in my hands. But hunted as I am, without any tranquillity, I cannot give myself up to my literary sympathies. I do only that which is most pressinlg. "Pierrette " is not yet out. You know why. Carried along by truth, by the drama, it was necessary to speak of marriage and the results of mlarriage. But you will see that all is kept to the most decorous language. I don't know when it will please thle publisher to bring out the book. Wait for the Paris edition of both "' Pierrette " and I Vautrin; " ask Bellizard for the third edition; that is the only good one, and it has a scene added. I hope to publish this year a complete edition of tile four Parts of tle "C Etudes (de M3eurs," and I have before me still to (ldo the '" Scenes (le la Vie politique " and " Seetles de la Vie militaire; " two rather long and very ditficult portions. It will take me at least six years to get to the end( of them. I have great need to-day to feel my wounds nursed and hlealed, to be able to live without cares at Les Jardies, and to pass my days with my work and a woman. But it seems that the history of all other men will never be other than a romance for me. Debts are a burden under which I must succumb. Since the reckoiIing I gave you in Geneva - do you remember? - nothing has changed; I have lived, and I have marked my place, that is all. I have sustained myself on the surface of thle waves by swimming. God grant that I may not go under! but you will pray for my soul's rest, will you not? I leave you for "t Mercadet." 1840] Letters to Madame lHansk:a. 561 May 15. This is the evening of my Catholic fete, and four days hence is my birthday. I have never, since I lived, seen a fete on those days; no one has ever wished me returns of them, except once, when Madame de Castries, the first year of our acquaintance, sent me the most magnificent bouquet I ever saw. Therefore I am always sad on these days. My mother cares little for me. I am so busy I have always told my sister not to keel) our fetes, and there has never been any one else to fete me. I do not count Madame de Berny, for that was a daily fete. But then, from 1822 to 1832 my life was exceptional. Chance has acted towards me as fate with those fantastic animals of the desert who have but a few rare joys in their life, and die without perpetuating themselves. This is how it was that the unicorn became a lost species, and why that sublime painter of " Chastity," II Pontormo, has placed a unicorn beside that beautiful emblematical figure. I will own to you in your ear, that I would rather, by far, have happiness than fame; that I would give all my works to be happy as I see certain fools being happy. Believe, dear, that in what I said to you about not writing to the rue de La Rochefoucauld, there was a reason superior to all pettiness. That person is about to publish a book such as he published on England, and I believe it will be terrible [de Custine's book on Russia]. I cannot tell you more; your intelligence will do the rest. I am extremely glad, knowing how things may turn, that he has not been in your regions. The friendship of which I spoke to you, and at which you laugh apropos of my dedication, is not all I thought it. English prejudices are terrible, they take away an essential to all artists, the laisser-aller, unconstraint. In the " Lys dans la Vallee," I explained the women of that country in a few words, as I divined it in Lady Ellenborough during the two hours I walked about her park, while 36 562 llotioni d(le Bt alzac. [ 1840 that silly Prince Schonberg was making love to her, and during dinner. Each step I take in life gives me a profound respect for the past. I cannot tell you all 1 feel on that subject, nlot here at least, but I will at Wierzchownia, where you will see me appear unexpectedly; for I look to your region as to an asylum for my sorrows on the day when they become intolerable. So I am not sure whether you ought to desire to see me, with the white staff in my hand and the wallet on my back. I beg of you, write me at least once a month, and remember that no letter of yours has ever gone without anl answer. The autograph is from Meissonier, who is reviving the Flemish school among us, -tthe painter of " Le Fumneur," " Le Liseur," and "l La Partie d'echecs." Aux J.A )II'S, Junie, 1840. Mol, Die!/ what intervals between your letters, dear! If you knew what ulneasiness you give me, how often I spend hours with my elbows on the table and my chin in my hands, asking myself what has happened to you. And tlhe visions far beyond sight! As for me, I have my excuse for the months that separate my letters: either I have suffered beyond measure, or I have worked enormously, or I have hlad some of those deploral)le affairs of which you know nothing. It is now twenty days that I have suffered much withl a species of cholerine, or inflammation of the bowels, caused by an increase of anxieties and labour; for thle one leads to the other. I hlave written the comedy in five acts, "Mercadet; " but Firderick wants changes. The interests which are fighting each other.over the corpse of the PorteSaint-Martin prevent the provisional opening which the minister had granted( me; so the three or four hopes which had been successively lighted are successively extinguished. In these last hopes, these last efforts, my 1840] Letters to M1adame lIaslska. 563 energy has broken down, and, at this moment I am not worth an insect pinned to the card-board of a naturalist's box. I am over-burdened with toil, obligations, business, till I no longer recognize myself, and a life so embarrassed as mine no longer interests me. This is strictly the fact. I would offer half my burden to any benevolent passer-by. If you know a woman who needs to exercise great faculties, who is tired of a monotonous life, who desires a position in which there is much to combat and to conquer, who would be enticed by the first campaign in Italy, who is thirty-six to forty years of age, and has the wherewithal to fight with, send her to me; I will occupy her. Joking apart; I am very lonely when my brain ceases to work, or lies down to rest. There is something humiliating, in the thought that a trifling inflammation of insignificant viscera prevents the exercise of our highest powers. I have " Le Cure de village " to finish and a crowd of other things. " Pierrette " is delayed for the preface by the publisher, I don't know for what reason. The business of publishing books has become so bad that I believe not ten volumes will be written in the next two years. Belgium has ruined French literature. What ungenerosity in those who read us! If every one had refused the Belgian editions and insisted, as you have, on the French editions, if only two thousand persons on the continent had acted thus, we should have been saved. But Belgium has sold already some twenty to thirty thousand copies. This evil will end by force of evil. Meantime our poets starve or go mad. June 21. To go to see you, to go down the Rhine. to see Prassia and Saxony is in me the desire of a lover, of a nun, of a child, of a young girl, of all that is most vehement. But my interests are so threatened and I am so poor that travel is forbidden me. Oh! you do not know how much there is of longing, of repressed desires and wishes in 564 Honor, d ( Ba(lzac. [1840 what I now write to Vyo, or how many times my imagination and my heart have made that journey. Your last letter ca me in the midst of my cruel trouble, and I eould not answer you immediately. Our two existences, one so tranquil and deep, the other so foaming and( rapid, flow ever parallel; but that which afilicts me grievously is thlat there is no cohesion. When thought has constantly traversed space, when a thousand times it has filled the void, one feels that this is not all. Something, I know not what, is wanting, or ratlier, I know too well. These wings ineessantly spread aiind folded cause suffering; it is not lassitude, it is worse. Violent desires possess me at times to quit all, to begin some other thing than this presenlt life, like children quitting play. I would like to know if you too have these impulses of soul; I ask you to tell me because I know that you are true, and above the pettiness of vanity, which makes people draple themselves for themselves. Blut you will answer m e s religious turn to tl.ings celestial, or by a blasting )lphrase against our human nature. Yet I would not take from your religion whlat the eye takes from a mirror as we use it, for it is one of the greatest charmns of your heart and mind. I never lay down a letter from you without believing in something divine, and I will not tell you now of the regrets that then assail me at tihe intolerable idea of our separation. It seems to me that ill would b)e well witli me if thle divinity were near me. I entreat you, write me every fort:night; you live in solitude, without so much to do; it would be easy for you; and when one knows that one does good to a p1oor being who has no one and who can thus be comforted, is not that a work of charity? June 30. I shall send this letter, having' nothing more to tell you of my affairs, though much to add on my grief at your abandonment. 1840] Eetters to Ma]damr e Hanska. 565 July 3. I have your letter, number 55, and I answer its questions. Prinmo; I have not received the picture of Wierzchownia; no, I have received nothing, absolutely nothing. Secundo: Borget is in China. Tertio: I forgot to tell you of M. de Custine; but he was superb at the representation of "' Vautrin." He had a proscenium box and applauded vehemently; he belaved in the most superior way. If I told you not to write to the rue de La Rochefoucauld it was because in that street a book is being written which will be terrible, and I do not want you to commit the slightest imprudence. There will be anger; all the more justifiable because they have been very well received. My friendship saw danger -ahead, and signalled it to you; believe me as to this. I thank you from the bottom of my soul for your letter, but I am in despair to know that you were ill while I was blaming you for not writing. Solicitude at a distance is often injustice. Yes, I am very willing that " Les Paysans " should be for MI. Hanski if I write it. I am at the end of my resignation. I believe that I shall leave Fra:nce and carry my bones to Brazil, in a mad enterprise, which I choose on account of its madness. I will no longer bear the life I lead; enough of useless toil! I shall burn my letters, all my papers, leave nothing but my furniture and Les Jardies, and depart; confiding a few little things that I value to my sister's friendship. She will be a faithful dragon to those treasures. I will give a power of attorney to some one; I will leave my works to be managed by others, and go to seek the fortune that is lacking to me here. Either I shall return rich, or no one shall ever know what becomes of me. This is a very fixed project in my mind, which I shall put into execution this winter resolutely, without mercy. My work can never pay my debt. I must look to something else. I have not more than ten years left 10onore dc Balza(c. [1840 of real energy, and if I do not profit by them I am a lost man. You are the only person who will be informed of this decision. Certain circum stances may hasten my departure. Nevertheless, however rapid may be the execution of this plan, you shall receive my farewell. A letter fromn Havre or Marseille will tell you all. This project has not been formed without sad( hours of days and nights. Do not think tlhat I could renounce a literary life and France without the most frightful wrenchllino. But poverty is implacable, and if I go farther it will become shameful, intolerable. I know that what I write will give you infilite pain; but is it lot better to tell you of it and explain my reasons, thlan leave you to hear it brutally from the news)apers? But Iirst I shall try a last throw of the dice, my pen aiding. If that succeeds, I may pull through for the time being. Perhaps I might be able to go and bid you farewell; perhaps there are chances that I could rest three montlhs with you, instea(d of resting three months with Madame Carraud. Ah! dear, you don't know what it is, after writingo fifteen volumes in fifteen nionths, to do sixteen acts of plays - "Vautrin," "Pamela Giraud," "'Mercalet" uselessly; for there is no longer any hope of opening the Porte-Saint-Martin. Lawsuits, battling over a coflin, prevent that. The Franeais is closed three months for repairs. The Renaissance is (lead. There is no theatre where Fr.cderick can play. I tried the Vaudleville in its new building, but the manager hias no money. You ask me for details about Victor IIugo. Vietor Inugo is an extremely brilliant man; lie lias as much wit as poesy. Ile is most fascinaling in conversation, a little like Humboldt, but superior, and admitting more dialogue. lie is full of bolrgeois i(leas, Ie execrates Racine, and considers him a secondary man. lie is crazy in that direction. There is more of good than of 1840] Letters to Madame Hanska. 567 evil in him. Though the good is an outcome of vanity, and though all things are deeply calculated in him, he is, in the main, a charming man, besides being the great poet that he is. He has lost much of his quality, his force, and his value by the life he leads. August, 1840. I have attempted a last effort; I am doing, by myself alone, the "Revue Parisienne," just as Karr does "Les Gu'pes." 1 The first number has appeared. I postpone the execution of my project on Brazil. One loves France so well! I will bear up. I am going to undertake the "Scenes de la Vie militaire." I shall begin with Montenotte, and shall, no doubt, go, in September or October, to the region about Nice, Albenga, and Savona, and examine the ground where those fine manceuvres took place. This letter has been lying two months on my table. It has been hindered by so many matters! But at last it goes, bearing to you the testimony of an affection always on the morrow of our meeting on the Cret, and eight years old. A thousand tender regards and a thousand more. I am writing politics, and posing as the friend of Russia. May God bless you! The Russian alliance is much in my mind. I hate the English. "Pierrette" is about to appear. You can let Anna read it, for all you say. There is nothing "improper" in it. 1 Three numbers alone appearedl: July 25, August 25, September 25. Some of his best criticism, that on Cooper and Steadhal, was in it; also the tale of " Z. Marcas," etc. The first number begins thus: "We have always thought that nothling was more interesting, comic, and dramatic than the comedy of government." See Edition 1)Dfiuitive, vol. xxiii., pp. 567-785.-T. 568 IHonorm de Btlzlac. L1840 SEvns,, October 1, 1840. Dear countess, I have this moment received your last letter. aion D)icu! what can I say to you? All that it contains of kind, expansive, and consoling is enough to make one accept worse miseries than mine, if such existed. I have only sad things to reply to sad things. In the first place, I had completely settled the project of goingo to spend the winter with you.; but my lawyer opposed it with wise reasons - that do not satisfy me. Yes, I dreamed of seven or eight months' peace and tranquillity, constant work, but without fatigue, coinllete forgetfullness of all my tortures of all kinds. My arrangements were made; I was to see Berlin and l)resden, and then go to you. Well, it is all put off. Your presentiment was true. All 'lits to have taken place; I felt a joy so infinite thlat nothing can express it. But it woull be, alas! mad and imprudent. My affairs are ini too bad a state. I spike my cannon, I retreat, to return in force. I will explain all this in (detail. But, first of all, I must answer what vou asked me, Which made me smile, for I thought tlat you (lid not nee(l to ask it; you ought to have felt sure of thlat. Yes, I will never take any extreme resolution, in whatever way it be, witlhout first letting you know of it. When I abandon myself, as they say, to the grace of (tod, I will begin by abandoning myself to the grace of your Iighness, like a good moujik. You have precedence of God; for I confess to you, to my great detrimlent, that I love you much more thian him. You will scold me, but why should I lie? I slhall skip about your lands of Paulowska.with you, rea(lilng to you. For a nothing I'd make myself Russian, if- But the if is too long to unravel. All is not said about my journey; they have made me al)a(ndon it-but I lave not ab)an(loned it. It d(epenls a goo(l deal on finance, and the 1840] Letters to Miadtame Hanstca. 569 outcome of political affairs, for we are furiously at war. I can't understand why an understanding is not come to. If you knew what it is in the midst of my agitated life to get a letter from you, especially such a letter as I have just received, oh! you would write me oftener, you would tell me fully all you do and all you think. By this time you must have received "Vautrin" and "Pierrette." "Pierrette" is a diamond. In another twenty days the "Curd de village" will be out, but lopped. I had not time to finish the book. It lacks precisely all that concerns the cure, the amount of a volume, which I shall write for the second edition [it was never written]. The publisher and I could not come to an understanding on this increase of volumes. November 16, 1840. Precisely one month and a half interval! And so many things to tell you that I can't tell you; it would take volumes. Perhaps this fact will enlighten you: From the time you receive this letter write to me at the following address: "Monsieur de Brugnol, rue Basse, No. 19, Passy, near Paris." I am here, in hiding for some time. Nevertheless, if, in the meantime, you have addressed me at Sevres, I shall get the letters. Dear countess, I had to move very hastily and hide myself here, where I am. But, as Marie Dorval says, money troubles are mere vexations; it is only in the things of the heart that grief and misery are. Though all goes badly with me, financially speaking, all goes well, for I'm going to Russia; I'm going to see you as soon as I can earn the money for the trip. I hope to leave for Berlin in February; I shall stay a month in Berlin, fifteen days in Dresden, and be with you by the middle of April. I have taken my mother to live with me, and I cannot leave home without leaving the household provided-for 570 Ilonordc de Balzae. [1840 for a year. It is probable tlhat I sliall stay, June and July, in Saint-Petersburg, and return to you a secondl time in the autumn. During the period when this letter has lain, beoun but unflinished, among my papers (which have been for tlhe past month in boxes, mixed up with those of my whole library), I have received -a letter from the banking-house of Rougemeont and L(Eweniberg, telling me to send there for the picture you announced to me. So, l)e at ease on tlhat subject, as well as onl the other subjects that interest us, about which you write superfluous things. It goes without saying that if I earn my ducats more quickly than I expect, I siall start the earlier. I begin to feel a deep execration for my dear Country. You don't know what a bear-g'arden it is; I should like Ilolland better, I think, - the most unlitcratry country in tile world. WAe will talk about this, dear, before long, and there 's enough inl it for more than one evening. MIhn D)ieu! how long it is since I have seen you! It seems to me a dream to know within myself that I am startlingll, g'oing, -that every step will be bringing me nearer to you! I have recovered strength for the w(ork I amn (loing at this moment, in thinking tlhat it will oive me liberty to go to Germalny, and to find you at the end of my errand. I am just now finishing "'Le Cur' de village; " it is a great thing, which occupies me much. My last efforts have been poisoned by sufferings beyond the measure of tllose tllat a man can beat'; but I lhave neither time nor strength to tell you anything about them. It must be for later. I can only send you this letter, written in the course of nearly two months- for it is now November 26; and provided it tells you my final decision, that 's enough, I think; but there are many things beneath tlhat decision. 1840] Letters to Madame Hanszka. 571 No longer adieu, dear, but (' bientot, for three months is soon. I shall write you once, or twice, between now and the time I take the steamer. A thousand tender regards., a thousand good hopes, and -all that a long attachment brings of gracious thoughts and flowers long compressed in the depths of the soul. Many things in your last letter did me good, of which I will not speak to you; but I did not think you had so much persistence, or so much will. When you show me that the excellent advice I gave you in Geneva has been followed, I quiver all over. All kind remembrances to those whom I know among the many who surround you, and many things to M. III anski. You have again harped on the " elegant empire" - Coquette! but you make me smile rather sadly. There is one piece of serious news with me. I have taken my mother to live with me. An increase of trouble and work. But! - December 16, 1840. At last I have been able to go to Rougemont and Lowenberg and obtain the picture of Wierzchownia. I brought home, myself, the box made of those northern woods, which, on being broken, exhaled such delicious, enchanting odours that they gave me a sort of nostalgia. If you burn such wood as that it must be a sensuous delight to stir your fire; more than a pleasure. The picture ]has been injured; all journeys, though they may form youth, hurt pictures. But, dearest of dears, the canvas is immense; we have no spaces large enough in our honeycomb cells that are called in Paris apartments. I shall put the original at Les Jardies (if I can keep that place), eand I will have a reduced copy made by my dear Borget, who has just returned from China, and is working for the.Salon this year; thus I can have it before 572 571luore dcl Balzac. [840o my eyes in my study. 1 have had much pleasure ill contemplating that picture; but you never told me that a river ran before your lawn, nlor tlmt you had a Louvre. It all seems very lovely, very beautiful, very fresh. The buildino's are elegant; we have nothing better here. What mnelancholy ill the background! How one divines tle stpl)es and(i a country without a rise! You (lid well; it was a good action to send me the likeness of your dlwellillg; but I would also like a view of Paulowska. l)ear, it does not lessen my desire to go and see you, which I sliall [)put into execution. I am working night and (lday to arrange my affairs here, and make a purse for my journey. You will see me, some fine day, landing on that charming bridge. Thills is only a little line to tell you that my eyes will be forever on your windows, on the columns of your peristyle, and, while examining my ideas, I shall be walking on that lawn. "l,e Cur6 de village" will be out in a few days; 'TLes M'Imoires (de deuix jeunes M[aries " are nearly fiishe(d. MIy lawyer, a man of admirable character, maintains my debt by legal pr()cess [-mitint'int m, de(tte pJ),' [(, pro('(51/(0']. I shall (,give two plays and a quantity of articles. I slhall leave my proofs to be corrected by friends in my absence, for a dozen volumes will be re-issued during my travels. Perhaps I shlall come to you an Academician; but certainly with the satisfaction of having plublished "'Le Cure de villag'e," which is one of the stones of my pediment. I shall bring that work with me. I would like to know to whom I slall address myself to avoid all annoyance at the frontier regardiln g my manuscripts. D)o you think I ought to write to Saint Petersburg, or will a few words from Palhlen, your ambassador, suftice? I should like to obtain information about this because I would then bring you my manuscripts.. 1840] Letters to M[ad(ame Hfanska. 573 When I saw your cage, it seemed to me it was mine, and I ought to be living in it. You have made me very happy, and you must have had a presentiment of my pleasure when you asked me so often if the picture had arrived. Yesterday, December 15, one hundred thousand persons were in the Champs Elysees. A thing happened that would make one believe that natural effects had intentions: at the moment when the body of Napoleon entered the Invalides, a rainbow formed above that building. Victor Hugo has written a sublime poem, an ode, on the return of the Emperor. From Havre to Pecq both banks of the Seine were black with people, and all those populations knelt as the boat passed them. It was more grand than the Roman Triumphs. lIe was recognizable in his cotlin; the flesh was white; the hand speaking. He is the man of prestige to the last; and Paris is the city of miracles. In five days one hundred and twenty statues were made, seven or eight of them very fine, also one hundred triumphal columns, urns twenty feet high, and tiers of seats for a hundred thousand spectators. The Invalides was draped in violet velvet powdered with bees. My upholsterer said to me, to explain the thing: "Monsieur, in such cases, all the world upholsters." 1 Well, adieu. I work, and every hour lost delays my journey. I send you to-day the most precious of auto1 This relates to the return of Napoleon's body from Saint Helena. The translator of this volume was present. The Champs Elysdes from the Arc de Triomphe to the Place de la Concorde were lined with those statues, between which were the urns, filled with burning incense. As the catafalque (all gold, alld draped with violet gauze) paused beneath the Arch, the populace fell on their knees, believing that Napoleon would rise from the dead. The remnant of the Old Guard followed him on foot. The weather was so terribly cold that fifteen hundred persons were said to have died of it; three hundred of them English.-TR. 574 4Ionorde de Balzac. [141 graphs, for Fredderick Lemaitre never writes a line; he is as great as Talma. All tender and gracious homage. My regards and remembrances to those about you. You ought by this time to have "Pierrette " complete. March, 1841. Dear countess; I have received your dear letter number 57, dated )eeember 29, 1840, and if I reply rather late it is that I lhave been. so busy. I cannot leave till I have settled my affairs in a manner to have a truce, and I have still many things to do for that: three volumes to write and a comedy; lbut patience! some day 1 shall take my fliglht. D)o not fear; when I start, I will write to you from each town in Germany, where I make any stay. "Le Curd de village " has appeared. It is a book tlhat has cost me much time; you will see that when you read it. It is no(t yet finished, nor perfected. I work immensely, and I have scarcely the time to write to you. Last month I wrote a novel for the newspaper "Le Commerce," entitled "l'' e Tc Tnbreulse Affaire," and the l)eginning' of a book called "Les D)eux Fr'res," for tlle "lPresse." I have also "Les Lecamnus" in the Siecle," wllich is a study on Catherine de' Medici, in the style of the "Secret des RuOlmgTieri." At tllis moment I am doing a novel for "ILe M iessaer," and finishing for my publisher " Les Mmlnoires de (ldeux jeunes Mari'es." Thlat is a good deal of work, all tllat! - without counting nonsense like "Les Pleines (de c(ur d('ue cihatte Anglaise," and a "Note " to the C(hamber of I)eputies on literary property, etc. So, to wil a moment of liberty I work like a poor wretch; but I look at thle promised land: that balcony, the corner of the house, the study for work! Before I have Les J.ardies painted for you 1 must 1841] Letters to Aladame CHanska. 575 know if that cottage remains to me, if I shall not be despoiled of it. When I start, I shall take care to avoid being stopped at the custom-house, by taking nothing or almost nothing with me, and fortifying myself with introdcluctions; be easy in mind about that. I think I shall be able to start ill May, and reach you in June or July. My traveller, Borget, is working for fame on his landscapes; but I am very much afraid he has not genius, and we have so many taleits that one more will not be remnarked. You do not tell me anything of all that interests me most, - yoLur hellth, your person, yourself; and that is very wrong. Is it to make me come and see for myself? 1 don't need that. You know well that I amn kept here by my obligations, which are enormous, and the weight of which will end by driagging me under. I am grieved to know that months must pass before you receive "Le Cure de village," for that is one of the books whlich I should like you to read as soon as it is finished. A copy has gone to Henri de France with these words: "hIomage of a faithful subject." You will read a certain passage in favotur of Charles X., which will prevent the book from obtailning the Montyon prize. They tell me tlhere is a cousin of yours here, but he has not looked me up any more than your brother did. George Sand, whom I go to see quite often, could have told him where to find mne. This cousin seems to me a simpleton, who swallows a quantity of nonsense about me, if I may judge by what I amn told of him. You must admit, dear, that your brother lias been wilfully mistaken; for George Sand andl I continue pretty good friends, and I see her about once every month. I lead a very retired life on account of my work, but I am not unfindable to my friends. 576 Iio lorl (le Balza-c. [1841 March 15. I have just returned from George Sand, who has never seen or known Comte Adam Rzewuski. I stiired her up and questioned her with much pertinacity; and as for the lasL three years she has had Chopin for friend, that illustrious Pole, who remembers Leonce and his brother [cousils of Madame Hanska], would certainly have known your dear Adam. Besides which, Grzymala, tle lover of Mine. Z..., and Gurowski and all the Poles who cram her rooms would surely know that Adam was Adam IRzewuski. Do not show that you know this, for men are terrible in a matter of self-love, and you would make him my enemy. George Shnd did not leave Paris at all last year. She lives at number 16 rue Pigalle, at the el(l of a garden, and over the stables and coachhouse which belong to the lihouse on the street. She las a dining-room in which the furniture is carved oak. 11er little salon is cafe-tu-/lia coloured, and the salon in which shle receives has many superb Chinese vases full of flowers. There is always a jardiniere full of flowers. The furniture is green; there is a side table covered withl curiosities; also pictures by l)elacroix, and her own 1)ortlait l)y Calamatta. Q(uestion your brother, and ascertain if he saw these thlings, which are striking and quite impossible not to see. The piano is magnificent and upright, in rosewood. Chopin is always there. She smokes cigarettes, and )iever anything else. She rises at four o'clock; at four Chopin has finished giving his lessons. You reach her rooms by what is called a miller's staircase, steepl) and strai-lt. HIer bedroom is browni; her bed two mattresses on the floor, in the Turkish fashion. erco, co(t~fess(I. She has the pretty, tiny little hands of a child. And finally, tlhe portrait of the lover of Mmie. Z... as a Polish castellan, three-quarter lengtll, hangs in the dining-room, and nothing would more strike a stranger's eye. If your 1841] Letters to l3ladame Hanska. 577 brother can bring himself out of that, you will know the truth. But let yourself be fooled Oh! travellers! If you only knew how many IBalzacs there are at the different carnival balls in Paris. What adventures I shoulder! This year I have cheated everybody, for I have not set foot in any of them. I hasten to send you this scrap of a letter, to acknowledge yours, and assure you that my desire to start increases. What your brother is right about is the incredible influence of the atmosphere of Paris; literally, one drinks ideas. At all times, all hours, there is sometlingl new; whoso sets foot on the boulevard is lost; he must amuse himself. March 25. Your cousin, or M. Hanski's cousin, is named Gericht or Geritch. I don't know who they all are who call themselves your cousins, but this I know, you have no more cruel enemies; they loudly exclaim at my friendship for you, and make much noise about it; while I am living i:n my corner and have not uttered your name ten times. When an exiled princess said to me, "We all know you love Poland, M. de Balzac," I answered, "It would be difficult not to love your country." But I am very silly to be irritated by such things! The world is the world. Some of your "cousins" say such things as this, accepting all the calumnies they hear about me: "Ah! if my cousin knew what M. de Balzac has done! " They cannot know that I write you my life very nearly as it passes. However, this has wounded me deeply, and will, no doubt, cause you pain. There is another cousin of yours here, I am told. Thllis M. Gericht is very proud of our illustrious friendship, but the other cousin is much grieved by it. So be it! Is it not enough to make one hate that smoke called fashion or fame, whichever you like? 37 578 Honore de Balzac. [1841 I tell you these silly trifles because I have just been thrashed by them; and every time I go out I am wounded by something of the kind, which, however, does not concern you, and therefore I bear it better than what touches you. That silly Princess R... came here, and does not distinguish between Vienna and Paris; she has, perhaps, tlhe same bonhlinle, but Paris is not bonhoiiome. There are, as your brother told you, ideas in the very air, andl an animation which is not to be seen in any other people or any other capital. Imagine what a city is in which superiorities of all kinds are collected. I made George Sand rel)eat to ine that she had never seen a Pole or a Russian of your brother's name. I spent, two d(lays ago, a charming evening with Lamartine, Htugo, Madame d'Aooult, Gautier, and Karr at Madame de G irardin's. I have not laughed so much since our (lays in Geneva.1 Adieu, (dear;,) ientOt. I shall start for Germany, in all probability, in May, and I hope, after so much toil, to have well earned seeing you and saying, Se},mpr I'AssY, June 1, 1841. Tliis nighlt, dear countess, I have seen you in a dream, in a manner most accurate, most precise, and I reinew the fable of "Les Deulx Amis." I write to you instantly. I was frightened by seeing you so distincetly; then I woke, went to sleep again, and read a good, long letter from you. You were not changed; and I was in ecstasies at seeing you thus. You were both far and near; I (lid not even have the pleasure of pressing your hand. Did this come from my speaking of you to a Russian lady the eveningo before, at the house of the daughter of the late Prince Koslowski, - a Mademoiselle Crewuzki, 1 See Lamartine's portrait of Balzac at Mine. de Girardin's; Memoir to this edition, pp. 123-1 25. -TR. 1841] Letters to Madame Hanska. 579 who was in Vienna when we were there, and who tried to prove to me that you were not beautiful (she is hideous)? Or is it that a letter from you is on its way to me? The same thing happened to Madame de Berny; whenever I wrote to her, she dreamed of the letter. That thought overcame me just now, at my desk, before beginning to write to you. Alas! dear, no journey; at any rate, not for another year at least. So many events have happened that I know not how to relate them all. I sum them up. When I wrote to you, "I am coming," I doubted the possibility of living in France amid the dreadful struggles which consumed my life; and I had the idea of going to you in Petersburg and renouncing France. But a last effort has drawn me out of the claws of the publisher to whom I owed a hundred thousand francs. By working day and night, and pledging myself for six months to the labours of a literary Hercules, I have paid him that m6ney. I do not owe more than one hundred and fifty thousand; and though age is advancing on me, and work becomes each (lay more toilsome, I conceive the hope of ending this horrible debt in eighteen months by putting myself in a situation which my lawyer wishes me to hold, in order not to be sued and not to pay more costs. "Les Jardies" will be sold to a locum tenens, and when my debts are paid I shall recover it. On the other hand, my mother has ruined herself for my brother Henry, who is now in the colonies, and she lives with me. Besides which, I have almost my majority for the Academy. All these things made me renounce the project of going to Russia, and I have signed an agreement to do ten new volumes the coming year. I have also to write articles promised to the "Presse" and the "Siecle." And finally, cara, I have signed a bargain for a complete edition of my works, to be managed by a great publish 580 Iionor' dle Balzac. [1841 ing house, printed with the utmost luxury, and sold at a low price. - All these things, so great, so important to me, have been settled since my last letter. Butt I have not worked, published, and attended to affairs with impunity. Do not b)e vexed with me. For two months I literally have not had time to write or do anytllilng but what I have done. Les Jardies were seized, a creditor was about to have them sold; 1 lIad to get fifty thousand francs in a month, and I (lid get them. I l ad to publish ny books aied atticles, and atten(l to business without money - absolutely without money. It was raining incessantly; I went on foot from Passy to do my b)usiness, tramping all day and writing all nilght. Pimo: I dlid not go mad. Secunldo: I fell ill. I had to travel. As soon as the result was obtained I was seized with an inflammation of the blood which threatened to attack the brain. 1 went to Touraine for two weeks; but on my return I)r. Nacquart condemned me to a bath of thiree hours a (lay, to drink four pints of water, and take no food, inasmuch as my blood was coagulating. I am just out of tilts barbarous but heroic treatment, wi th complexion clear, refreshed, and ready for nlew struggles. That is the summilng up of my history; for if I had to go into details it would take volumes. Dear, I have not received from you the least little word since your number 57, dated December 29. Oh! how wrong that is, when you are loved as you are by me, when you alone are in tllis heart with poverty and toil-two incorruptible guardians. Why have you abandoned me thus when you are my only thought, the end and the bond of so much work, when, ever since I have had Wierzchownia before me in painting, I have found nothing in my fields of thought that I did not seek on the waters of your river, beneath your windlows, 1841] ]Lctters to ilLadanle lietstnka. 581 among your roses and( on your carpets of green grass? Oh! has remorse never touched your heart? Has no thought ever come to you in a sparkle from your candle at night, saying, "Ile thinks of you!" M. HalLski himself, has he never sai(d to you, "Why don't you write to tlhat poor fellow?" Has nothing pleaded for the poor unhappy one, the sufferer, the night-watchinan, the maker of books and articles, the pretended poet —for me, in short, for the traveller to Neufehatel, Geneva, and Vienna, who is not present before you now because the journey costs money, and money and publishilng are two irreconcilable terms. Yes! six monthls without writing to me! I have always had good reasons for my silence; but you have none for yours; you ought to write me three times against my once, and it is I who write twice to your once! [ngra(to ctore! My excuses are these: I have published "'Le Cure de village" (still incomplete). I1 have dlone three quarters of "Les Mdemoilres de deux jeunes Mariees." I have published "Une TenTebhrcuse Affaire." "Les Lecamus," "' Les Deux Freres" and I am about to l)ublish "Les Paysans;" I have d(lone many useless works for a living; what I call useless because they are outside of my real works, iand therefore, except for the money earned, lost tilnme. And finally, between now and a month hence, my Work will be published in parts under the title of LA Coir)nfiIr', HuMAINE, and I must correct at least three times five hundred fenilles of compact type! Ali! dear, the woman beloved, a little bread in a corner, tranquillity, moderate work - that is my hope. I know it is enormous in one respect, but it is humble for the rest. Why is it not granted? God wills it not; but I cannot see his reasons. Dear, here are my present hopes and my programme. I am about to write a book for the prix Montyon, which 582 Jlonlore de Balzw,[1. [1l41 will pay a third of my debt. Another third will be paid by the theatre; the last third by my usual work. You will come to Baden and I shall see you there, for I could absent myself owe month; but two or three, no, not under present circumstances. My sister still wants to marry me. She has among her friends a goddaughter of Louis-Philippe, daughter of that Bonnard who brought up thle King of the Frenelh. I laughed so that my sister was speechless. "In thle first place," I said to her, "1[ will not marry any woman under thirty-six, preferably forty, iniasmuch as I am forty-two." Apropos of that, I expected a letter. from you Mlay 1;, Saint Ilonor6's day, or the 20th, my birthdiay, anld I had p)alpitatiolns for nothing at post-time. l],yiato (otire But you are loved qula(d mIeeow. )urilng tllese six months there have been moments when I fancied you were coming. So Gurowski elopes with an Illfanta and marries lier! Oh! how much better to be a fool like Gurowski than an intrepid traveller like me. If you only knew what I would give to lhave a child. No, there are moments when the fear of waking up o1(d, ill, ilncapable of illspl)iring any seltimlent (and that is b)eginning~) keizes mle, andl( I allmost (o mad. I go and waalk alone in some solitary place, cursing life and our execrable country - and yet the only one where it is possilble to live. I have here, before my eyes, your last letter of )Dcember 29, alas! You were looking at a ray of sunshiine thawing your wind(lows; you sawv the ast in that, a11td the future! Would to heaven that ray would come to me. I await it witl impatience -* that ray, your letter, which shines upon me from time to limne. Six months' silence, a winter of the heart! What has happened to you during all that time? HIave you been ill? Are you 1841] Letters to Mladame Halaska. 583 suffering? What? The mind and heart wander dolorously through all the zones of supposition, doubt, anxiety. If I were less ruined, less bound to give all my money to my lawyer, I should go to see you, because I am ordered to go away for a time; but I am only allowed five hundred francs' worth of liberty. Well, adieu, dear; or rather, 4 bientot. In spite of my promises, always baffled by fate and misfortune, believe that the only thing I desire is to go and see you. I will not talk of it any more. I will try for it. Perhaps the very force of work may exact a longer rest than fifteen days spent in Touraine by the combined commands of lawyer and doctor. When I shall have finished bringing out the books which I must still do for Souverain (that is, five volumes), I shall, no doubt, find a moment. Do not be vexed with me for postponing this, to me, great happiness; I had to do so for my interests. I had to rescue the hundred thousand francs Les Jardies cost, and persevere in that great and noble task -of paying debts. You owe me to my own despair, and now I have begun to hope again. HoPE is, above all to me, a virtue; it is a duty, not done without many tears shed secretly, which you do not see. God owes me a great compensation, and among those he does send me I count the pure benedictions your sweet hand wafts me with the adieus of your dear letters. A thousand wishes for the happiness of your dear Anna. My affectionate compliments to all those I know about you, and my friendship to the Count. I have not forgotten him among my (ledications; he will find his in the beautiful complete edition I am now preparing. As for you, dear Elect Lady, the most adored among all my friendships, preferred even to my natural affections, you who are before the sister, and whom I shall ever hold in affection, I do not bid you farewell; I offer 584.uI4ol) e}'C (ce.Balz1a(c. [1841 you afresh all that is yours- but one cannot give one's self twice. June 30, 1841. 1)ear countess, I cannot unlderstand your silence. It is many days now thlat I have looked for your answer. I have writteln to you twice since I received your last letter, alnd I am a prey to the keenest anxiety. These fears and uncelrtaities seize nce in the midst of my work; I illterrtplt it to ask myself where you are, a(nd what you are doilng. Perhaps you have been elsewhere thall at WierzchowlJia; perhaps you h1ave only lately returned there. In short, I tormellt inmyself strangely, anId 1 have, io i my laborious life, amidal all my tllooughts, one thlougllt wlhich lnasters thie rest and puts att11101g them ani anxiety that is truly (1dreadlul, for it attacks the sentimnenlt by which I live. I have succinlctly related to you the bl)siness I have (1olle, and how I have drawn myself out of certain bad troubles. Thle pliysieal anll moral fatigue which labouirs of all kinds caiused me, made me make a little journey of two weeks into lBretagne in April alId aI few (days ill May. I retlrrned ill, a(nd spent thle rest of t le montll ill ta:kill g 1attls of three hours to quell tile inilailmation that th'reatelned me:1and in following' a debilitalting regi]enlt. N) more work, not tlhe sliihOltest strengtll, alld I cont inued till t11e b)eginnig' (of the present motll ill tile agreoeatl)e colm(lition of an oyster. At last, D)r. N'eq(lart lbeing satisfied, I began to write again, and T have done TI rsmtle Miroutl," one of thle privileg(ed books, whlicli you will read, and i am now goinl( to, work on0 a book for tlIe pri;. 1Aontvon. To relate to yoll my life, dear, is only to enumerate mly latours, and wlhat labours! The edition of LA (COAiEDIEI} IT1h.AIx1NE (tlhat is tlhe title of thle complete work, the frag'lments of which have, 1until now, composed tihe works I have published) will take two years to bring s1841] 1Letters to Mladcame Hansk-a. 585 out; it contains five hundred folios of compact type. These I must read three times! It is as if I had fifteen hundred folios [24,000 pages] of compact type to read! And my regular workl must not be allowed to suffer. My publishers have decided to add to each Part a vignette. This general revision of my works, their classification, the completion of thle divers portions of the edifice, give me an increase of work which I alone know, and it is crushing. Dear, this is what I shall have written this year: 1. "Le Cur6 de village;" 2. 'l"Une TVnbreuse Affaire;" 3. "Le Martyr calviniste;" 4. "Le Ienagoe d'un Gareon;l" 5. '"Ursule Mirount;" 6. The book for tle p)rix A:ontyon. And besides those ten volumes I shall have written the amount of two volumes in little detached articles; and I must also, for my living, write two novels that are rather indispensable to the part of my works which is to be first. published, namely: "Scenes dle la Vie privee," which is to have twenty books.1 That will make eighteen volumnes in all. Judg(e, therefore, of what I shall have done. I hlave lived in ink, proofs, and literary diffticulties to solve. I have slept little. I have, I think, ended, like M{ithridates, in being impervious to coffee. If my lawyer puts me, as to my affairs, in a tranquil state, 1 could travel in Sel)tember and October. I could co as far as the Ukraine for a few dclays. But that depelndls entirely on my work; for all that the publisher pays goes to my lawyer to settle my affairs, and for my living I have only what the newspapers give me. So you can judge the difficulty of working for two masters, two necessities. I shall wait a few dclays before sending this letter, 1 For complete bibliographical lists of Balzac's Works of all kinds, with d(ates of publ)lication, etc., see Memoir to this translated edition, pp. 351-369. - TR. 586 8o orJic lbe balzac. L1841 Ilopling that you will have u ritten to me. Since the last two pages were written I have been present at Victor Iilgo's recel)tion [at thle Academy], where the poet deserted his colours and thle Elder Branch, and tried to justify the Convention. Ils speech has caused extreme pain to his friends. IHe tried to caress parties; but that which mnighlt pass in shadow tand privnacy never goes well in public. This great poet,. this line mnaker of imagery, received(l his spurs, from lnwholn? - Salvandy! The assemblage was brilliant; but the two orators were both bad. Praises were given to France, which I thought ri(diculous. Let our l)pens be the lmasters of the world of intellect, I desire it; but that we should say it of ourselves, without contradictors, in our own Academy, is bad taste, and it disgusts me. I amn worried about mny affairs. I am forced to awvait the conclusion of mny lawyer's principal arrangement, which is to sell Les Jardies. The sale takes place July 15tih. July 15. Les Jardies were sold this morning for seventeen thousand five hundred francs, having cost nme a hundred thousand! Hiere I am, without house, lhearthl, or home. A few d(ays hence I shall begin to fulfil my last p)ec obliogations; there are but six volumes still to (1o, and then, haviing neither house, 11nor01 fullliture, nor plroseetion to fear, I can travel! But still I am separated from that travel by six volumes, a(nd the reprinting, of LA. COMIED/E H-UMAINE, which would appear during my journey. It seems hardly likely I could do the six volumes and four of the reprints between now and October 15; however, I shall try. No letter from you; my anxiety has reached the highest point. I begin to yield myself to the most absurd ideas. I shlall consult a somnambulist to know if vou are ill. A few d(ays ago I had my fortune told 1841] Letters to Mladame Haniska. 587 with cards by a very famous wizard. I had never seen one of those singular phenomena. The man told me, after consulting his cards, things of incredible accuracy, with particulars about my past life; and he explained to me his prognostics for the future. This man, without education, and extremely common, uses choice expressions the moment he is with his cards. The man and the cards is another being to the man without the cards. He told me - not knowing me from Adam - me, who did not myself know at two o'clock that I should consult him at three, that my life until to-day had been one continnued series of struggles, in which I had always been victorious. He also told me that 1 should soon be married; which was my great curiosity. July 16. Ought I to send this letter? Ought I to wait longer? You have left two letters from me without an answer; this will be the third. In the midst of my toil, under which I bend, but do not break, this is a continual,anxiety which distresses me. I have always the intention to pass part of the coming winter with you; but all depends on the reprinting of my works, which becomes problematical in spite of the fifteen thousand francs already paid me for it. The affair seems to be heavy and difficult, and I live in conferences with my lawyer and the three publishers, who want so many guarantees that I believe I shall begin all over again the troubles of the agreement I have just bought out, at a cost of one hundred thousand francs. You are very courageous if you have done all you said in your last letter, and you must now see that I was right when I spoke to you of the value that a woman ought to have in her own house -which is a wholly French idea. For pity's sake, dear, send me a line the moment you receive this letter, which I shall send off 588 Honor6 de Bcalzac. [1841 to-day. I have great need to know how you are, what you are doing, whether you or any of yours are ill; for surely nothing but illness could thus interrupt all news between us. Remember that the corner of earth where Wierzchownia is interests me more than all the other lands of the, world put together. I begin to weary extremely of my continual toil. It is now nearly five years that I have not ceased to work; the wizard who told me I shoult soon have my tranquillity must have lied. Adieu, dear; all tender regards and remembrances across the spaces which I too, sooner or later, will cross; with what pleasure none but myself can know! But, for pity's sake, a word, a letter. I await it with an implatience that so much delay lias made a soul-sickness. The wizard told me that within six weeks I should receive a letter which would change all my life; and in the live combinations of eards which he made, that fact reappeared in all of them. I will relate to you some day tliat se('ace and make you laugh heartily. Adieu, scmfl'c mcdesilo. PARiIS, September, 1841. Dear countess, it is now nearly ten months since I have received aIy letters from 3ou; and this is the fifthi letter I have written without receiving any reply. I aml mere than anxious; I know not what to think. This time, I have good news to tell you. Pi'imo: I have at length 1)aid off the debt which crushed my life and my efforts. The hundred thousand francs due to those with whom I ma(le tlhat fatal treaty of 1836 are paid. AS(,c/do: Les Jardies are sold to a friend wlho will kee1) them for me. e;t;io: no one can any longer harass me; my debts are fixed at a certain figure. 1 spend nothing, and, if I keep my health and force, they will [/i be paid in eighlteen monthls. Qiuarto: three 1841] Letters to M3adame ]fansi:a. 589 firms of publishers, Dubochet, Furne, and Hetzel and Paulin, unite to undertake the publication of all my works, a great number, with engravings, to be sold cheaply. LA COMEDIE HUMAINE is at last to arise, beautiful, well corrected, and almost complete. My works will be purchasable; for as they are now, no one knows where to buy them, or has the money to do so; they have hitherto cost three hundred francs, whereas now they will cost eighty and be well printed. This is an affair which alone might pay my debts. But I do not count upon it; I rely only on my pen and new works. During this year I have written thirty thousand lines for the newspapers. In 1842 I shall write forty thousand. I have, besides, a comedy in five acts for the Th'etre-Fran(ais, not counting "Mercadet," which is always on the stocks. I have written this year, in all, sixteen volumes. But in the spring, if my play is played, I shall go to Germany and to you; for between now and then you will have told me why you have punished me and deprived me of my bread. I could not travel now; I must prepare enough volumes of my complete works, so that this new publication might not suffer by my absence. I have to fill up my frame-work. Many things are still lacking in the "SScenes de province" and "Scenes Parisiennes." As for the "Scenes de la Vie politique, militaire, and campagne," two-thirds are still wanting, and I must finish them all in seven years, under pain of never doing LA COMEDIE IIUMAINE, - which is the title of my history of society painted in action. In the midst of all this business and toil, and I may say, renascent pains, the grief that your silence causes is the greatest of all; each day more poignant; and I no longer seek for the reasons of your silence. I await them. As soon as, through the devotion of Gavault (my 590 IIonore( (le Boizac. [1841 lawyer, the solicitor of the city of Paris), I saw that there was still a means to remain in France and pull myself through my difficulties, and that I could respond to his advances of money ly pecuniary profits, I redoubled in courage and I sacrificed the journey I was to have made to you. But I told you so, instantly, in a letter telling you all my hopes. This year, the better has made long strides. I shall attain to - death perhaps, but my last glance shall see the Romans fly! How shall I explain to you that amid these triple battles I feel a cold place in my heart; that I can no longer complain, or write to you; I can only suffer! How many explanations have I given to your silence, all either wounding or irritatinog! Tllhis letter leaves in September; you will receive it in Oct)ober or November. I cannot, therefore, receive a reply to it before January. That will be four or live months more of uncertainty an(l fears, amid the most terrible, most active, most occupied life that there is in the world -- for I move a world, and you do not know wliat a Prometheus afoot, acting, with an unseen vulture within his heart, is. I have moments when I cannot invent reasons for your silence; I have reviewed them all and have found each more bitter than the others. This year I have worked through two hundred nights, and I must begin another in the same way to conquer my liberty. Ah! they may well make a goddess of her! The address ' M. de Brugnol, rue Basse No. 19, Passy, department of the Seine," is always the direct and right address. PARIS, September 30, 1841. Dear countess, I have just received the letter you have sent me under cover to Souverain, and I am amazed beyond measure. First of all, have the charity to answer by return of mail the following questions: - 1. Did you address the letters which have been returned 1841] Letters to lUcadame JIanska. 591 to you to M. de Brugnol, rue Basse No. 19, Passy; or were they directed to Sevres? 2. At what dates ought they to have reached me? Your answer is of great importance to my tranquillity; for I must discover through what causes your letters have not been delivered to me. Nothing ever made such an impression on me as your little letter sent through my publisher. I have more than suffered, I have been ill from it. I have had a species of congestion of the head, which was, apparently, the result of it. The letter you will have received a few days before you receive this will paint to you my anxieties. When putting it myself into the post, I spoke to the postmaster, telling him that I had put four letters into his office to which I had had no answer; and that never had my correspondence, lasting eight or nine years, been thus interrupted; that I did not know whether my letters were received, and I feared this might be on account of some error in the prepayment of mine. Ile answered that if there had been an error it was his affair and would not affect the delivery of the letters. But if I had not received this letter through Souverain, or your answer to my last in the needed time (two and a half months), I should have started, dear, even if so rash a journey had stopped the species of prosperity which Gavault, the lawyer., is introducing into my affairs. Imagine, therefore, what a revulsion there was in my mind on reading your letter so full of melancholy, of deep sadness, which shows me that some evil trick has been played, to repress which I have need of an answer to the above questions. Dear, and very dear, you must know that fmy activity the past year has been cruel; I can only use that word. I have made an agreement to write forty thousand lines in the newspapers from October, 1841, to October, 1842; and if I obtain two francs and a half a line, all my indebtedness will be cleared off, or nearly so, and I shall 592 Honor' de, Balzac. [1841 have won an independence I have never had since I existed. I sliall owe not a sou nor a line to any one in tlhe world. It is to tlhat result that I have immolated lily dearest affections, aIndI renounced tlhat journey i had p)la-nnled. But it is ilnpossilde that after the coming winter I shlall not need some violent and long diversion, anld ill April I will go to (Gerinaliy, and l)eyolnd it, to The sorrowful eloquence of your dear letter of a ound(led heart inade me weep; my heart was wrung as 1 read, at its close, your assurances of old affection, whllen in me all was thle same as ever while you were blamilig me. These fiashes of joy oll learning tlhat all our0111 pain came fromm neither you nor myself, and that amid this disaster, wlhich has darkened eiglit months of our life, we eachl liad the same confidlence in the other thoug'h you were saddened and f impl)atient, almost unjust - were nteeded to send some balm into my heart. Must I aoain tell you tlat you and(l my sister are the sole (ldeities of my heart. It was, dear, extrieme misfortune which made me give you that hope of my visit. But I lhave been- stronger against excessive work than I exlpected. After tea: months of labour, to have written l'rsule MirouSt " in twenty days is one of tlhose thlings whlich printers and witnesses of that remarkable effort will not believe. It has nothing analogous to it but "Cdsar Birotteau." Well! God owed me thle joy, mingled with tears, tlat your letter brought me; without it I milght not have been aile to do another like effort this month, when I must give a rival to " Le M\Ilecim (le cainpagne." To win the \Montyon prize for 1842, I am now writilg' '" Les Fri'res de la Consolation." They talk of givingT me the cross, for which I care very little; it is not at forty years of age that it can give pleasure; but I could not refuse Villemain, 1841] Letters to Jladame Hanska. 593 '" Les Memoires de deux jeunes Mariees " will be out in a few days. In another month I shall finish, in the "' Presse," my story of I" La Rabouilleuse," the first part of which appeared under the title of "' Les Deux Freres." I have great need to see Germany thoroughly in order to be able to write the " Scebnes de la Vie militaire; " and I shall go straight to Dresden to view the battle-field. The affair of the publication of my great work, under the title of LA COIEDIE HUMAILNE in which all my compositions will be classed and definitively corrected, is about to begin. In order to travel, I must leave four volumes ready with my publishers, four comvpact volumes. The whole will be in twenty-eight volumes at four francs, with illustrations. Does n't your head swim in reading me? Now you see where the travail of my nights goes. And by the end of December I shall finish a comedy called " Les Rubriques de Quinola." Do you feel what there is under all this? There is you! Your friend must be a giant, a truly great man; and it is with the greatest of men that I set up a rivalry. I hope that when we meet again you will find the IHonore of Geneva much taller, that you will not be so old as you say you are, and that after so much time spent apart from each otller we may have, both of us, a second youth. Don't calumniate yourself, dear. Borget,, who has returned from China after making the tour of the world, will reduce the Wierzchownia landscape and make a pretty picture of it. Alas! it is still unframed in my study; you will not believe my poverty till it is all over and I tell you about it. I suffer less on that account than I have done, without as yet being at ease; I must stlill be earning the bread of the morrow; but Gavault maintains with firmness the plan formed for my release from debt and my freedom. I no longer have Les Jardies, and I do not live under my own name; consequently no more prosecutions and 38 594 JIonlorc de Balzac. [1842 costs. I am in reality as if I owed nothing; I am asked for nlothing, and all my earnings are accumulating in Gavault's hands without loss, until they reach the total of my debt; and I live on three hundred francs a month at Passy. There, dear. Ten more novels and two plays, if they succeed, will buy me back Les Jardies and liberty. When once I reach that p)Oillt, I sliall think of making myself a fortune equal to that I have earned to pay my debts, and that will give me an income of twenty thousand francs a year! After the sensation of grief your letter gave me came the unspeakable pleasure of knowing you still my friend, though pained; but why not have taken, dear, the following course on the return of the first letter? What had you done with your wits? Has the heart no wits? At any rate, put this into your beautiful head, behind that splend(lid forehead: direct always to "' M. de Balzac, Paris, poste restaote." Even a husband cannot obtain tlhe letters for his wife; the post gives them only to her without her husband; it writes to the person to whom they are addressed to come and fetch them; and as the post is always informed of my whereabouts, a letter posle restacte will always reach me. I cannot write to you, dear, oftener than once a month; but I will never fail in that, unless from illness, or too hard labour. By the end of October I may be able to send you, through Bellizard, the original edition, fifty copies only being printed, of 1" Les Freres de la Consolation." January 5, 1842. I have this instant received, d(ear angel, your letter sealed with black [telling him of the death of M. Hanski, on November 10, 1841], and, after reading it, I could not perhaps wish to have received any other from you, ill spite of the sad things you tell me about yourself and your health. As for me, dear, adored one, although this 1842] Letters to Madame Hanska. 595 event makes me attain to that which I have ardently de. sired for nearly ten years, I can, before you and God, do myself this justice, that I have never had in my heart any other thing than complete submission, and that I have not, in my most cruel moments, stained my soul with evil wishes. No one can prevent certain involuntary transports. Often I have said to myself, "H How light my life would be with her!" No one can keel) his faith, his heart, his innere being without hope. Those two motive powers, of which the Church makes virtues, have sustained me in my struggle. But I conceive the regrets that you express to me; they seem to me natural and true; especially after a protection that has never failed you since that letter at Vienna. I am, however, joyful to know that I can write to you with open heart to tell you all those things on which I have kept silence, and disperse the melancholy complaints you have founded on misconceptions, so difficult to explain at a distance. I know you too well, or I think I know you too well, to doubt you for one moment; and I have often suffered, very cruelly suffered, that you have doubted me, because, since Neufchhtel, you are my life. Let me say this to you plainly, after having so often proved it to you. The miseries of my struggle and of my terrible work would have worn-out the greatest and strongest men; and often my sister has desired to put an end to them, God knows how; I always thought the remedy worse than the disease. It is therefore you alone who have supported me till now; yet I have never counted on more than we saw -- that day at Les Chenes, you remember? - of that old couple Sismonde de Sismondi, Philemon and Baucis, which so touched us. Nothing in me has changed. I have redoubled in work to go and see you this year, and I have succeeded. Since I last wrote to you I have not slept more than two hours of a night, and I have 596 Ifonore (de Balzac. [1842 written, above my promised books and articles, two plays in live acts, one with a prologue, which begin their rehearsal to-morrow at the Odeon. 1 hoped by working for some months longer like tlhe last eighteen months to pay my crushing debts and save Les Jardies. This constant labour has, especially during the last five years, parted me wholly from society. To-day I want my patent of eligibility, for Lamartine has a rotten-borough for me, and to be one of the comning legislature is a future for us. To conceive of this in the thick of the battle, is it not loving well to have such courage, such boldness, when, your letters becoming so rare, I was tortured, week by week, with the desire to go to you and learn the reason of your silence? -for the few words, almost illegible, which ended your letters were always to me fresh bealms of lhope. " Be patient," you said to me; ' you are loved as much as you love. Do not change, for others ch'ange not." We have both been courageous, one as much as the other; why, therefore, should we not be happy to-dlay? I)o you think it was for myself that I have been so persistent in magnifying my name? OhI! I am perhaps very unjust, but suchll injustice comes from the violence of my heart. I would have liked two words for me in your letter, but I sought them in vain; two words for him who, since the scene you live in is before his eyes, has not passed, while working, ten minutes without looking at it; I have there soought all, ever since it came to me, that we each have asked in the silence of our spirits. I have not been able to part with it to let Borget make his copy. The certainty of knowing you free ihas made me gentle, or I should have been more angry, were you not mourning. 0 my beloved angel, be prudent and take care of yourself; take care of your precious health. I sliall not work much before my departure. T start for Germany 1842] Letters to JIadame Hanska. 597 March 20th, and I will not cross Saxony without your permission; but I cannot any longer have so many leagues between us. I have already signified to my publishers that they must at once print enough Parts to have no need of me until after September. I have carefully buried my joy, just as I hid my griefs and my memories, in the depths of my heart. But I will tell it to you. I remained, all stupefied, for twentyfour hours, locked in my study, not willing that any one should speak to me. When I came out I was hot in the midst of intense sudden cold. Let me tell you of a little superstition, a little circumstance which has made a great impression upon me. On November 1 I lost one of the two shirt buttons Madame de Berny had given me, which I wore one day, and yours the next day. After losing it, I could only wear yours; and this little chance matter troubled me to a point you will imagine when I tell you that my mother and all about me noticed it. I said to myself, " There is in it some warning from heaven!" I love you so, and it has cost me so horribly to keep silence about it since Vienna, that I value the solitude of my study at Passy, where no one penetrates, and where I can be with you. Ah! dear, you have put so many things into your letter that I do not start at once. I await your answer here; yoti will then have had time to reflect how difficult it is for me to remain in Paris when for six years I have longed to see you. Oh! write me that your existence shall be wholly mine, that we shall now be happy, without any possible cloud. Will you ever know how much strength it has needed to write to you thus, witbout saying a word to paint to you the ardour of this unique love, preserved as my one treasure, my only hope! Oh! how many times, under my most bitter disappointments, in struggles, in griefs, I have turned to the North,- to me the Orient, peace, happiness! 598 Honore de Balzaec. [1842 To speak now of business, I have made a great step. On the 5th or 7th of February they play at the Odeon1 "L'Ecole des Grands Homines," an immense comedy on the struggle of a man of genius with his epoch. The scene is in 1560, in Spain. It relates to the man who sailed a steamboat ill the port of Barcelona, let her sink to the bottom, and disappeared. If I have a success, I start; if I fail, I must write four volumes to get the money for my journey. But I have still another play at the Vaudeville. My complete works are being rapidly printed, and will be issued during my journey. If I have two successes, I shall leave the money to buy back Les Jardies, and pay off some lesser creditors, anl I am sure, in two years, to complete my liberation. Only I must have enough to buy back the house for my mother, to whom I owe the sum of forty thousand francs. Gavault, my lawyer, is satisfied. Every one believes in a great success for "Les Ressources (le Quinola," the false title of my play. I keep the one I have just told you for the last moment. The "M3moires de deux jeunes Mariees," published in the "Presse," has had the greatest success. But the finest work this year is "Ursule Mirouet." I send this little line, written in haste. I will write you more in detail within three or four days. I am worn-out with work, and I am still iup all night, for there is much to be done to the play. I have three acts to add to the second play, and my newspaper articles on my shoulders. As for your letters, dear, adored one, be without anxiety. If I die suddenly there is nothing to fear. They are in a box like the one you have; and above them is a notice, which my sister knows of, to put them all into the fire without looking at them, and I am sure 1842] Letters to iMadame Iianska. 599 of my sister. But why this uneasiness now? Why? I ask myself that question in terrible anxiety. You must be more ill than you have told me. You did not fill the last page in your letter! You have put so much uneasiness around that which makes me happy that I know not what to think. Alas! do you not feel, my cherished angel, my flower of heaven, that all you wish of me shall be done as you wish? Do I not love you even more for you than for myself? I entreat you, on receiving my letter, write me two words only, to let me know if 1 can write to you with open heart (for I am still hampered by what you say to me), and how you are; I need to know nothing more than that. You, all is you, dearest; I am only uneasy about your health. Take care of yourself; you owe this to me. Adieu, my dear and beautiful life that I love so well, and to whom I now can tell it. Sempre medesimno. NOTE. - The " Lettres x l'altrangere " end here. The letters that follow are those to Madanme Hanska, given in Balzac's Correspondence, vol. xxiv. of the Edition Definitive of his works. No letters have, so far, been published between the one dated above, January 5, 1842, and the one that here follows, dated October 14, 1843, written after a visit paid by Balzac to Madame Hanska in St. Petersburg. So far as can now be ascertained, the history of their relationship from this date is as follows: Madame Hanska would not, or could not, consent to marry Balzac after Monsieur Hanski's death for the following reasons: 1. Her duty to her daughter, to whom she was left guardian, with the care, conjointly with the child's uncle, of enormous estates in the Ukraine. 2. Russian law, which required relinquishment of proper.ty on marriage with a foreigner. 3. The difficulty of obtaining the Emperor's consent to such marriage. The first difficulty was removed by the marriage of her daughter Anna, in 1846, to Count Georges Mniszech, the owner 600 JHonore de Balzac. [1842 of vast estates in Volllylia; and in September of that year Balzac was summoned to iieet ilIadaine llaliska at Wiesbaden, at or about which ti-ne it is said tlhat she pledged herself definitively to marry hihm. Mealntime, i had nmet hter at several places, and had travelled withi her in Gerimany, Hlolland, and Italy, as will be seen b1y the follomwing letters. In the sunlmer of!is 5 Madamne IIlaska paid a visit to Paris Nwith her daugliter; ullt in secrecy to avo(id the displeasure of thte Russian government. )During tllis visit ilalzac took her to Tours, Vendomile, and(l the valley of the Cler, to show her the places of his childhood. T'le visit to Vendiomle is recorded in a letter written after his (dathl to I. Armnand B1asehet by M. Maresclal-l)uplessis, director of the College, who was also dir ector when lalzac was a ptplil tlere. I. aresc lal menetions that lie was accompanied by a lady; but lie mnistakes AMadame IIan:ska's nationality and calls her ant EnglislIwomaln; or she nmay herself have conveyed tihat i(iea for the sake of ler incognito, wliicl w as all-it iportant to Iher. In October of the same year (1815) Balzac accompanied Madame tlanska to Naples for a few days only; but lie m1t lie; in Romie in March, 1S46, amid stayed there a month. His visit to Wiesbaden, mentioned above, took place in Octobler, 1 846. In December Balzac went to 1)resden, returning some weeks later with Madame tlanska, whlo remained in Paris till April, 1847, when shle returned to Wierzcliownlia. Balzac left Paris inl September, 1817, and paid h1is first and long desireed visit to Wierzchlownia, arriving about the tirst of Octol)er. le staved there until February, 1,4S, when lie returined to P'aris, leaving' it, ag'ain early in Sfeptenmber for Wierzclmtov nia; where lie lived until onie month after his marriage to Iada(aiime Ilanska, w liichl took place March 15, 18S50. Ile returned to Plaris Nwith his wife May 20, anld died th'ree montlhs later, AuguLlst 19, 1850. - Tit. 1813] Letters to Aladamre l YHanka. 601 VIII. LETTERS DURING 1843, 1844, 1O45. BERLT, October 14, 1843. 1)EAR countess,1 I arrived here this morning at six o'clock, having had for all rest twelve hours at Tilsit, from which must be deducted three hours given to the director of posts, to whom I had an introduction, and who did me so many services that I took tea with him in the evening. I arrived too late to dine there with Stieglitz, as we desired. As lonlg as I was on Russian'soil I seemed to be still with you, and, without being exactly of a frolicking gaiety, you must have seen by my little letter from Taurogen that I had strength enough left to joke at my grief. But once on foreign soil, I can say nothing at all, except that this journey may be made to go to you, but not on quitting you. The aspect of Russian lands, without culture, without inhabitants, seemed to me natural; but the same sight seen in Prussia was horribly sad, and in keeping with the sadness that seized upon me. These barren tracts, this sterile soil, this cold desolation, this poverty, gripped and chilled me. I felt myself as much saddened as if there had been a contrast between my heart and Nature. Black grief swooped down upon me more and more heavily as physical fatigue 1 To Madame Hanska, at St. Petersburg. Balzac has just left her after a visit of two months. - TR. 602 [onIor6 de Balzac. [L1843 increased. But do not pity me for taking the land journey, because these late storms must have made the navigation of the Baltic very bad. I know how you are by the way I feel; I feel within ine an immense void, which enlarges anld deepens more and more, and from which nothing distracts me. So I have renounced going, to Dresdeni; I d(lo not feel the courage to go there. Holbein's Madonna will not be stolen between now and(l a year hence; the scene of the battle and the detiles of the KuIn will not change, and I shall have a reason, next May, to miake the journey again with other ideas. Don't blame nme for my faintheartedness; nothiing now pleases me in this journey, which (lid so please mne in) the salon of the Hotel Koutaitsof when you said, "You will go here- alnd there." I listened to you, I went, for it was you who told nme. Blut now, how can I help it? far from you all is lifeless, without a soul. Next year, perhaps; but now, I hiave nothling but the gulf of my toil, and I go to it by the shortest way. I slept this morning from seven o'clock till midday, a few tired, restless hours. I lhave breakfasted, (dressedl, and paid three visits: to Bresson, Redelrn, and WIetdelssohn; and on my return I sit downi to write to you, for to talk with you is the greatest, the most vital instinct of the moment. I was interrupted by Comte Bresson, who camne immediately to invite mne to dinner for to-morrow, because lihe leaves, or rather his wife leaves, the day after; she goes before hilm to Madrid. As far as I can judg(e, lie is a man of intelligence and great good sense; above all, without any species of pretension, which is rare in diplomatists, and I prize it much. He advised me to write a line to Humboldt, of whom I saw much in Paris at Gerard's and elsewhere; he will, no (loul)t, show me Potsdam. 3I. Bresson goes to Spain, and Salva(ndy to Turin. 1843] Letters to ladame Ilanska. 603 I resume my dear laments, and I must tell you that the highway from Petersburg to Tilsit is only practicable at two sections: from Petersburg to Narva, and from Riga to Taurogen; so that for more than half way the road is detestable when it rains, and it had rained a great deal, alas! Imagine the jolts we made! but the vehicles are excellent; they resisted them. All that is Russian has a very tough life. A roadway is laid down across the sands of Livonia with gorse; but though the road has the gorse characteristics, it has, none the less, a disquieting aspect and a boggy style. It is a miracle to get over the road in three days and a half; and that gives a great idea of Russian stubbornness. We had eight horses, and sometimes ten, in certain places. Where the chaussee [paved road] is made it is magnificent. Ah! I shall have pleasure in going over it again! but then it will not be over gorse but flowers that I shall be jolted. Literally, one eats nothing by the way, for there is nothing to eat; but the way-stations are very handsome, and there is always excellent Russian tea. I am therefore able to honour my grief by thinness, due to the diet of the journey; if I suffered, my mental condition was such that I did not become conscious of it; the grief of quitting you quelled hunger, just as the pleasure of meeting you had already quelled sea-sickness. You are above all. I am here at the Hotel de Russie, which is passably good and not too dear. From Berlin I shall go to Leipzig and Frankfort-on-tlhe-Main, by the Prussian Schnell-post; and from Frankfort to France by steamboat, or railroad all the way; which is, I think, more economical than any other way of travelling. I have found two road companions, two sculptors, one of whom, as I told you, speaks an almost incomprehensible French, and I have just made the rounds of Berlin with him. These young men have been full of atten 004 i0onor4, <e [1a3zaw(. L1<S43 tions to me all the way, especially from Riga, where I parted from my first companion, the Frenchman. The artist-nature is everywhere the same. These two young(, fellows got me out of all dillficulties at inns, and I have just invited thlel to dinner (a r' p ib dinner, be it understood). It is the least I can do for such obliging lads to thank them for their good care before we part. Thlis sulky Ilerlin is not comparable to sumptuous Petersburg. In thle first place, one mighlt cut a score of meall little towns like the capital of the Br-andebourg out of tihe gore.at city of the vast Eurolean emnpire, and there would still remain enouio'h space built upon to crush the score of extracted little Berlins without injury to its vast extent. But, at first siglht, Berlin seems tile more populated; for I lhave perceived several individuals in tlhe streets, which is not often thle case in Petersburg. Iowever, tlhe houses here, without being handsome, seem well built; one can see that t.hey are not wanting in comfort inside. The public butildings, rather ugly of aspect, are of handsome freestone; and the space around them is so manag(ed as to set them off. Very likely it is to this artfulnesS thlat Berlin owes its air of beinlg more pol)pulous than IPetersburg(; I should have said more (tuio/naft!e if it concerned any othler people; but the Prussiain, with his brutish heaviness, is never anything but ponderous; less beer and bad tobacco, rand mere French or Italian wit is needed to produce tlhe stir of the other great capitals of Europe, or else the grand industrial and commnercial ideas which have caused tle great development of London; but Berlin and its inhabitants will never be otherwise tllln an ugly little town inhabited by ugly fat people. However, it must be admnitted, to wnioso returns from Russia, Germany has an ind(lefinable air which can only be explained by thle magic word LIBERITY, manifested by free mannlers and customs, or, I should say, by freedom 1843] Letters to lactdame Hanska. 605 in manners and customs. The principal public buildings of Berlin are grouped about the hotel where I am, so that I cou'd see them all in an hour. Fatigue is seizing me; I aspire to dinner: the first I have eaten since the splendours of Russia. Till to-morrow, dear countess. October 15. Our dinner was composed of soup, venison, mayonnaise of fish, macaroni with cheese, a little dessert, a half-bottle of madeira, and a bottle of bordeaux. JEcco, siynora! At eight o'clock I dismissed my guests and went to bed, the first bed that resembled a bed since I left Dunkerque. Before going to sleep I thought of you and of what you might be doing at eight o'clock of a Saturday evening. I imagined you were at the theatre; I saw the Michel theatre; but I did not have the cruel pleasure, as in Sc/nell-ipost or in Karetat potcht6vaia, to think till midnight, for at midnight I was sound asleep, and in the morning I slept till eight o'clock. You have so often subdued the most imperious things in nature that you will pardon poor nature for taking its revenge for once. Exclusively tender souls have a worship for memories, and your memory, you cannot doubt it, is always in my heart and in my thought. I give myself the fete of thinking of it during that short half-dreaming moment when we feel ourselves betwixt slumber and sleep; and all the sweet impressions of the two months I have spent with you return to enchant my soul with their radiant images, so full of harmony. You see that the Virgin of Poland is the same as the Notre-Dame of France. and that if my journey is saddened by a separation such as I have now borne three times, all is otherwise well with me. I have received from M. de Humboldt the note which encloses mine; it is, certainly, curious under present 606 Honorc de Balzac. [1843 circumstances. I send it to you; and I can speak of it openly, as this letter will be carried to you by Viardot, whom I have just met, and who agrees very willingly to take it; he is one of thle most honourable men I know; in whoin one can p)lt the utmost confidence; lie will,ive it into your own hand. October 16. I have just dined withl Madamc Bresson, (ee de Guitaut. There was a great di(liler at the Emlbassy on occasion of the King's fete. Except the amnbassadress, everybody was old and ugly or youmng and hideous; tlhe handsomest woman, if not the youngest, was tlhe one 1 took into dinner; guess who, - the 1)uchessc (e Talleyrand (ex-Dino) who was there with her son, the luc (de Valencay, who looked to be ten years older than his mother. The conversation w as about people's naiuies and little incidents happening at court within fortyeight hours. Bult at any rate, it explained to me hIoffmann's jests about German courts. Iml)ossible to join Redern; I had his wife on one side of me, -the face of ani heiress, and a very rich heiress to mltake himl forget such lack of charm. Nothing can be more wearisome than iBerliin. I a mn consumed with ennui - ennui lihas entered nme to tlhe l)ole, and I ain afrai(l of being ill. I write this before,oing( to bed; it is nine o'clock; but what can one do in Berlin? For all amusement there 's " Medea," translated from thle German, and played literally! Yesterday they played before the court Shakesl)eare's " Midsummer Night's l)ream," also translated literally! Tlie King of Prussia protects letters, but, as you see, they are mostly dead letters. I leave to-morrow, and go to Leipzig bv thle railway to reach Mayence; after which by the same to I)Dresde to see the Gallery. 1843] Letters to Madame Hanska. 607 M. de Humboldt made me a visit of an hour this morning, charged, he said, with the compliments of the King and the Princess of Prussia. He gave me all necessary information as to how to find Tieck at Potsdam, and I shall profit by it to study the physiognomy of that great barrack of Frederick the Great, of whom de Maistre said: "Ile was not a great man; at the most a great Prussian." I went out by the railway, and on getting into a carriage I found the fantastic Duchesse de Talleyrand, with her hair dressed in a mass of flowers and diamonds, like an apparition of a midsummer night's dream. She was on her way to court in full dress, to dine with the Princess of Prussia. We had also for third the Comte de Redern, a mouldy old Prussian fop, dry as a Genevese and important as a retired diplomatist. I requested the shepherdess of threescore to la'y my respects at the feet of the princess. I saw Tieck in his home; he seemed pleased with my homage. There was an old countess, his contemporary in spectacles, octogenarian perhaps, a mummy with a green eye-shade, who seemed to me a domestic divinity. I have just returned; it is half-past six o'clock, and I have eaten nothing since morning. Berlin is the city of ennui; I should die of it in a week. Poor Humboldt is dying of it; he drags about with him a nostalgia for Paris. As I start to-morrow morning by the railway, I must bid you adieu. I cannot write again until I get to Mayence. In talking this morning with Comte Bresson, I told him I had been driven from Petersburg by the tattle of porters and ignoble gossip; that no one believed in generous and disinterested sentiments, and that I was angry with the Russian people for attacking my sacred liberty by imagining that I should (lo like LoeveWeymar. M. Bresson strongly approved; and said that 608 0I)onor(J de Balazea. [1843 a Frenchman should never marry any but a Frenchwoman; I told him I was of his opinion, and that was what I should do! I am told that if I stay here a week fetes will be made for me. But a week means three hundred francs, and really, for Berlin, that is too (lear. If I could only get away from this dreadful town -by paying that suln, I don't say it would be too imuch; I would even add a little to )e off the quicker. MIore tha ever (lo I see that nothing is possible to me without you, and tlie more space I pl)t between uss, the more I feel the strengthl of the tie that lholds me. I live by the past only, and I live in it only, withdrawn into the depthls of umy heart. tMust it not be horrible suffering to be alone as I am, with the continual memory of these two months, from which llmy tholught pllucks flowers, blossom by blossom, w ithl melanclloly and religious tenderness? October 17. I leave you afresh tllis morning, for it is like a fresh leaving not to wriite to you in the evening whlat I have done diring the day. I go to ljeipzig, where I shall book my p1lace in tlhe Sche/-l-'post for Frankfort. I shlall sleep at Leipzig; thle next day go to D)resden, and(l return, on the 2(01h, to take tlie Prussiai conveyance. The loneliness thlit takes ti1e pl:aIce of intimacy ha.s all the ways of remnorse- I feel a violent nleed of eilan'lg!lg from place to place, stirrillg, goin' com-nig; as if at the end of this physieal agitation and all thlese useless movements I should 1fild yiu. I look with ted(eriless at this paper which I shall carry in a momeiit to Viar(dot, thinkilg how your pretty figmers will lhold it in that salon where the hours fled so sweetly and so rapidly. Viardot will faithfully del'ver to you this packet, in whiell I may say that my life will be one long anguish till I see you again. From Mayence you shall have a letter which will tell you of my acts and deeds after lea ving, Belrlin. I shalll reacht 1843] Letters to JIadame IIansca. 609 Passy about November 10; therefore write me on the 3rd, of your style. Adieu; if I have failed in our agreement, if anything displeases you in this letter, be, as ever, kind and forgive me. Think of my grief, my loneliness, my sorrow, and you will be full of pity and indulgence for the poor exile. DRESDEN, October 19, 1843. I left Berlin with ennui, dear, but I have found nostalgia here. Nothing that I eat nourishes me, nothing that I see distracts me. I have seen the famous Gallery, and Raffaelle's Virgin, also Holbein's, and I said to myself, " I love my love too well! " In going through the famous treasury, I would have given all for one halfhour on the Neva. To add to my troubles I am here for two days longer than I wished to be; and this is why. From Berlin I went to Leipzig and passed the night. I had counted without the fair at Leipzig; all the seats were taken in the Schnell-post. I then asked the landlord to book my seat and keep my luggage, instead of my dragging it to Dresden and back, for they demand an infinite number of thalers for overweight of luggage. The landlord said it was doubtful if he could get me a seat for the 20th, tlhe day I wished to start, and I have just received a letter from him saying I can have no place till the 22nd. Yesterday, on arriving, having misse(d the hour for the Gallery, I walked about Dresden in all directions, and it is, I assure 'you, a charming city; very preferable as a residence to that mean and melancholy Berlin. It has the look of a capital; partly a Swiss, partly a German town; the environs are picturesque and all is charming. I can conceive of living in Dresden; there is a mixture of gardens and dwellings that delights the eye. As for the palace begun by Augustus thle Strong, it is really a most curious masterpiece of rococo architecture. As a 39 610 Honorer (le Balzac. [1843 fantasy it is almost as fine as gothic, and as art it is exquisite. W\hat a misfortune that so enchanting a conception is unfinished, and is left in a deplorable state. It would take, of course, millions to repair, complete, arrange, and furnish this (elightful gem. There is nlothill in Petersburg, still less in Prussia, nor in the whole N ortl to compare to it. AWhat a man was that Augustus, ctlling himself Elector in Poland, and lKin iln Saxony I saw so many Titian:s in Florence and Venice that those in thle Dresden gallery had less value in my eyes. Correggio's Xigllt" seelned to lle over-praised; but his IXlagdaleln, two Xirgins of his, the two Madonnas of Rtaffaelle, and thle Dutch and Flemish pictures are well worth tile journey. The treasury is nonsense; its two or three millions in diamonds could not dazzle eyes tlhat had just seen those of tile Winter Palace. Besides, the (dia.lmolld says nothing to me; a dew-drop, sparkling in a ray of thle risilng sun, is to me more beautiful than tile finest diamolndl in the world - just as a certain smile is more beautiful to me tllan tlle filnest pieture. So I must returni to D)resden witlh you ill order tllhat thle l)ictures many spleak to me. IRubens moved me somewhat, but tlle Illibens of the Louvre are more complete. Tile true lnmasterpiece of tile Gallery is Holbein's Madonna, wilicll extinlguishes all tle rest. Hiow I regretted tilat I could {Iot lhol(l yolur hland in mine while I ad(lnired it withl that inward deliglht ail(l plenitude of happiness which the conteimpllative enljoyme):t of the beautiful bestows! The Mat(lolna of Raffaelle, one expects it; bi)lt Holbein's Madolna is thle unexpected, and it grasps one. Dear countess, you will never form to yourself a coinplete idea of nmy dreadful loneliness. Not speakii|g the languagoe and not knowing a person to speak to, I hlave not uttered a lhundred sentences since I left Riga and(l tlalt French mnerclhan.t. I san always in front of myself, and tile scenery ),eing' a desert:11nd a plain, I have notlhing to 1843] Letters to iMadame Hanska. 611 interest the eye; the heart has passed from excess of riches to the most absolute pauperism. The recapitulation mentally of those hours that flew by, alas! so rapidly, the dreamy thoughts that followed them gave such bitter sadness to a nature naturally gay and laughmg that my two sculptors said to me - that is, the one who thought lie spoke French - - What is it? what is the matter?" Another fortnight like this and I shall gently, gently die, without apparent illness. I see that I must renounce the Rhine and Belgium and return to strong occupation in the affairs and toils of Paris. This air does me harm; I am inwardly debilitated; nothing restores my tone, nothing cheers my courage, I thirst for nothing. I have two nostalgias: one for the banks of the Neva which I leave, the other for the France to which I go. German railway trains are a pretext for eating and drinking; they stop at every moment; the passengers get out and drink and eat, and get in only to do it all over again; so that the mail-cart in France goes faster than the trains in Germany. It is eleven at night; I am in a hotel where every one is asleep. Dresden is quiet as a sick-room; I feel no desire to sleep. HIave I grown old that the Gallery has given me so few emotions? or has the source of my emotions changed? Ah! surely, I recognize the infinite of my attaelment and its depth in the immense void there now is in my soul. To love, for me, is to live; and to(lay more than ever I feel it, I see it, all things prove it to me, and I recognize that there will never be for me any other taste, any other absorption, any otlher passion than that you know, which fills not only my heart but my entire brain. October 20. -Absolutely nothing to tell you but what you already know. I have just returned from the theatre, which is 612 IIonore' de Balzac[r. [ 1 843 certainly one of the most charmip ng I ever saw. Desplechin, Seclan, and D)idterle, thle three decorators who (lid our French Opera house, came here to arrange it. Nothing could ble prettier. If you choose Dresden for a resideice Anna will have thle loveliest hall she ever (dreamed of. They sang a German version of '1 Fra Diavolo 7" which seemed to me ain excellent preparation for sleep. I hlad seen the codlections of poicelainis andl antiquities in the mnorning. I feel tired. Fatigue is at power; and I am now going to bled at eleven o'clock. You know of whom I shlall dream as I sleep. Octolber 21. I leave to-morrow; my place is booked, antd I will finish my letter, becaluse I1 wish to put it in the l)Ost nmyself. I lhave a head like an empllty pumpkiin, and 1 nmi, in a state which makes me more unea-sy than I can tell you. If I continue thus in Paris I must return. 1 have no feeling for anything, no desire to live, not the sligtlte'st energy, nor do I feel any will. You will never know mitil I explain it to yeol verbally, the courage I display ill writing, to you. This morniing I stayed till eleven o'clock in bed, nunbl1e to get up. It is horrible suffering' whihel lhas its seat nowhere; which cannot be described; which attacks both heart and brain. I feel stupid, aid( tlhe farther I go, the worse the malady becomes. I will write you from Mayence if I feel better. But as for tlhe present, I can only describe my condition as Fontenelle, a centenarian, explainied his, - ' a diffieulty of beingl." I have not smiled since I left you; it is spleen of the heart; and that is very serious, for it is a double spleen. Adieu, (lear star thrice blessed! there may come a moment when I can express to you tlhe thoughts that oppress me; to-(lay I can only tell you that I love you too well for my peace; for, after tilis August and tlhis September, I feel that I can only live beside you and thlat 1844] Letters to Mladame lHanskta. 1 613 your absence is death. Ohi! how happy I should be were I walking and conversing with you in the little garden overhanging the bridge of Troisk, where there is nothing yet but broomsticks to mark where they mean to plant the trees. To me, there was no garden in Europe more lovely-when you were in it, I mean. There are moments when I see clearly the least little objects that surround you; I look at thle. cushion with a pattern of black lace worked upon it on which you leaned, and I count the stitches! Never was my memory so fresh; my inward sight, on which are mirrored the houses that I build, the landscapes I create, is now all given to the service of the most completely happy memories of my life. You could never imagine the treasures of revery which glorify certain hours; there are some which fill my eyes with tears. My inward eyes behold those angular bronzes against which I struck my knees as I wound my way through your blue salon, and the little chair in which you reposed your dreamy thoughts! iWhat power and happiness there is in these returns to a past which thus we see again. Such moments are more than life; for the whole of life is in this one hour withdrawn from real existence to the profit of these memories which flood my soul in torrents. What sweetness and what strength lies in the simple thought of certain material objects, which attracted lbut little notice in the hasppy days that are past; and how happy I feel myself to feel thus! Adieu; I am going to carry my letter to the post. All tenderness to your child a thousand times blessed; my regards to Lirette, and to you all that there is in my heart, my soul, my brain. PAssy, February 5, 1844. Yesterday T did errands; for I must think about getting " Les Petits Bourgeois " set up by a printer at the cost of a new publisher. I went to see the successor of 0l14 loorel dc (Balzac. [ 1844 IM. G(avault, and there I found a summons from tll:at dreadful Locquin-coquin. No one more au(dacious than at swindler! lie cries, " Murder! thieves!" to hang his victim. All tllis stirred my bile, and as I hIad been up since three in tlhe morning I felt very weary, and went to bed at six to rise at four. While I slept tlhe dear journal came; I put it aside for my waking 'and have just read( it..All these opposig emotions, some ex.as)erating, others gentle, not to say divine, have done ine harm; I feel exhausted, which seldom happenls to me. I must be at M. Gavault's at nine o clock for consultation with ]him and his successor, M. Picard(, on the Loequin affair; now, to get there at nine o'clock supposes breakfasting at seven; and I who have still five fietil/lets to write for Iletzel, p)iomlised to him for thiis morning'! I had kept them back in order to have a c(',il;//td to search them out; they needed mind, anid my mind was all upset! I entreat ybu, do not be worried about thle Rleviews' it would even be a pity were it otherwise. A man is lost inl France the mo)ent lie makes him.nelf a name, and is crowned in this lifetime. Insults, calumnies, rejection, all tlhat suits nme. Some day it will be knownl that if I lived by my l)el there never entered two centimes into my purse tlhat were not biardly aind laboriously earneld, tlhat praise or l)lanme were equally indifferent to me, that I have built up my work amid cries of hatred and literary musketry, and have (done so with a firm and imperturbatble hand. [My revenge is to write, in the " I)Dbats,"' " Les Petits IBourtgeois;" which will make my enemies say with fury, "' At time moment one mi 'ht tfhink his hagwas em)ty lie prodluces a master}piece." That is what MaIadame Ileybaud sail on rea dinog ' lDavid Sdelherd," '" IIonorine," etc. You will read the strtan(ge histo ry of "' Esther." I will send it to you thoroughly corrected; you will there see a Parisian world which is, and always will be, unknown to you, very different from the false s844] Lcttters to Madame Hanska. 615 world of "' Les Mysteres" and ever comic; in which the author, as George Sand said, applies a whip that strips off all the plasters put on to hide the wounds he uncovers. You write me: "What a volume is that which contains ' Nucingen,' ' Pierre Grassou,' and ' Les Secrets de la Princesse de Cadignan'!" Perhaps you are right; I am proud of it (between ourselves). You will see if the corruption of the Spanish abbe, which annoys you, was not necessary to develop the history of Lucien in Paris, ending in a frightful suicide. Lucien had already served as an easel on which to paint journalism; he serves again to paint the piteous and pitiable class of kept women; the corruption of the flesh, after the corruption of the mind. Next comes "Les Petits Bourgeois," and, for conclusion, "Les Freres de la Consolation." Nothing will then be lacking in my Paris but artists, the stagye, and the savants. I shall then have painted the great modern monster under all its aspects. To sum up: here is the stake I play for, - four men have had in this half-century an immense influence: Napoleon, Cuvier, O'Connell; and I desire to be the fourth. The first lived on the blood of Europe, he inoculated himself with armies; the second espoused the globe; the third has incarnated himself in a people; and I shall have carried a whole social world in my brain. Better live thus than call out every evening, "Spades, hearts, trumps!" or find out why Madame such a one has done such or such a thing. But there will always be in me something greater than the writer, happier than he, and that is, your serf. My sentiment is nobler, grander., more comp.ete than all the satisfactions of vanity or fame. Without this plenitude of heart I could not have accomplished one tenth of my work; I should not have had this ferocious courage. Tell yourself often this truth in your moments of melancholy, and 6; I (; lid 17(i U ~~~~(1,'j / Li?(d-(ln.-14 [1844 you will divine by the toil-effect thle grandeur of its Yotur journal las done ne goo(l to read, and I shall re-read, it again to-morrow, more thani onice. It is six o'c e('k; I Imust see ablout illvelltillg and then writing tlhe little trilles for Iletzel. I leave you, sen(ling to you all 11owers of tlle heart. lFebn'larv (;. Yesterday I wt':it o>tOt. ltbut I suffteredl inuchl; that tlijef wih) stles ime, your letter, all thtese vi,ielt and opposi ng emnotio(s dil 1m1e l:inrm. If tle co-ic, as Lordl Byron says, tlputs love to ilight it certaitly knocks downl imtaginatit io; not only have I st1ffered, butl mty brai has becit.as if veiled. Last tlighlt was dreadful, and the waking nio(t p'e:tsamt. After ibreakkf.stiig, I feel rather better; btt I have to go Ott for (cI rent 'lffairs, and I catilot thitilk of it witlhutit reptill anee, so( weak and ill do I still feel. I have, nevertlheless, corricted tlie article for 1e1tzel, antd aldded /t cola, tle most, dilicult part toI wrenlch out. I still have one lhorrilbly d ilHietlt chapter to do) of three /',l,; i/ls;' after which I slhall be delivereid. lint wlhile 1breakfasting tlie idea of a pretty comnidy in tlhree acts calne to me; I will tell it to vyot if I write it. lThis week I mast tiinislh L e ProgrammnIe, antd then set seriously to w('rk on 'Alereadet." I dille to-day with 0(irardin, and shatll pay a visit to 1M. de, arltate to thank lhimn for his letter. I perceive, sadlly, tliat my hard labour lhas aged me muclh; if I (ldo not go to G(erman1ly by the grace of Go)d and yourself, [ slhall make a trip oin foot among the Allis. 1)o not thlinkl that I ever tire of tlie I)llinger. I give it to tnyself as a reward when I have done my task, and at nighlt it is there, beside mae, on my table, and I search my ideas in it. 1844] Letters to Jidctame Halnska. 617 February 7. I am still not well, and I have even gone to bed during the day; but I feel a little better now and shall dine with my doctor. I have just done the article for Iletzel, which will be, like all things wrenched out in spite of Minerva, detestable. Yesterday I consulted M. Roux (Dupuytren's successor, alas!'), and he strongly advised me that journey on foot as the only meanis of arresting the inclination of my cerebral organs to inflame. I am now going to two printing-ofiees to negotiate affairs, and, among others, to arrange with a publisher for "Les Petits Bourgeois." February 8. When I do not suffer in my head I suffer in the intestines, and I have at all times a little fever; nevertheless, this morning, at the moment of writing to you, I am well, or rather, I feel better. Yesterday I talked with a publisher named Kugelmann. LHe is a German, who seems to me full of goodwill; we shall settle something to-day when 1 have done with the "DI)blats; " I go to Bertin at eleven o'clock. If the two affairs can be arranged I shall have nearly twenty thousand francs for Les Petits Bourgeois." They want to illustrate either "Eugdnie Grandet" or "La Physiologie du Managrioe," and have made me proposals to that effect. If these proposals lead to any result you shall know it, of course. Yesterday I met Poirson, manager of the Gymnase, in an omnibus, and he proposed to me to give him the comedy of "Prudhomme," and have it played by IIenri Monnier. That is one of my crutches for this year; I shall go and explain it to him next Mon(lay; and if it suits him, I shall set to work upon it immediately, so as to have it played in March - or rather ill May, for March has twice been fatal to me. 618 Iolnorc' de Bailac. L1844 Adieu for to-day, celestial star, implored and followed with so much religion. Every daty 1 say to myself, thinking of your dear household of three, "I llope they are happy! tllat nothing troubles them! that Lirette sallectities herself more and more; that Anna goes sometimes to the theatre (for her health, as she says so prettily); and that madame will fromn time to time look down the Neva to whlere Paris lies." As for me, I think only of that rococo salon, and so thinking, I make a little mental prayer to a human divinity, especially about nine o'clock, when tea makes me think tiat you are takinl yours in thle lamplight at that white table, the yellow wavelets of which I see at momelts, together with tlhe samovar. What friends are things, whien they surround beloved beings! There is even a stul)id ivory elephant that returns to my memory at times. As for the eauseuse, the little carpet, the Louis XIV. screen, alnd1 thle chair on which you rested your noble, cherished head, they are objects of worship. I)o you feel yourself loved even in the outward objects to wlhich you have oiven more real life than living and moving!beillgs have to me? Your sadnesses make me smile, and I say to myself, " She was not th/en sitting in her chair; she was not looking then at her chimney-corner." lBut it would have been a pily not to write those four pages; they are sublime; and were it not for tile deep respect I have for you, I would put thein proudly into one of my books, to give you the enjoyment of seeing hlow superior you are to scribb!ers like thle rest of us. That letter is a true diamond as style and as thought; you have the inspiring influence, dear lady! - See how I chatter with you! Can I help it? I make my letters one of thlose cat-like sensuous joys to whielh we grow used, and whichl wrap us so softly that we forget they are but the cop]~/ of their cause! Well, one more look at tliat (lear rue Millioune, and a 1844] Letters to Madame Hanska. 619 deep, deep sigh, alas! not to be there. Why should you not have a poet as others have a dog, a parrot, a monkey? - and all the more because I am a little of all three, and repeat to you ever the one phrase, "I am faithful!" (Here the countess throws up her head and casts a superb glance.) Adieu till to-morrow; I have recovered a little gaiety the last two days; are some happy events happening to you? God owes them to you. Have you not suffered enough to expiate the fault of all who surround you?for as to you, you have never understood or practised anything but the good and the beautiful. February 10. Yesterday Bertin was ill, but he sent word that the affair held good. I went to the printing-office, but the publisher did not come; a bad sign. Here's a strange tlhing! the printer fell so in love with the title " Les Petits Bourgeois de Paris " that he wants to buy the book of me for twenty thousand francs and publish it illustrated! I came home to dinner and went to bed, for I had this morning to read seven folios of LA CoiMEDrE IJUMAINE and the whole of Hetzel's article. It crushed me down. I went to bed after breakfast and slept till dinner-time, and as I could not sleep again from six in the evening till three next morning, I took some coffee, and here I am at nine in the evening, writing at my table. If I have luck I shall sell the right to illustrate " Eugdnie Grandet," and the " Petits Bourgeois" affair will come off, and this will bring nme out of these matters (I mean the annoying matters). They played a new tragedy at the Oddon last night, but I did not go; I reserve myself for Tuesday, when the "' ysteres de Paris" are brought out at the Porte-Salint-Martin. 60 I0 oIf or d(e Ll.ac.e L1S44 February 14. "Les Myst'res" ended this morning at half-past one after midnight. I did not get back to Passy till three in tile mornilng. It is now one o'clock, and I am just up. Frederiek Lemaitre was in fear of a cerebral congestionl; I found him yesterday at midday in bed; lhe had just plunllged into a mustard batl tup to his knees. Twice the night before he lost his eyesight. " Les Mysteres" is tlme worst play in the world, but Frederick's talent will make a furor for it. As actor, hle was magnificent. You never can describe such effects, they must be seen. I am satisfied withl the success lie will give to " Les Mysteres," because it gives me tilme to finish " lMercadet." The priences were in a proscenium box, and as tlhe Prince (1de Joinville had never seen ime, the I)uc dt Neniours pointed me out to him. Since thenl I have written to Poirson that I will go and see him Friday to agree atbout i' Prudhomme." I am to dline with my old friend tile Duchesse (le Castries, who, just now, for one reason or another, renews her kind attenltions to your servant. All my prose is ready for Iletzel. To-day I (ilie with Lingay, the man who wainted to put to tlie profit of tile State, so lie said, my talent of observation. lie loes not seem vexed with 1110 for nmy want of compliance, or perhalls lie las too much ilitelligence not to have understood 1m)e. Felbrnarv 16. I went out yesterday for much business. 1. A l)urchal;er wants my Florentine furniture. People have come from all parts to see it, even thle antiquity dealers; and they are nll in a lutter of admiration. You don)'t know what tills menals. It was tle article in tlhe 'h\essager " (whieh you will doubtless read copied into tlhe " l)ebats ") which las rouseld all this attenltion. 2. Thie matter of '' Les 1ectit.s B,,ri eois rests, so far, 1844] Letters to iIadamle fHansca. 621 with the " Debats." But the publisher wants the book; no doubt to illustrate with I' Eugenie Grandet " and the "Physiologie du Mariage." 3. Poirson thinks tlhe idea of the play excellent and proposes to guide me! - and if the execution is equal to the plot, he assures me of all the advantages I can desire. So I may appear once more before the public about April 1. Here I am, with " Prudholmme " and " Les Petits Bourgeois " on my hands; but no money. I must coin it in a manner to conquer tranquillity for three months. It is terrifying. This is Shrove-Saturday; I must spend it working, Sunday too, with a fury that is not French, but Balzacian. February 17. You know, dear countess, that there are days when the brain becomes inert. In spite of my best will I have sat all day long in my arm-chair, turning over the leaves of the " Mu-see-des-Familles!" - what do you say to that? -- and in gazing from time to time at my Daffinger, without finding aught there than the most sublime and charming creature in the world and not a line of copy! I wanted to return to " Madame de la Chanterie," but I could only write two feuillets. February 18. I dine to-day with Poirson, the theatre manager. Yesterday I dined out; a dinner of twenty-five persons at a restaurant; but what a dinner! It would have cost two or three thousand roubles in the 60th degree of latitude. I went this mornino to see Bertin and have come home to tell you that all is concluded. Three thousand one hundred and fifty francs a volume, like those of " Les Mysteres." That will make nine thousand five hundred. I am going to bed, worn-out with fatigue. February 19. Shrove-Tuesday, February 19. Oh joy! I have your letter and have just read it. You ask why I no longer go .Iotnor' de PBalzac. [18144 in the Versailles direction. Simply because one does not seek that which annoys and displeases. Do you want to know the only way in which to cease to be to me uniae( and dilecta? it is to speak of that to me. All that was a bad dream which must be forgotten in order not to blush for it to one's self. I)eprived of your letters I no longer lived; nor (lid I live again until once more I saw your dear handwriting. And you speak to me of Versailles; the very name sickens me, with the ideas attached to it, and this when I am so far from you with vast spaces partin( us! But you do not know how in your absence I am deprived of soul and brain. I live by the reception of one letter, and I no sooner have it than I want another. Ah! your letter was ind(leed due ne amidst the annoyances and troubles of all kinds that assail me and thle crlshing work which implores peace and has never found it except near you. Even Hetzel, whom I thought a friend, is getting up with Bertin a foolish squabble with me. If you only knew in what a fit of misanthropy I went to bed. It was frightful. But also, with what delighlt I read those pages so full of sincerity and affection! One hour of such pure, heavenly enjoyment would make one accept the martyrdoms of human existence. Yes, you have every reason to be proud0 of your child. It is throulgh seeing young girls of her sphere, those who -are the best brought-up here, thaqt I say to you, and repeat it: you have the right to be proud of your Anna. Tell her that I love her, for you, whose happiness she is, and for her own angelic soul which I appreciate so truly. You tell me, clear countess, tlhat, in the midst of your good success, there is something in the supreme decision whiich thwarts you, but you do not tell me what it is. Please repair that omission; do not let me fancy evil out of this ulncertainty. Nothing, no event in thle things of life, no woman lhowever beautiful, iothi',(j can disturb that which 1844] Letters to Madame Itanska. 623 is for ten years past, because I love your soul as much as your person, and you will ever be to me the Daffinger. Do you know what is the most lasting thing in sentiment? It is la sorcellerie a froid - charm that can be deliberately judged. Well, that charm in you has undergone the coolest examination, and the most minute as well as the most extended comparison, and all is more than favourable to you. Dear fraternal soul, you are the saintly and noble and devoted being to wlhom a man confides his life and happiness with ample security. You are the pharos, the light-giving star, the sicara richezzq, senza brama. I have understood you, even to your sadnesses, which I love. Among all thle reasons which I find to love you - and to love you with that flame of youth which was the only happy moment of my past life- there is not one against my loving, respecting, admniring you. With you no mental satiety can exist: in that I say to you a great thing; I say the thing that makes happiness. You will learn henceforth, from day to day, from year to year, the profound truth of what I am now writing to you. Whence comes it? I know not; perhaps from similarity of characters, or that of minds; but, above all, from that wonderful phenomenon called entente cordiae - intimate comprehension- and also from the circumstances of our lives. We have both been deeply tried and tortured in the course of our existence; each has had a thirst for rest in our heart and in our outward life. We have the same worship of the ideal, the same faith, the same devotion to each other. Well, if those elements do not produce happiness, as their contraries produce unhappiness, then we must deny that saltpetre, coal, etc., produce ashes. But beyond these good reasons, it must be said, dear, that there is another, a fact, a certainty, the inspiration of a feeling beyond all else - the inexplicable, intangible, invisible flame which God has given to certain of his creatures, and which impassions them; for I love 624 4llonor de e Balzac(t. [1844 you as we love that which is beyond our reach; I love you as we love God, as we love happiness. If the hope of all my life were to fail me, if I lost you, I should not kill myself, I should not make myself a priest, for the thou-!ght of you would give me strength to endure my life; but I would go to some lonely corner ot France, ill the Pyrelees, or the Ari'ge, and slowly die, doing and knowing nothing more ill tlhis world; I should go at long inltervals to see Anila and talk of you at my ease with hler. I should write no more. AWhy should I? Are you not the wlhole world to me? Examininin what I feel in merely waiting for a letter, and what I suffer fromn a day's delay, it seems proved to nc tlhat I should die of grief. Oil! take care of yourself! Think that there is more than one life bound to yours. Take care in everything! Each day my double egotismn increases; each day hope adds to her treasury d(reams, lonlgilngs, exl)ectations. Oh! remain wllhat I saw you onl tlhe Neva! If you ask me, Madame la comtesse, why I yield myself up to this verbiage, which, some day soon, will bring a frown to that ()lymrpian brow, if you would know whly I hlave launched withl such a flow upon the letter-tide, I shliall tell you that I have just re-read your letter, that this is Mar(li-gras, and I am taking the sole p)leasure that I seek from the carnival. Now I must talk health; you will not pardon me if I forget it in writing to you. I am well, in spite of a sliglht grippe, and I think I shall he able to master the enormous work that I must do between now and March 20. Do not dwell too much upon my troubles and my toils; do not pity me too much; without this avalanche to sweep away I should die, consumed by an indefinable ill, called absence, fever, consumption, nerves, languor - what Chenier has described in his "Jeune Malade." Therefore I bless heaven for the obligations which misfortune has placed upon me. I do not count, as I think I told 1844] Letters to fc31damIe Hanskca. 625 you, on a theatre success to pay my debts,; I count only on the fifty folios of LA COMI DIE HUMAINE which I have to do, and which will give me about fifty thousand francs. It is true that I also expect to bring to a good conclusion the affair of illustrating " Eug6nie Grandet" and the Physiologie; " and those two things represent twenty thousand at least. So I shall fully have enough, and over, for my journey and stay in Dresden. Adieu until to-morrow. To-morirow I continue my journal after putting this one into the post. If you knew what emotion seizes me when I throw these packets into the box! My soul flies to you with the papers; I tell them a thousand foolish things; like a fool, I fancy they are going to repeat them to you; it is impossible to me to comprehend that these papers impl)regnated with me should be in eleven days in your hands and yet that I stay here. Well, you will see that during the last fourteen days I have been much driven about; I have worked little, I have thought of you, I have been agitated by the expectation of work for Frederick. " Les Mysteres" which, thanks to him, have had a success, little durable however, have cast me on the deserted boards of the "Gymnase." I am chasing Henri Monnier; you can, on reading these pages, scribbled in haste, tell yourself that your poor servant is working desperately; every moment is precious; a scene must be written, a proof corrected, copy sent. You will therefore have but,little from me as writing, but much as thought in the journal which will follow the present one. Adieu. Yesterday I was sad; to day, thanks to your adorable letter, I am gay, happy. You are my life, my strength, my consolation; I have learned through disappointments and bitterness that I have but you in this world. Adieu, then; be sure that I live more at the feet of your chair than in my own. 40 626 Hone ore, e Baiza:c. [1844 PARIS, February 28, 1844. Dear countess; I have decided to finish the seventh voluime of Lx COci:DIE HUrTMATNE with " Le Lys dans la Vallee " which can certainly go under the head of "Scenes de la Vie (le province." This arrangement spares me the writing of three volumes which I should not have time to publish separately first; besides I wish not to have a single line to write between now and October 1. In spite of what you tell me of your plans for Dresden, I hardly believe in them. You leave Petersburg about the middle of May; you will be at home, at Wierzchownia, by the end of June; how can you expect between July and Octolber (four months) to be put in possession of your rights, to have received the accounts of administration and guardianship, and to have re-established the status qao of your personal government? Oh! if you only knew with what sadness I count upon my fingers and add up all these difficulties: the time required for the journey, the accounts to examine and verify, the current affairs, and the unexpected hindrances! Such thouglhts bring me dreadful, pitiless, implacable hours. You are my whole life; the infinitely little incidents as well as the gravest events of that life depend on you, and solely on you; the two monthls t!hat I spent in Petersburg have, alas! sufficiently enlightened me as to that. No, you can never leave in October, for I know your anxious tenderness for your child; you would never let her travel in winter, -I have the certainty of conviction as to that. Do you understand what there is of despair in those words? Existence was endurable with the hope of Dresden; it overwhelms me, it annihilates me if I have to wait longer. You ought to profit by your stay in Petersburg to obtain recovery of the administration from Anna's guardians, so that there be no one but you and her uncle to 1844] Letters to licadame Iianska. 627 manage her affairs. You will do this, I am sure, unless you think it simpler and easier to manage at home, I mean in the chief town of your department, or I should say government, inasmuch as your provinces are divided into governments, not departments, as they are in France. In any case, dear countess, when you return to WAierzchownia examine well the its and buts, the fors and the yes and nos, and decide whether I may go to you. If your high wisdom decides that I cannot, I shall ask of toil its absorption and its excitements in default of the resignation which I cannot promise you. Mon Dieu, one year lost! It is a lifetime for a being who finds a life in a day, when that day is passed with you. I leave you to dine with M. de Mlargonne and to pay a little visit to the Princesse Belgiojoso, who lives next door to him. February 29. I had yesterday, after writing to you, a violent rush of blood to the head. From three in the mornino till three in the afternoon I corrected without pausing six folios of LA CONIEDIE HIUMAINE (" Les Employes "), into which I inserted passages taken from the " Physiologie de l'Employe," a little book, written in haste, about which you know nothing. This work, which was equivalent to writing in twelve hours an 8vo volume, brought on the attack. Mly nose bled from yesterday until this morning. But I feel myself more relieved than weakened by this little natural bleeding, - beneficial, I make no doubt. I have been to fetch the proofs of wlhat I have so far done on " Les Petits Bourgeois." The printing-office is close to Saint-Germain-des-Pres; the idea came to me to enter the church, where they are painting the cupola, and I prayed for you and your dear child at the altar of the Virgin. Tears came into my eyes as I asked God to keep you both in life and health. My thought 6 2S H(IIor) deC B(tlzac. [1 844 streamedl even to tlhe Neva. Perlmhaps, retrri-ing from those hleights, I have b)rought )alck a gleam from that ideal throne before whlich we kneel. With what fervour, whiat ard(our, wlat al)a(ldollnellt of myself, do I feel!)otlnd t) you forever, - for time and( for eternity," as tlle dlevo-t people say. On my way home I )bougl' t, for fifteen sous on the (llay, the ' M'Smoires (e L auzunl," wltichl I had never read.1 I looked them over in the olmnibus, returning to lPassy, where your serf, havilng reiiitegrated himself into Ilis arm-elair, is writilg thlis to you,iile 'awaitinig dinner. Wllhat a strantg'e thil g that an honourable, courageous man, who seems to) have had p)lenty of heart on all oeetasions wheln lle nee(lded it, cMld (lishoniour with such levity t!le womllen lie p)rfesse I to love! I t llik colnceit, beinIr tlhe (loiniiant featlre of his chlaracter, smothered what was really g()ood a111 'cerous within him. [)oes lie i(ot sub-suggest to us t!at lie woull iot htave Malrie-Antoinette in thie flower of her youth alnd the lprestige of her glrandetur? It was an odious calumny and a useless cruelty, wheii we think of the 1)ositioii of that poor queen at thle period when these \Iei(moirs were beihng written. Ii other respects thiis poor Lauzun makes one pity hlimi; lie never so much as suspects, wlIile believing hiimself adored, that lie was never lovedl, even feebly. A man: s ) vain is not en(lured by the majority of women, who wan:t an exclusive worslip f)or themselves, and will not accel)t, unless for a moment, the presence of a rivalry as, aggressive as it is insatiable - that of a lover of him-.s<,! So, we see how Princesse C. quickly quitted Ilim; it is frilhitful. After readinm anI d closing that bal b.ok, I cried out to myself, t' How happy lie is who loves but one woman!" I persist in thlat opinion; it is both a cry of 1 Armani Louis (I c C(ontaut Biron, D)u (lte Lalizln 1; b)rn 1747, executed 179:3. - TI. 1844] Letters to Madame Hanska. 629 the heart and the result of reasoning and observation; for I analyze you with the utmost coolness, and I recognize, with conviction and joy, that none can be compared to you. I do not know in this world a finer intellect, a nobler heart, a gentler or more charming temper, a nature more straightforward, a judgment more sure, based on reason:and virtue. I will say no more, for fear of being scolded; and yet, this is what explains and justifies an enthusiasm stronger to-day than it was in 1833; which sends the blood in waves to my heart at sight of that page of poor Topfer, which will lie on my table all my life; which transports me as I look at the Daffinger. Ah! you do not know what passed within me when, in that courtyard, - every stone of which is engraved in my memory, with its planks, its coach-house, etc.,- I saw your sweet face at the window. I no longer felt my own body, and when I spoke to you I was stultified. That stultification, that arrested torrent, arrested in its course to bound with greater force., lasted two days. " What must she think of me?" was a madman's phrase that I said and resaid in terror. No, truly, and believe it absolutely, I am not yet accustomed to know you after all these years. Centuries would not suffice, and life is short! You saw the effect during those two months in Petersburg. I left you in the same ecstasy in which I was the day I saw you once more. Of all the faces you made me see and know in Petersburg none remain in my memory. All have fled, evaporated, leaving no trace. But I can tell with certainty the sm'allest little detail of everything about you, ev6n to the number of steps to your staircase, and the flower-pots that are massed at its angles. Of my apartment at Madame Tardif's, nothing remains in my mind; nothing of Petersburg either, unless it be the bench on which we sat in the Summer Garden, and the steps of the Imperial Quay where I gave you my hand. Oh! if you knew how precious to me is that pin 630 63 0i o vlC d'e / B((lz(C. [1s44 which rolled along the quay! I have fastened to nmy mantel-piece, on the red velvet which drapes the side of it, a leaf of your ivy, that lustrous ivy which frightened you! Well, that leaf casts me into en(lless reveries. My dinner is brought; I must stop until to-morrow. March 1. On waking at t;-o thlis morning, I took up your journal number 10, which I read very rapidly yesterday and have now re-real; I have givene one hiour to it; it is now three o'clock - can it be one hour? It is a thousand hours of )paradise! What a strange thing! you say to me regarding the monthl of October the very fears I expressed to you a short time ago. Have we two tlioulghts? You tell ine of tlie pain in your heart, and I was praying for your liealth in Saint-Germnin-d(es-Pr;s! You are surely not igno.)rat tllat your life is my life, your deatli would be mine; your joys are my joys, your griefs my griefs. There was never in the world an affection like it; space has no part in it; I have felt my Whart beat violenitly when I read your account of the throbbing of yours. And tllat page in wliClc you say such gracious truths al)out my deep, unalterable, infinite attclhllnent to you leaves mle witli moist eyes. No, such a letter makes all acceptable, burdens, griefs, all miseries! Yes, dear, distaut yet present star, rely on me as you would on yourself; neither I nor my devotion will fail you more than the life in your body. At my age, dear fraternal soul, what I say of life may be believed; well, then, believe tliat for me there is no other life than yours. My plan is made. If harm happens to you, I shall bury myself in some hidden corner of the world, un:known to all; this is no vain sayino'. If happiness for a woman is to know herself alone and singly in a leart, filling it in a manner indispensabnle, elrtiaill of sllinilng in a mali's intellect as its light, certain 1844] Letters to Madame Hanska. 631 of being his life's blood pulsing in his heart, of living in his thought as the substance of that thought, and having the certainty that this is and ever will be - ah! then, (lear sovereign of my soul, you can say that you are happy, happy senza Sramua, for such you are to me - till death. We may feel satiety for things human, there is none for things divine; and that last word alone expresses what you are to mne. No letter has ever made me feel more enjoyments than the one I have just read. It is full of a dear, delicate wit, so graceful, of an infinite kindness, wholly without paltriness. That forehead of a man of genius which I have so admired is visille everywhere. Yet, I have been to blame; how could I ever have thought that what you would do would not be well done, and properly done? From the point of view of the world, that jealousy was pretty, and perhaps flattering to some women, but from the point of view of an affection as exceptional as mine, it was a distrust for which I blame myself and entreat you to pardon me. The idea of your novel is so pretty that, if you want to give me an immense pleasure, you will write it and send it to me; I will correct it and publish it under my own name. You shall not change the whiteness of your stockings, nor stain your pretty fingers with ink to benefit the public, but you shall enjoy all the pleasures of authorship in reading what I will preserve of your beautiful and charming prose. [This book was " Modeste Mignon."] In the first place you must paint a provincial family, and place the romantic, enthusiastic young girl in the midst of the vulgarities of such an existence; and then, by correspondence, make a tr(ansit to the description of a poet in Paris. The friend of the poet, who continues the correspondence, must be one of those men of talent who make themselves the kite-tails of a fame. A pretty picture, could be made of the cavtalieie serventi, who 632 If0o10or' de B7alzac. [1844 watch tie newspapers, 1do useful errands, etc. But the (lnouemenlt must be in favour of this young man agoainst tile great poet. Also there imust be shown, with truth, tlie manias land tihe asperities of a great soul which alarmn andl rebuff inferior souls. Do this and you will llelp me; vou will make mc wi5I t he suiympathl of certain ehoice lill(ds by tilis emp)loymelnt of a leisure I lack so t)mucll. What a tempi)ttiol f 3r a soull like yours! Adieu for to)-li y; leisure lacks:an(l t)il is calling. To-morrow I will re-relad y)our ad(lorable letter andl atlswer it. \artCrh 2. Yester!day I h1ldl tlhat tiresome judge from Bourges to dinner. Thie vo)te of the (Chlamlller onl (Queen Plomare kept lhiml late; and it filliowed thltat ha:viung' b}eene up sinee two in thle mllornin.' I went to bed at aIlf-pat-st eiglit and slelt all night like a doriouise. So my work is compromlised, and I am heavy, with lout ideas, without activity. Tlie regularity of my hours sa-ves me. I ami expecting tlie Floret.tile furnliture; mieea.itime, I ha:ve re-read that adorable letter. Suzette's death seemils t,o me a small calamity. She was gay, sihe loved you, and that is a great claimn to my remnemilhrance, il whlichl she will rei'iln eternally, if only for her arrivals at the Are with your missives. D)ar countess, I entreat you, never liglit my battles, either for me or for my works. t amlt afraid of somen trap set for your (ood friendshlip andt your gracious, sympI)athetie partiality. The btest way to Itoax critics is to satirically agree with them; carrying tlie matter farther than they reckoned or wished, andi when you have entice(l them inlto alsurditv, leave tlihem there. Tle m(ore I thliink of it tlhe more charming do I fi,:d tile idea of your iovel. Write it out for mne andl will use it. Nodier died as lite had lived, with grace and goodhumour; in full po,)ssession of his mind and sensibility, of his lieas(, in short: aind religiou(sly, - lie eonifessed and 1844] Letters to i]I(tfdlate ]I(titskca,. 633 desired to receive tlie sacraments. IIe dclied( not only with calmness., but with joy. Five minutes before his death lhe asked for news of all his grandchildren, and saidl: " Are none of hlhem ill? Then all is wrell." Ile wished to be buried in his daughter's marriage veil. Ma.ss was said in his room, and he heard it with great collectedness. In short, his conduct was becoming, gay, charming, gracious to the last moment. IIe sent me word that hlie had been deeply touched by my letter, that hle regretted dying before he had brought the Acad(lemy to repl)air its injustice towards me, that he had always wished I milght be his successor there and hoped I should be. I give you these details, knowing the interest that you wvill take in them. You may have thouglht me a little cool about tlhe announcement of your suit beingo won; and, in truth, if I am glad of it, it is especially in knowing that you are at last delivered from legal annoyances. 1Believe that thoughl I am little solicitous of fortune for myself (no matter what is sai(d of me), I am too devoted to you not to wish you all the comforts of ease; because one calnot enjoy life or what it offers of good land charming if forced to stru'gg'le against ill fortune. if I am destined to live always apart from you, I shall not think the less, with childlike joy, that you are free from cares in the l)resent and in the future, that you arc enabled to do good to those about you according to the compassionate and generous instincts of your kindness, an..Id I shall say, withl the satisfaction of Pehmeja, " I lhave nothing, but I)ubreuil is rich." Let us believe, however, that thle future will not be gloomy for nme either, from this point of view at least; amd that, my debts once paid., I can give myself up to the leisure and repose so awaited, so longed-for, so (learly boughlt., before I sleep the eternal sleep in which we rest from all, especially from ourselves. Meantime, my garden is greening; there are fresh young shoots;; before long there will be flowers; I will put some 3-14 Ifon ore' (e Balzac. [1844 ill my letter l)efore closing it. The page of your letter 1)ro(luced by thlat engraving of Topfer, and the infinite plleasurle the latter caused me have given fresh impetus alnd new vigour to my courage. With such support and sluch words, waitilg is no lol(nger heroism, it becomes a (ldty. Yes, I stuffer much, more perhlaps than you can )believe, to be nailed, chained here, while you, free in all your actions, are labsent and so far away. But hope rocks us ever! so persuasive, so obliging is she th;at she succeeds in reassruril, mie, and( even in convincing me that the reality will not forever escape me. 1When I am thus calmed, and the inspirati)n and enthusiasm of work takes part in it, all goes fairly well; but it does not continue. Alas! there are moments when discouragement is so strong and lassitude so complete that work becomes imipossiblle to ine; mv faculties are no longer free; I amn distracted from my thoughts by somethling imperative, inexpllicable, arb)itrary, which rules my brain an(d (grasps my heart. There is a form, I know not what, which goes and comes, which crosses my room and retutrlns, which lays its finger upon me aind says: " Vhy work? wlhat folly! why wear yourself out inl tills way? Think tliat a few months morc anl d you will see her. Am1use yourself while waiting! " I am not romancing, believe ie; I am telling this as it hapl)e.ens, )e it revery, hallucinaItion, or no matter wlhat )henomenlon of a wearied larain tliat wanders. But I soon return to my Jfixed idea; I take up the past, crumb 1)by crumb; I mnake myself happy in it; I am with the future like children with thle white cloth tlhat hides their New Year's (gifts, and I return to your letters as to tlIe pastutre of my soul. I entered a church to-d.ay, to pray an(l to ask God for your health, witli an ardour frill of eg'otism - as all fanaticismns are. I was afraid; I dared not pray. 1 said to myself, "This is so full of selfish interest perhaps I shall irritate him." And I stopped suddenly, like a bigoted old woman, 1844] Letters to llladamete lanska. 635 or a silly schoolgirl. To this' are we brought by force of preoccupation, or to speak more truly, obsession. This is what we become when we have but one idea in the brain and one sole being in the heart. March 4. I don't know whether it is a phase of the brain, but I have no continuity of will. I plot, I conceive books, but when it comes to execution, all escapes me. I have turned over and over a hundred times your idea for a novel, which is a very fine thing; it is the duel between poesy and reality, between thle ideal and the practical, between physical poesy and that which is a faculty, an effect of tlle soul. I will do that work; it may become something grand and noble. But at this moment all lhas fled me; there is some evil influence, as if a sirocco had swept across the strings of a harp; a memory, a nothing, a turning backward, the caprice of some elf that wants a prey- all dissolves my energy and beats me down, body and soul. Well, why not let it consume a portion of my time, that sacred and sublime passion? I am so happy in loving thus! But it is a frightful extravagance! I am royally a spendthrift! "-Les Petits Bourgeois" is there, onl my desk, tlle )Debats " has announced it; you know in whose name the book is written; yet I dare not touch it. That mountain of proofs terrifies me, and I rush to the banks of tile Neva, where there are no Petits Bourgeois, and I plunge into a blue arm-chair, so enticing to the f.r nieate. What reading can ever give me the pleasure of those (dry, aca(lemic notices of Mignet, or any of those books that I picked up at random on the table of your salon, while awaiting the rustle of a silk gown. If I could draw I would make from memory a sketch of the moujik lighting the stove! I see that little bit of cord unsewn from the back of the causeuse tunder the ivy - such are my grand occupations! Now and then I go over in memory the G63 IflotUl'/c dc BBatlzac. [1844 gowvls I have seen you wear, fro)m tlle white muslin liled with blue that first (lday at Peterhof to the imagnificence of a robe all covered(l with laee, with which you adorned youlrself to g<) to) parties. All! 't is tlhe hest poem known iyv heart tIhat ever was or will be -the verses, stanzas, canttos of tlhose two montlhs! Yes, I shalll never hIave loved but once in m1 life, and, hla)l)pily, tllhat affection will fill my whlole life. Butt I munst leave these sacre(l orgies of memory, for I desire to appear with (cilat in the jourllal. I pu)t iit,) this paclket the first flower thlat hlas bloome(l iln my arde(lll; it sliled to ince tllis molrnillng, and I send it laden with many thouglhts and imptulses tlhat cannot be written. Do inot be astonished t: fin(d nme so grrulois, saying, tlhe same tlding for tlie millionth time; f have no other confidlaint than you, you only. Never in lmy living life halve I said one word of von, nor of my w rslhip, nor of l ly faitlh; and proa l):bly the stone which will some day lie above my bo(dy will keep tile silence I hare kept il life. Therefore, there was never in this world a fresher, more immaculate feeling( in any soul than thiat you know of. I hope thiat thle Cyclop of toil will soon returns, but not to chase away entirely the Ariel of Adlictl; try to think a little of him whlo thinks of you at every mnoiment, las the mis -r of his hidden hoard; as the pious heart of its saint. PI'AsVy, October 11, 1844 1 Dear countess, I lhave received your letter of September 25; it came last night, that is, in fifteen days only. 1 am not very well; yesterday I went to the doctor; the neuralgia must be fought with leehels and a little blister; tlhat will take three or four davs. I have been doing "' C'sar Birotteau " with my feet in mustard, and I am now writing '" Les Paysans" with my head in opium. 1 To Madame TIlmska, at Wicrzrhownia. 1844] Letters to MALdame Hanska. 637 Within ten days I have written six thousand lines for the " Presse; " I must get through by October 30. Your letter is still another reason for haste; for if you travel, I must be ready. My illness has reached a height. This inflammation of the coating of the nerves, caused undoubtedly by a strong draught, produces pain effects just as scene painters produce scen.ic effects. For fifteen nights I have worked at "Les Paysans " in spite of my sufferings. So you see there has been no journey to Belgium. Do not be uneasy, dear countess; your advice as to the travelling lady is not needed; I had already told myself that, for your sake, I ought to pay attention to the follies of public opinion; we have, as usual, thought alike. It is four in the morning; I must go to bed and put leeches into my right ear; butl I would not let these three days be added to your expectation. Before M. Gavault's departure, thirty thousand francs had been offered for Les Jardies; but the value of land in the Allee des Veuves is increasing, alnd I have told the notary to stop the negotiation. Was this wise? I shall wait; parhaps I shall find a house, ready built and cheap. This neuralcgia hinders me very much; for I have to do a work for Chlendowski, who is a great wrangler, just as you predicted; you were right, as usual; I may be paid, but one thing is very certain, I will do no more business with him. How right you were to give me some hope for Dresden or Frankfort, because, during these last days, I have been so unhappy while working; I wanted to quit everything and go to you at Wierzchownia. Leave me hope; is it not all I have? Alh! if you have understood the sad and tender words I say to you, you must look upon yourself, if not with pride at least with a certain complacency. The greatness of my affection renders petty all the great difficulties of my life. I have amazed everybody by saying that I shall do the twenty thousand lines of " Les ~638 Hoflor(C de ]-lzaeC. [1844 Paysans " during thle month of October. No one believed inme; not even the newspaper. But when they saw me writing six thousand lines in ten days they were awestruck. The eoml)positors are rea(ing the work, a thilng thiat does not happen once in a hundred times; a murlnur )of a(ldmiration runs tllroug'h them; allnd tlhis is the mo)re extraordinary because the work is directed against the multitude and demnocracy. Your letter has been much delaye(; in my impatience I demanded the head of all tile Rzewuskis, except yours; (1o not frown that aristocratic brow, but think of my t)il, my sufferings without comfort! I am glad you have seen clearly about the poor 1nu1! 1 She abandoned you only for God; and that was a little your fault; your example, your reading, your advice, led her there forcil)y. Do not be uneasy about her; she is lhapp)y where she is; she hopes to be soon received as novice. I hope that if you wish to send her anything you will mnake use of me. At tlle present moment I can easily give her in your name one or two thousand francs without elnmbl)arrassing myself in the least. I am a rich pauper just 1now. You say you have still time to receive a letter from me before your (lelarture. I hastenl, as you see, to send y(ou my news of mllil(nd anld body. I have not been out of tle house for twenltv days. InT 1) )i it of fact I live ill tlie condlitionl of stuplidity pro(ldued 1hy forced labour. I have, besides, my little Iletzel articles to (1do. That )oor fellow wants to sell twenty thousand copies of " Le D)iable," and lie lias printed fifteen thousand(l. Your serf lias contributed thereto a (iuantity of thait sly nonsense which pleases the masses. To have paid(l twenty thousand francs of debt, and to find myself in )ecember on the road 1 Madame ITanska's 2governess and c',mpanion, Mile. 1Ienriette (Lirette) Borel; who teceamne a (convert to tlie Roman Catholic Church, and took the veil in Paris, as w ill he soee later - Ti. 1844] Letters to Madameie cHanskca. 639 to Dresden, " Les Paysans" finished, that is my dream, and a dream that must, and will, be realized; otherwise, I don't know how I could live through 1845. There comes a moment for the madness of h.pe; and I have reached it, I have so strained my life to this end that I feel all within me cracking. I would I did not think, and did not feel. Oh, how can I tell you of the hours I have sat, during these twenty days, leaning on my elbow, and looking at the salon in Petersburg and at Wierzchownia, those two poles of my thought, of which the south pole was before me in its frame. Hope and reality, the past, the future, jostled one another in a medley of memories that gave me a vertigo. Ah! you stand there indeed, in my life, in my heart, in my soul; there is hardly a motion of my pen, nor a thought of my mind that is not a ray from the one centre, you, you only, you too well belovedwhatever you may say to it. The death of your cousin Thaddeus grieves me. You have told me so much of him that you made me love one who loved you so well. You have doubtless guessed why I called Paz Thaddeus, and gave him the character and sentiments of your poor cousin. But while you weep for his loss tell yourself that I will love you for all those whose love you lose. Poor, dear countess, the situation in which you are and which you depict so well has made me smile, because it was exactly my own before your last letter. "' Shall I or shall I not (do ' Les Paysans'?" " Shall I or shall I not start?" " What ought I to do? Ought I to bind myself to my work? Ought I to refuse it?" and so forth. I cut the knot by going to work, saying to myself, " If I do go, I will drop all as at Lagny in 1843." Nacquart said to me brutally yesterday, while writing his prescriptions, " You will die." "No," I said, " I have a private God of my own; a God stronger than all diseases." " I hope," lie said, " that if you marry, you will take two years for rest." "Two years, 640 l0o 10or de o Ba lza '. [1 S44 doctor! - why, I shalll rest till my last breath, if by rest you mean happiness." October 16. Tills interruption, delar, is the result of the doctor's prescriptions. I have lnot left my bed; leeches were necessary and blisters for tlhree or four (days; but this morning tIhe sylnmptonis and the atrocious pain of tils ilnflamnmation hiave ceased. In three days, at the latest, I can resume my work. These few days given to doctoring have b)een (lays of pleasure to inme for, when I am1 not working withl that tabsorption of all tlie mental and phlysical faculties I can think unceasingly of 18-15; I arrange houses, I furnish them, I see imyself in theml, I feel myself happy there. I go over in my miniid all those moments, so few, that we have spent together; I quarrel witlh myself for not hiaviig p)rolonlged those hours of sweet and intimate converse. 1)ear, ungrateful one; you have hardly noticed my persistency in satisfying your little wish for autograp)hs. I sen(d you to-(lay one of Peyronnet; I shall try to get you tliose of all the miniisters who signed the July orlinanees. Are you really satisfied witli this young man? 1 Examine him well, alnd withlout predilectiois, for suchl excellenlt prospects for your childl will certainly contribute to make the suitor seem perfect. But I don't know whly I shlould advise prudllece and shrewdness to one wl)o l)as stolen all the wits of the Rzewuskis, andi has eyes at tlhe tips of her little whlite-mouse laws. At any rate, dear coultess, manage your a:ffairs wisely, andl(, above all,soften the Governmental dragon of the North. I am exactly like a }1ird on a branch; it is necessary that I should leave tlhe rue Basse and go elsewhere, where I can be more suitably lodged. I am like my dear traveller, with her pacekages an'd provisiols. I dare not (ldo 1 Count Georges MAniszech, a suitor to her daughter, maid subse(quentlv Anna's hutsbanld - u. 1844] Letters to Jladame Hanska. 611 anything; for if I go to Dresden for four months I ought to postpone incurring expenses; besides, I would rather incur them definitively then than provisionally now. My nature abhors change; that is an aspect of my character you have already been forced to recognize, and will recognize more and more; you will even admire it, and end by no longer thanking me for the things of the heart; discovering that this vast devotion is warranted by the Rzewuski intellect and the charms of the person whom you see in your mirror. How could you recommend me your perfumer? I have thought much about him. I anathematize Viardot for not having told me of his arrival; you should have had your supply before now. But if we meet in Dresden, dear countess, you shall have perfumes for the rest of your days, I will answer for thato We have the same vices, for I too carry the passion for delicate scents to a fault. Alas! I must bid you adieu; but remember that you have left me nearly a month without letters, that you are not in Paris and have no feuilletons to excuse you. Apropos, I have been three times to the Arsenal, but have not yet obtained Nodier's autograph; but I shall have it. They 'tell me that David lhas finished my bust in marble, and that the marble is not less fine than the cast. It will be, no doubt, in the next Exhibition. You can hardly imagine how I regret not having bought that malaclaite vase; I have found, for three hundred francs, a magnificent pedestal which would have spared me the immense cost of the one I had made here in bronze. I am still ill and must now stop. Perhaps I slall be able to give you better news before closing this letter. October 17. All is well; the neuralgic pains have disappeared as if by magic, and if I have nlot finished my letter it is 41l 642 Ho nord deJ Balzaae. [1844 because I have slept twelve hours running under the quietude of non-suffering. Ad(ieul, (ear beloved sovereign. Examine well that younlg Co(unt Mniszech; it concerns the whole life (of vmr ehildl. I aii glal you have fo)und the first po';it, tl:at of taste and personlal sVmpathy, so necessary for 1nr llapl)iness and(l yours, satisfactory. But study him; be as sternn il judiment as if vou did not like him. The things to) lbe con.sidered above all are principles, character, firmnJess. But how stupid of me to be giving this advice to the best and most (levoted of mothers! I resume work to-morrow. I cannot give you any news of Lirette, having bleen unable to go to her convent while my illness and its prescriptions laste(l. I hunger and tlirst for your dear presence, star of my life, far away, but ever present. Perhlaps you think thus of me, solnetimes. Who knows? But alas! you have written to me very little of late. I, so occupied by work, so often ill, I write t,) you nearly every day. Ahl! the reason is that I love you. I feel your indifference, I was goino to say i'ngratitude, deeply; so exasperated am I by tils interval of a wliole long month. You would be frightened if you knew what ideas plough through me. And then, when tle letter comes at last, all is forgotten. I am like a mc)thler whio as found her child. But I must not let my letter end(l with reproaches. Find here all my heart, all my faith, all my thought, and all my life. PASsY, October 21, 1844. I am perfectly well again and have gone back to work. Thllis is a piece of good news worth telling you at once. But oh! dearest, a year is a year, don't you see? The heart cannot deceive itself; it suffers its own pains in spite of the false remedies of hope - ope! is it anythling else than plain (lisguised? I look at that Colmann sketch of tlhe s:Ilm, a,1d(l every look is a stab); tile thoullght 1844] Letters to Madame Hanska. 643 of it enters my heart like a sharp blade. Between that sketch and the picture of Wierzchownia is the door of my study, - and that door represents to me infinite space, spreading away among the memories attached to that furniture, to those blue hangings. "We were there together; she is now there and I am here!" That is my cry, and each look, each stab redoubles it. Why did not Colmann paint the other side of the salon? Why not have done the stove and the little table before the stove, beside which you said to me things so compassionate, so sweet, so fraternally reasonable? Ah! I would give my blood to hear them once again. Madame Bocarme has returned. Bettina adores your serf, inl all honour and propriety. She tells me that Colmann's fifty water-colours are masterpieces, and he is to Russia what Pinelli is to Rome. I went out for the first time yesterday. I bought a clock of regal magnificence, and two vases of celadon not less magnificent. And all for nearly nothing. Great news! a rich amateur has a desire for my Florentine furniture. IHe is coming here to see it. I want forty thousand francs for it. Another piece of news! The Christ of Girardon, bought for two hundred francs, is estimated at five thousand, and at twenty thousand with Brustolone's frame. And yet you laugh, dear countess, at my proceedings in the Kingdom of Bricabracquia. Dr. Nacquart is violently opposed to my selling, even at a great price, these magnificent things. He says: "In a few months you will be out of your present position by this dogged work of yours; and then those magnificences will be your glory." "I like money better," I replied. So, you see, Harpagon played poet, and the poet Harpagon. Dear, believe me, I cannot always suffer thus. Do you reflect upon it? Another delay! When "Les Paysans" is finished, and the articles for Chlendowski also, I G644 l;onzorc de Ballzac. [1844 claim a word from you permitting me to join you in your steppes, that is, if your difficulties in obtaining a passport still continue and are permanent. I have found a most splendid pedestal for David's bust, which every one says is an amazing success. Tills beautiful thing cost me only three hundred francs, and the late Alibert, for whom it was made, paid fifteen or sixteen thousand francs for it. Dear countess, I should like your advice on something I want to do. It is impossible for me to remain where I am. A few steps from my present lodg'ing is a house which could be hired for a thousand to fifteen hundred francs, where one could live as well on fifteen hundred francs a year as on fifty thousand. I am inclined to hire it for a number of years and settle in it. I could very well econom)nize andl lay by enough to buy a small house in Paris, if I did not live in it for some years. One can comne and go between Passy and Paris as one likes, with a carriage. But to settle Jmyself in it wotuld cost very nearly six thousand francs, and I would not make that outlay for the King of Prussia, when I have twenty thousand francs to pay between now and,January 1. All could be made smooth by thle sale of tlhat Florentine furlniture. Th e Mus{e des Families" does not 1)llislh tlhe enlravinos of it and Gozlan's articletiill D)eember, so tlhat public attention will iot b)e aroused till January. The bidding will be between tlhe dU(eettfit and capitalists as soon as thLey see and know whlat it is. As to your plan, I would rather renounice tranquillity than obtain it at tlhat price. ANWhen a man has troubled llis country antd intrigued in court and city, like Cardinal Retz, he may evade payiing his debts at Colmmercy; but in our bourgeois el)pocl a man cannot leave his own place without paying all lle owes; otherwise lie would seem to be escapinog his creditors. In these (days we may be less grand, less dazzling, but we are certainly more orderly, 1844] Letters to M1Ltd lme Hanzskca. 645 perhaps more honourable than the great seigneurs of the great century. This comes, probably, from our altered understanrding of what honour and duty mean; we have placed their meaning elsewhere, and the reason is simple enllough. Those great seiTgneurs were the actors on a great stage, who played their parts to be admired; and they were paid for dloing so. We are. now the paying public which acts only for itself and by itself. Do not, therefore, talk to me of Switzerland or Italy, or anything of that kindi; my best, my only country is the space between the walls of the octroi and the fortifications of Paris. If I leave it, it will only be to see you, as you well know. I should have done so already had you perrnitted it. Therefore, work with your little white-mouse paws to enlargle the hole of your jail, so that the hour of your liberation may come the sooner. Formnerly I lived by that hope; now I die of it. I have feverish impatiences, doubts; I fear everything, - war, the death of Louis-Philippe, au illness, a revolution; in slhort, obstacles are ever springing up in my agonized imagination. I see how your personal affairs hamper and weary you; and your inexhaustible kindness wearies also. Thinlkillg sa(dly of all this, looking out into the void for your interests and those of your child, I lhave thought of an aldmirable affair in which one hundred thousand francs risked milght make colossal returns. I mean the publication of an ellcyclopedia for primairy instruction. If well planned, the fame of a Parmentier is in it; for such a 1)ook is like a potato of education, a necessity, a fabulous bargain. I have faith in such an affair, and I am at this moment considering the manuscript. Oh! if you were here, or at least in the same city, how well things would go! what newr courage I should have! what fresh sources would gush up! But absence gives drouth atnd sterility to ideas as well as to existence. I am glad that young Mniszech pleases you as well as 646) HIono;,,' (de Balzac. [ ls45 the dear child. Keep me (it corti'nt of imatters so important for thle future of both- of you. In heaven's name, write me regularly three times a molth. Think (of my work a(ld how you are everywhere in my study. When I look at your surr(oTlllndiilos I canllnot hel) takiing a pen and scribbling a few words as full of affection as they are of murmurs. If I go to Dresden, I shall postpone the affair of the house. Adieu; take care of yourl health, your child, your property, since they preoccupy you to thle point of making you forget your most faithfull friends. 'PAssV, IFelrmnry I, 1 15.1 Could I write to you safely before receiving yo(ur counter-order, for your last letter told me not to write to you at Dresden? Since that letter I have only had a few lines written in haste, in which the sthatus Zuto was mainitained and to whlich there was no way of answering'. I have even a certain uneasiness in observing that you (lo not speak of my last letters. One of them contained an article entitled "Les Boulevards," and I asked your advice about it. There is one observation that I wisl to make, merely for the sake of clearing the matter ill) I am sure tlhat you send your letters to tlhe post by some unfaithful hand, for tlie two last were not prepaid, and you had doubtless given the order to do so. Therefore, either prepay them yourself or (1o not prepay them at all. Let us begin, as we did at Petersburg, in each paying our own letter. Take, I entreat you, habits of order andl economy. In Iravelling, you will have incessant need of your mroney; it is bad enough to be robbed by innkeepers, without letting others do so. For the twelve years that I have now known you I have posled all my letters to you withl m own ]han(d. Poor dear countess! how many things I have to say to 1 To Madame Ilanska at Dresden. 1845J Letters to Imadame LHanska. 647 you! But first of all, let us talk business. Without your inexorable prohibition I should have been in Dresden a month ago, at the Stadt-Rom, opposite to the Hotel le Saxe, and if you have raised it let me know by return mail. As you are fully resolved, and your child also, to see Lirette again, there is but one means of doing so, and that is to come to Paris. And the only way to make that journey is as follows: Come to Frankfort and establish yourself there; then propose a trip on the Rhine; begin with Mayence, where you will find me with a passport for my sister and niece. From there you take the mail-cart and go to Paris, where you can stay from March 15 to. May 15, without a word to any one. After which you can return to Frankfort, where I will join you later. As you will have seen no one during the few (lays you are first in Frankfort, you will attract no attention, and no one will notice you on your return. Only be sure you get from your ambassador a passport for Frankfort and the banks of the Rhine. I shalli have found, meantime, for both of you, a small furnished apartment at Chaillot, not far from Passy. You can see the great city at your ease incognito. There are a dozen theatres for Anna, as she likes them so much, and you want to amuse her. That will give you plenty to do, without.counting your visits to the convent, which would be more frequent than those to the theatre if you consulted your own tastes; but your tastes are so mingled with those of your daughter, and you spend your lives in each sacrificing to the other so much, that it is impossible to tell. which of you wants a thing or does not want it. You need spend very little, if you are willing to travel like a bachelor, and keep a total silence on the escapade.' You will see the Exhibition, the theatres, 1 Secrecy was required, as Russians in those days were not allowed to travel in foreign countries without a special permit from their government, which was difficult to obtain. - TR. 648 Hoi(,or l de Balzac. [1845 anl(l the public buildings, and I will have tickets for the concerts at the Conservatoire; in short, I shall arrange that you shall enjoy all that can be put into two months. There is my plan. But in sch thins, )olldness.and secrecy, little luggage, only tlie simple necessaries, are required. You \will tildi wha1t ytou want here, of better qtuality and lleapl)er than elscwhere, - that is, comp(laratively to tile pr)ices I llhave seen you pay fo r yi ow()\ns and chiffons ill Italy andl (eCi'ilnan1N'. At Chaillot you sllall find a inice little apartment anditl serlvants-cook, maid, and valet - for two motihs. in the morning you cainl go albo~t 1'aris onl foot, or inl a fiacre, to diminii isll distances. iii tle, evening you wotld have a carriage of your own. If you follow this programme and do not go into society, therl'- is 110o possilility of youtr neeting' any one. Nevertheless, myl goodl angels, relieet well, and do not let your affcctiti for your friend entice you too mulch. -Weigh all the inconveniences and dangers of this joureyv; hlowever immense would be to me tlhe pleasure of slhowig Pl'aris to b1othl of you, exp)l.ailning it to you, and initiating you into its life, I woul(i rather renounce it all thlan expose vo(t to anlything tlat miglmt cautse reoret. Examine, therefore, all I have foreseen, and1 if you thinkli tlhe risks too great, renounce our mirage. VWe must nlot give ourselves eternal regrets for two montlls of a p).eastre that is o(ly delayed, t-that of seeing the face of a friend through the bars of a convent. Felruary 15, 1845. D)ear countess; tlie uncertainty of your arrival at Frankfort llas weighed heavily upon me; for how could I work, expecting every hour a letter which might make me start at once? I have not written a lile of the conclusion of "Les Paysans." This uncertainty hlas disorganized me completely. From tile p1)ilnt of view of mere 1845] Letters to iiacldame tlanska. 649 material interests it is fatal. In spite of your fine intelligence, you can never comprehend this, for you know nothing of Parisian economy., or the painful straits of a man who tries to live on six thousand franes a year. For this reason, I must quit Passy; but I dare (10o nothing, I can make no plans on account of your uncertainty. But the worst of all is the impossibility of occupying my mind. IHow can I throw myself into absorbing labour with the idea before me of soon starting, and starting to see you? It is impossible. To d(lo so I need to have neither head nor heart. I have been tortured and agitated as I never was in my life before. It is a triple martyrd(lom, of the heart, of the head, of the interests, a(l, my imagination aiding, it has been so violent that I (leclare to you I amn half dazed,- so dazed, that to escape ma(dness I have taken to going out in the evening and(l )laying lausquenet at MIa(lame Merlin's and other places. I had to apply a blister to such (lisease. Luckily, I neither lost nor won. I have been to the Opera, and dined out twice, and tried to lead a gay life for the last fortnight. But now I slhall try to work night and day, and finish "Les Paysans" and a bit of a book for Chlendcwski. I send(1 you by the MAessTageries the eleventh voltume of LA COM[EDIE tIUMAINE, in which you will find "'Splendceurs et, Miseres (les courtislanes." The fourth volumine contains yourq "lModeste Mignon " and the end of "Baatrix," also "Le Diable a Paris." These books may perhaps amuse you; but in any case, tell me your opinion of themn as you have always (lone,- namely, with the sincerity of a fraternal soul and the sagacity and sure judmnent of a true critic. If tlle reduction of my bust lby David is made in time, I will send you that also. Not only is the finishing of "Les Paysains" an absolute necessity before which a/1 must yield relatively to litera 650 Jbl0nor e (talzac. [1845 ture and the reputation which I have for loyalty to pen engagements, but it is an absolute necessity for lmy interests. This year is a climacteric in my affairs. Within forty-five (lays the printing of LA CoMnEDIE IfMcrAINNE will be finished. The publishers have put thle two largest printing-ottices in Paris on it, and I:tln obliged to read twice the usual number of proofs. The result wiil be a sulm of importance to me. lBut I cannot leave Passy till my present debts are paid. Therefore I must finiish "'Les Paysans " a( LAx CoMlimIE II MAINE, and 6' Les Petits Bourgeois" and " Le Th'mItre coinmne il est." Ilut, (lear countess, you have made me lose all the month of J'anuary and the fifteen first days of February by saying to me: '"I start to-morrow - next week," andl by making me wait for letters; in short, )by throwing me into rages which none but I know of. It has broughlt a frightful disorder into my affairs, foi instead of getting nmy liberty February 15, I have before me a month of hierculean labour, and on my brain I must inscribe (to be rejected by my heart) the words: "1 Think no longer of your star, nor of Dresden, nor of travel; stay at your chain and toil miserably." D)ear, what I call toil is something that must be seen, no prose can depict it; what I have done for a month past would lay any well-orgalized man on his back. I have corrected thle thirteenth and fourteenth volumes of LAx C(()MIDIE UMAINE., which contain " La Peau de Chagrin," "ILa Recherehe de l'Absolu," ''MIelmoth reconcilie," 'Le Chef d' euvre inconnu," 'Jesus-Christ en Flandres," "'Les Chouans," "'Le Medecin de camnpagne," and "Le Cure de village." I have finished "Beatrix; " I have written and corrected the articles for "Le Diable at Paris;" and I have settled some affairs. All that is nothingi; that is not working. Working, dear countess, is g'etting up regularly at midnight, wri-inlr till eight o'clock, breakfasting in fifteen minutes, 1845] Letters to Jladame Hanska. 651 working till five o'clock, dinner, and going to bed; to begin again at midnight. From this travail there issue five volumes in forty-five days. It is what I shall begin as soon as this letter is written. I must do six volumes of "Les Paysans," and six folios of LA COME.DIE HuMAINE, inasmuch as that is all that is needed to complete the edition, which is in seventeen volumes. I hope for another edition in 1846, and that will be in twenty-four volumes, and may give me two hundred thousand francs. So this is my report on the affairs of your servitor and the journey of your Grace. Now, let me come to that which is more serious than all, -I mean that tinge of sadness which I see on your Olympian brow. What! because a crazy woman cannot be happy, must she come and spoil your comfort and trouble your heart? And you listen to her, you! Take care, for that is a crime of lese-comradeship, lesebrotherhood. And you write me things mournful enough to kill the devil. In your last but one letter you propose to me gracefully, with those Russian forms you must have borrowed for the occasion, a little congress in which the two high powers should decide whether or not to continue their alliance offensive and defensive. That, my dear lady, is, believe me, a greater crime than those you joke me about; for I have never needed any such consultation. Since 1833, you know very well that I love you, not only like one beside himself, but like a see-er, with eyes wide open; and ever since that period, I have always and ceaselessly had a heart full of you. The errors for which you blame me are fatal human necessities, very truly judged by your Excellency herself. But I have never doubted that I should be happy with you. Dear countess, I decidedly advise you to leave Dresden at once,. There are princesses in that town who infect and poison your heart; were it not for "Les Paysans" I 652 Ho nore de Balzac. [1845 should have started at once to prove to that venerable invalid of Cythera how men of my stamp love; men who have not received, like her prince, a Russian pumpkin in place of a French heart from the hands of a hyperborean, Nature. In France, we are gay and witty and we love, gay and witty and we die, gay and( witty and(1 we create, gay and witty and withal constitutional, gay and witty and we (1do things sublime and profound! We hate enzl i[, but we have none the less heart; we tend to things gay and witty, curled and frizzed and smiling; tlhat is why it is sung of us, to a splendid air, ' Victory, singingy, opens our career!" It makes others take us for a frivolous people - we, who at this mome]nt are applauding tile disquisitions of George Sand, Eug'ene Sue, Guistave de Beaumont, de To:queville, Baron d'Eckstein, and M. Guizot. We a frivolous people! under the reign of money-bags and his Majesty Louis-Philippe! Tell your dear princess that France knows how to love. Tell her that I have known you since 183, and thallt ill 1845 I amu ready to go from Paris to I)Dresden to see you for a d ay; and it is not imnpossiblle I may do so; for if Tuesday next I am lucky at cards at Comtesse AMerlin's, I shall lbe on Sunday, 23d, at the 1Hotel de Rome in Dresden, and leave on the 24th. Dear star of tlie first magnitude, I see witll pain by your letter that you commit the fault of defeniding me when I am blamed in your presence, and of taking fire on my account. But you don't reflect, dear, that that is a trap set for you by the infamous galley-slaves of society's galleys, to enjoy your emlbarrassment. When persons say ill of me before you, theie is but one tiling to do, - turn those who calumnliate me inlto ridicule jby outdoing what they say. Tell them: "If he escapes public indignation it is because he is so clever he blunts the sword of the law." That is whlat Dumas did to some one who told him his father was a negro: ''My grandfather was a monkey," he replied. 1845] Letters to Mladlame Haenska. 653 No, when I think that I might leave here January 1, reach Dresden the 7th, and stay till February 7th, thus seeing you one whole month without detriment to my affairs., that I could then return to my desk happy, refreshed, full of ardour for work, a transport seizes me which eddies and whirls like steam as it hisses from its valve. I see that you are completely ignorant of what you are to me. That does honour to neither your judgment nor your penetration. To-day, that delightful escapade has become impossible to me. March 1, I must regulate the sale of Les Jardies; the legal formalities must be fulfilled in order to put that precious thirty thousand francs aside; LA COMIEDIE HUMAINE must be finished to obtain the fifteen thousand francs that are due to me for it; and finally, I must make up the sixty-three thousand for my acre, if I buy it, and to pay off twenty-five thousand of debt which would otherwise prevent my becoming a land-owner. Villemain is at Chaillot; he is no more crazy than you or I. [Minister of Public Instruction till 1844, and Secretary of the Academy.] He has had a few hallucinations which have affected his ideas, just as I had some that affected my use of words in 1832 at Sache; I have related that to you already; I uttered words involuntarily. But he is so thoroughly cured that he speaks of the matter with the wisdom and coolness of a physician. He had already declined very much in talent, and was no longer fit to negotiate with the clergy, and they profited by his resignation to get rid of him. We talked of it, he and I, for more than two hours. From what he told me, I judge that he is forever lost to public life. Adieu; I perceive that I bid you adieu in my letters as I said good-night to you at Petersburg in the Hotel Koutaitsof, when we walked for ten minutes from the sofa to the door and from the door to the sofa, unable to say a final adieu. If I could ldo the second part of " Les 654 IIonorc dc Balzac. [1 45 Paysans " in eight days, I would be off, and see you in six days! Tell yourself that there never passes an hour that you are not in my thoughts; as for my heart, you are always and unceasingly there. The winter has set in with great severity. You are rilght to stay in D)reslden. Avoid, I entreat you, those sudden Chlangcs from heat to cohl an(d cold to heat of which you tell me. It is right to think, as you (ldo, incessantly of your child; but it would he ritong, and not loving to her, to always forget yourself for her. Of all the personages whom you mention to me none but Countess L... attracts me. That amiable old lady who welcomed you as the daughter of Count Rzewuski goes to my heart, she belongs to my world. As for Lara, do me the plea(sure not to receive hiln in future. Did I tell you that they named the bwm(tf /grz(s this year Pore Goriot, and that many jokes aa.id caricatures are made upon it at my expenlse? Thlis is a scrap of news. I am vexed not to (_o to Dresden, for I hlad not the time when I wa-,s there solely to see the Gallery, to view the country about amid go to Kulm, in order to write my "Bataille de Dresde." That will be one of the most ilnlortant parts of the " Seenles de la Vie militaire." A bien;t; take care of yourself, anl( tell your dear child all telnderlv lo>vin tllinos from one of tlme most sincere and faithful friends sle will ever have, not excepting her husband, for I love her as her father loved her. 1IAS~Y, April 3, 1845. I have just received your letter of March 27, and I know not what to think of all you say to me of mine. I, to give you pain, or the slightest grief! I whose constant thought is to spare you pain! The epithet encutri're applied to my language makes me bound. Aon, Diet, however good my intentions were, it seems that I have hurt vou, Cnd that is enouolh.,'When we see each 1845] Letters to MaCdame 1iahsska. 655 other, you will comprehend, perhaps, how the uncertainty that hovers over me is fatal; fatal to my interests so seriously involved; fatal to my happiness because I see myself separated from you -- for a month more at any rate, for I have not written a line and I could not now be at Frankfort before the first week in May. Under such irritating circumstances it was permissible to be impatient. Besides which, I write my letters very hastily, and never read them over. I say what is in my mind without any reflection; if I had re-read that letter I might have made of it (as I have of others in which I raised my voice too high) a sacrifice to Vulcan. However, let nme tell you that there are two hearts here that are full of you and love you for yourself only: Lirette and I. Lirette, with whom I have been talking at her convent grating of your situation, shares my ideas wholly as to the future about which I have made allusion, and apropos of which I have, perhaps indiscreetly, given you some really wise counsel. As to the personal dangers to me of which you speak, those are things I laugh at; you are not as familiar with them as I. Here, in Paris, there are plenty of persons who dislike me and would be glad to have me out of the world, men who have hatreds that are more than ferocious against me, but who bow to me all the same. It is possible that, like Carter when he undertook to tame two lions, I might find your Saxons rather too ferocious and my lion-taming trade a little too visible. But I can assure you, dear countess, that if that fear is the cause of the dreadful three months I have just passed, ah! (lear fraternal heart, I should be the one to say the words which I have kissed in your letter: " I forgive you! " I have contemplated those words with tears in my eyes; in them is the whole of your adorable nature. You thought yourself affronted by your most faithful servant, the most devoted that ever could be, and you forgave him. I have been more moved by that than IJloorJ ' (le (lZ(tlc. L1845 by all my griefs put together. Oh! thank you for the pain that makes 1me fathom your pereectioln; pardon me for havinig misjunlged you; be yoon, yourself, as Imuch as youl wish; do all tidat yyou will, and if, by impossibility, you do wrong, it shall be my joy to repair the broken armlour. wawron. I was guilty and very guilty, because to ood(lless one stoul(l ever respond by gentlellCess aild adoraltioll. Write m111 little or 11111t11, or d( 11ot write me at tall; I shall suffer, but say nothiing. Do what yon)1 tlhink best for yo)ur future and tlhat of your child; onlly, (lo not root yourself too fitrmly in tle present; look dlways })efore you, and tear out the 1 raimbles in the path before you follow it. Another academiciian is de:ad, Soumet, a(l five or six otheirs are declining to to tle tom)l); tlhe force of thlings manly 1:makte mlil al acade'mician in s'pite of your ridiltie and rel)ugi:naiee. I have done everythtli mg 1 coull to remlain at Passy, where I live tranquilly and coomfortablyv, but all has failed. I have notice to leave in October of this year, and I must move to Paris and live for two years in an apartment, until I can build a little house at \iMoceau. I shall lo)ok foir one in thle ftubotrg Sainlt-Gtermami. Tilhis removal means tthe sp)eindigo' of several thlousand francs, which I regret. Mvy imnOney-umatters, even more thani my work, inipt)erativciy re(luire nme to stay in Paris throughl April. I aim almost certain of recovering my habits of work aid tlose of food aIItnd sleepin'r; and if the difficulty of the lodginog weire only solve(ld, I should have tranquillity of soul, for this house is at my disposition and I can remove at my ease, working here till the last moment. Sunday, half-past two o'clock. I have just risen. I look at my Daffing'er with delilght. At last I received your letter, yesterday. Imagine, dear, what a real misfortune happened to me. Your letter had s184] Letters to Ahldaml e Jlannsca. 657 a spot of ink which glued it to another letter, and delayed it, as was stated bty the post on its envelope. The postmistress, who for two days had seen my anxiety, cried out eagerly when she saw me, "' Monsieur, here's a letter! " and held it for mle to see with a joy that did her honour. And what a letter! I read it, walking gently along in solitary places. To read things so charming addressed to one's self is enough to make one never write a line again, but lie aIt the feet of one's sovereign like her faithful dlog. Finally, I wenlt to sleep, for I must own 1 had not closed my eyes for two days, so much did this delay disquiet me. PASSY, April 18, 1845. You write me, II want to see you!" Well, then, when you hold this letter between your dainty fingers may they tremble a little, for I shall be very near to you, at Eisenach, at Erfurt, I don't know where, for I shall follow my letter closely. This is Friday; I shall leave Sunday at the latest. What! you could receive an order from your government to return to your own country, and I not see you! Oh! dear countess; and you tell me I have been amusing myself. BIt you know my life from the letters in which it is written down (lay by day, hour by hour, minute by minute; you hlave surely read, you surely know that my only l)leasures are thinking of you, and proving it to you by writing. I have spent these last five months in saying to myself every day: "I start to-morrow; I shall see her! if only for a month, for two minutes, I shall see her! " Do not write again; expect me. I am grieve(l that you have read " Les Petits MAaneges d'une Femme vertuense" without waiting for the Chlendowski edition in Vol. IV. of Lx COMREDIE 1IU1AINE, where it 4.2 658 6Ionoore de. Balzacc. [1845 bears the name of " Bdatrix," the last Part. Have you received the two lines which told you the state I was in from Monday to Sunday? " I shall see her! "-a thought which has defrayed many a journey of seven hundred leagues. I have sent everythiiig to the right-about- COMEIDIE HUMAIuNE, " Les Piaysanls," the "Preesse," the public, and Chlendowski, to whomn I owe ten folios of the CoMAIr)riE HtIMASINE-hum11 also lnmy business affairs, a projected volume (which I will (0o as I travel), and imy affair with the - Siecle; " il short, 'all. I aml so hal)py to go that I can't write steadily; I tdon't know whether you can read( this, but you will see my joy in lmy scribbling. Read "intoxication of happliness " for all the words you can't decipher. Tell the peopl)e ab you that, having gone to Leipzig' oin business, I am cominig to I)resden from politeness, to bid you adieu before your return to your own country. H1ave an al)artmellt engaged for me at the Stadt-RIom; I need three rooms: a small salon, bedroom, anld stud(y. I shall have to work fromt live in thle morning till midday. But from midday till after seven o'clock I slhall be with you, and bid you good-night by eight o'clock. As you see, there is no place for a Saxon or a Pole ill all this. This time I bid you adieu without pain, for my trunks are packed, and I am now goingo out for my passport and mly proofs. I should not like to b)e lodged under the roof at tlme Stadt-Rom, as I was at my first hasty visit to Dresden; not higher than tlie second floor. I s:ha1ll bring my sad hippocrene with me, my coffee; for seven hours a, day is the least I can work, with all I hlave to (do. Now I leave you; adieu! This time, I am certain of seeing you soon, and sooner perhaps than you thlink. 1 Balzae joined Madame IIn.,Iska at this time in Dresden, and they travelled in Germany and Ilollanl; after which Madame Ilaniska and 1845] Letters to llatdame Hanska. 659 PASSY, September 8, 1845. Dear star, alas! so distant! No, I cannot accustom myself to see you again beaming upon me through such space. No, truly, I cannot bear it. Tell me, for pity's sake, in your next letter where you will be early in October, and I shall b)e there too; do not doubt it. How and when is my secret, and I shall not return to Paris till you set out for home with your smala. It is now decided that I am not to move again. I meet with people who do not keep their word, and I am released from the obligation of doing twenty-five folios of LA COL[EDIE HU.MAINE. I hatve only thirteen to do, and I can roast those with a turn of my hand. What need have I of money? I need to see you, and I am going back to you. I know very well we shall no longer have any freedom in our walks or our talks, and that many duties will too often deprive me of the charm of your incomparable companionship; but chance will favour me sometimes with a blessed ten minutes, when I can tell you in a mass what I feel in detail; and if chance should be against me, at least I should see you, I could look at you. I should hear your sweet voice, I should know you were really there, that distance was, abolished between us, that we were both in thle same land, the same town. My affection for you is so great and so minute, or, if you like it. better, so puerile, that I even grieve on eating a good fruit, thinking that you have none; and the notion takes me to eat no more, so as not to enjoy a pleasure of which you are d(eprived. Ah! believe me, you are the first and the last, or rather the sole and the continual thought of my life. I have come to an understanding with that old gambler her daughter accompanied him to Paris, where they stayed some time. This visit was kept a profound secret lest it should reach the ears of the Russian government.-TR. 660 Iolonor de Balza(. [1845 on the Bourse, Salluon, who owns the house of which I told you, and shall look at the place to-morrow. Royer-Collard is dead. lie was the counterpart of Sieyes. I went yesterday at two o'clock to see Madame de (Girardin. I went on foot, and returned oi foot. She st-aid to nme several times that I ought to present myself for the Acadteley; although they desire, this time, to put in Remusat, who has not many claims. But do not be uneasy, I know how it would vex you, and you may feel assured that in this, as in everything else, I will only (lo what you wish. I returned by the post-oflice, thinking you more generous to me than you are in reality. I said to myself: "She will have found two letters at Frankfort, and thle little case from Fromlent-Meurice [goldsmith], and she will send me just a line outside of her regular missive." Nothing! I was sad. I send you volumes, and you only give me what is agreed upon. September 10. This morning I have only ten more feni'llets to (ldo to b)e done with Chlenldowski, tliat is to say, to complete 't Les Petites liseres; " and to-morrow I begin thle last part of " Sp)lendeurs et Mise'res." That means six folios of Lx CoM)rl)IE tIIrMAINE still to do. This will take fully ten days; tlhat brings me to the 30th. Evidently, I could start thle first week of October, fromn tle 1st to the 5th, and I could be in Dlresden thle 10th to return here November 5th. Tlhat would be nearly a monthl, (lear countess! 1)o not neeglect as soon as you receive thlis letter to send me, 1st, Anna's arms, blazoned; 2nd, your own; 3rd, tlhose of Georges; ask him to make me those three little drawings that I may have exact models made of them, and if there are supporters tell him to draw those also; it is possible that Froment-Meurice may find effects there 1845] Letters to Mladame Hanska. 661 which he can make use of in the things he has to make for Georges and Anna. I have recovered my faculties, more brilliant than ever, and I am now sure that my twelve folios, which will be two novels of six folios each, will be worthy of the former ones. I tell you this to quiet the anxiety of your fraternal soul in regard to the reaction of the physical on the mental, and to prove to you for the hundred-millionth time that I tell you everything, not concealing the smallest scrap of either good or evil. Go therefore to the baths of Teplitz or elsewhere, if you think it necessary, provided you are faithful to your promise of Sarmate. Meantime I shall reduce my work to its simplest expression, and about April 20 I shall go North to contemplate you in the midst of your grandeurs. Laurent-Jan has been here; he distracted my mind and amused me, but he stole three hours. Well, I must end this little conversation, a pale joy in comparison to our real talks, embellished by the charms of presence, and the certainty of reality. This is AVednesday, and I have still no letters; how is it you did not write me a line from Frankfort, acknowledging the two letters, and the package from Froment-Meurice. I am lost in conjectures and very unhappy. September 12. At last, I have your letter. Oh, mo)n Dieu! who knows what a letter is? I tremble all over with happiness. To know what you are doing, where you are, what you are thinking, is happiness to me here. What a fine page that is on families of cathedrals and cemeteries. Ah! it is you who know how to write! But I must leave you to go and see Georges' cane at FromentMeurice's, and execute your sovereign orders. So you have seen iHeidelberg! Thank you for the view and the branch of box. Bul; whly did you not,tell me 662 HonIorc de _Balzac. [1845 what name Dr. Chelius gave to your illness, and for what reason he sends you to Baden, the waters of which always seem to me a farcc? However, I am far froin mlurmuring at a decision which puts you on the frontier of France; thirty-six hours from Paris. Only, I do want details as to your health. Anna's jewels have been sent by a courier of the Rotlischilds, directed to Baron Anselme Rlothschild at Frank fort. Write for them there and have them sent wherever you are. You did not tell me how you passed the Prussian frontier. You are very sure, are you not, that all your heart-griefs are mine? I cannot get accustomed to life here now, I never cross the Place de la Concorde without sighing heavily. When you are at Baden, try to form the good habit of writing to nme twice a week. You, so kind, you will not refuse nce that, will you? and you will not thinlk me too exactiug, too tiresome, too importunate,? Selfish, yes, I am that; but your letters are my life. I have not yet sold anything to the newspapers; I have la(d imany parleys, but no monelly; they think my )rice too high. I have many anoyancees about whicl I tell you nothing in my letters. Alas! you have enoulgh of your own; an(d besiles, t1hey would take up) too much space. I will relate them to you twenty-five da'.ys hence, to be consoled( as you alone know how to console. You will be frightened at the blackness of the world, its injustices, its persecutions, its hatreds. O()e might truly believe that there were none ogood in the world but us two; at least to one another. Therefore, I no longer want to live in Paris; I would much prefer living' at Passy, seeing no one, working under your eyes and never leavihg you. There is notilng' true, believe me, but thle one sentiment that rules me, especially when doubled by the frienldship which u'ites u: salme tastes, same mind(, same efforts. same fraternal souls. I will put in for you here 1845] Letters to Madame Hanska. 66.3 amorning-glory out of my garden, andI a bit of mignionette, gathered ill that path where we walked together so often; and I send you also the little bit of lead type which was lost and~ has now been found. These little things will come to you full of earnest wishes for your dear health. Take good care of yourself; be selfish; that will be lovingy your ch-ild, that will be proving once more that you do have some regardc for your faithful and devoted believer. Tell inc what Dr. Chelius said to you. Be very 1)1udent at Baden; it is full of Frenchmen, gamblers, journalists. Avoid the company there, see no one, for this fatal celebrity of mine, which I curse, might cling to you who would abhor it, sweet and simple violet that you are, and cause you much annoyance and even, though God forbid it, grief. All true flowers of affection, a thousand thoughts (unpublished ones, if you please) to the great lady, the young girl, the stern critic, to my vidulgent public, to all that world that is contained in. you, to all those personages who are so many aspects of my sovereign so faithfully and solely cherished. PARIS, October 15, I1845.1 Deai' countess; I leave Pal-is lby the mail coach on the 22nd, just as you. are starting from Mulhausen, and I shall bie at Chalon at five o'clock on the 25th, just in time to give you a hand on getting out of your carriage. -My place is booked and paid for. How do you expect mc to write you from Paris T'Vedniesday a letter to Frankfort-on-the-MNain, when you leave that town on Thursday? I received your third letter yesterdoy at Passy, in which you give me these directions, impossilble to follow. I groan the more as I cannot send you a letter for the custora-house at 'Strasburg, where I wanted to recommend you to attention. 1 To Madame Ilaniska, at Dresden. 664 I4onorJ de Balzac. [1845 Tell your social fortune-teller that her cards have lied; that I am not preoccupied with anly blonde, except 1)ame Fortune. No, I have no words except the mute language of the heart wherewith to tllank you for that adorable letter No. 2, in which your gaiety breaks out with its sparkling gush, sweet treasure of a charminil wit which the line weather has brought back to you; for, as you once sai(l to me, '" It is onlly wro1n,-does who stay sad when the joyful sun shines." I make use of the excellent M. Silbermann, who will take to you these lines, not so much to tell you that you will lind me at (ilal(n (your instinct will have told you that), but to p1)a1 t to yo)u my deli(lit on reading your letter. Your infantine and purely physical joy enters my heart; I admire tlhat adorable nature, so playful, so spontaneous, and so serious withal, because it is composed of lively impressions and deep sentiments. My eyes were filled with tears in thanking God with fervour that lie lad restored that health wlich you value for the sake of others, - those who love you, like your children and your old and faithful serf. Every time I go to breathe your atmosphere, your heart, your presence, I come back d(esperate at the obstacles tliat prevent mne from staying in tlhat heaven. I work, God knows hlow, for God alone knows why. When you hold tills letter I shall probably have no debts whatever, except to my family. We will talk of my affairs on the boat between Chalon and Lyon. I sllall have much to tell you thereupon, and I hope this time you will not lie discontented with your servant. I have enormously much to do, write, correct, in order to meet you. I liope to take you as far as Genoa. Inut to whom could I conlfide thle care o)f ]holding your head if you are sea-sick? If you will let me do as I wish I will go to Naples. I would give up everything, even fortune, to guard a friend like you and care for her in case of illness. I canno)t thiink of you given over to 1845] Letters to Mladamne Htansla. 665 strangers, to indifferent persons. I want to be with you, dear countess, my brilliant star, my happiness! All this week I have been like a balloon; you know what my tramps on business errands are in Paris; I have been really overwhelmed by them. Minutes are worth hours to me if I do not want to lose money by travelling, for I must myself collect the sums due me. Also Les Jardies will be paid for this week; and I have been five times to see Gavault without finding him. You see I tell you all; it is stupid to talk of these thing's here when we shall have a whole (lay on the boat from Chalon to Lyon, and another from Lyon to Avignon. I will try to have lodgings prepared for you ill advance, as on our other journeys, for I think you will be obliged to stop sometimes to rest. I have not received the cup. I don't know whether the post takes charge of such things. In any case, however, it cannot be lost. You know I want to make a symbolic souvenir of it. It is to be supported by four figures: Constancy, Labour, Friendship, Victory. Baden was to me a bouquet of flowers without a thorn. We lived there so sweetly, so peacefully, so heart to heart! I have never been as happy in my life; I seemed to catch a glimpse of that future I call to, I dream of, amid my troubles and my crushing labour. I would go to the end of the world on foot to tell you that your letters are to me in absence what you were yourself in Baden, —a masterpiece of the heart which is not met with twice in life. Oh! if you knew how you are blessed and invoked at every moment. My eyes are filled with happy tears as I think of all you are to me; those are thoughts I dwell on with a sweetness of recollection that nothing equals; that is my excess; I allow myself that, as your dainty daughter allows herself peaches. I leave you; I have five folios of LA COMEDIE HUMAINE to correct. I will write you to-morrow before beginning IHoaore de.Balzac. [1845 work. You can tell yourself that in spite of toil, errands, business of all kinds and at all hours, I am thinking of you; that your name is on my lips, in my head, ill my heart, and that I only live and breathe in you. You can add that I am saying and repelting to myself incessantly: "On the 24th I shall see her! I shall live ten days of her life!" October 16. Dear countess, I am working much; I wrote you in such haste yesterday that I had no time to read over what I had written. I shall see you perhaps this (lay week. With the enticing prospect of tlhat blessed 24th it is impossible for me to put two ideas together; on the other hand, I have the sad certainty of being unable to do fine literary work so long as I cannot see daylight in my business affairs and have not paid integrally all my creditors. Worried on that side, and absorbed on tlhe other by a deep, exclusive, passionately controlling sentiment, I can do nothling - the mind is no longoer here. 'This is not a complaint, nor a compliment, it is truth. I have just come to a decision which will obviate this misfortune; it is to end tile twelfth volume of tile C()OEI)iE H1-LMAINE with " Madams de la Chanterie." That relieves me from making seven folios (which would have brought in nine thousand francs). Far from you I am only happy when I am seeing you in thougllt and memory, when I am thinking of you; and I think of you too much for cop)y. I have received the pretty cup, and I want to make a marvel of it. When you hold this letter, tell yourself that we are eacll going toward tile other. Take care in every way. Attend to your health; it is tlie property of your child - I dare not say minte, and yet, what have I else in this world? If anything in whlat I say displeases you, excuse it by tlhe haste in which I scribble. I have only time to close my letter by saying, ( bientot. 1845] Letters to Madame JIanska. 667 M'ARSEILLE, November 12, 1845.1 I have this instant arrived, without my luggage or my passport; I have not breakfasted; but while they are laying the table, I sit down to write to you, dear countess, as usual; for it is, on arriving, my first and greatest need. It has blown ever since I left Naples, "blown a gale" as they said on thle boat, with " a heavy sea." Those, as you know, are the innocent words with whichl sailors disguise the most frightful weathler. Ours was so bad that we were obliged to put into Toulon yesterday, but La Sante [Health officers] would not allow the purser of the ship, or your humble diplomatic servant to land with the most important despatches the East ever forwarded. It was seven o'clock; the sun was down; La S<ante vacated its office. We told La SantJ that it took upon its own head the greatest responsibility and was terribly highhanded. La Sante laugohed in our faces, and we were forced to spend thle night on board and come on to Marseille. I was not sea-sick, but everybody else, sailors excepted, was badly so. That was not all; it rained in torrents the whole way. The yellow waters of the Tiber and the Arno could be seen in the sea to a great distance; the litto)ral was flooded. To all my griefs no aggravation was lacking. But I had one diversion. I went to Pisa, and in spite of the beating rain I saw all; except your admirer, M. C. The cathedral and the )baptistery enchanted me; but that enchantment was mingled witlh the thought that during this year I had a(dmired nothing without you until now; antid I looked at those noble things with deep melaneholy. At Civita Vecchia I landed, in memory of you, and 1 To M'adame Hanska, Nal)les. JIalzac had joinled her at Chalon and accompanied her, with her daup.litcr a11d Cnunt Mniszech (whom Anna was now engaged to marry), to Naples. This letter was written on his way back to Paris.- Tt. 668 Hotlorun de Balzcac. [1845 went to see that antiquity-shp)l), where you sat down. I there learned that Madame Boearmln had been telling tales about my journey; of no ilmportalce, however, for who cares about the gossip of tlhat intriouing old lad)y! You were very right; I repent having written your name for Annll, as I always repent whenl I halve had the misfortunllle not to oboey you in mailers you have thorougyldy (divined. Such is the exact tale of my journey. As for sentiiments, I shall have to invent new words, so weary mulst you be with my elegies. 1 looked at the lHotel des Victoires -as long as I could. Not a woman ap)l)eared on deck; they were only manifested by dreadful vomitings, which rattled the panels of the ship as much as the fury of the seas. Here comes my breakfast to interrupt me. Midijnighlt. M\ry has just left nce. I offered him tea and whist at ten sotus a fishl; not ruinous, as you see. HIere is the history of my day. After breakfast I went to bed, for I was tired. 1'1ry, to whom I had written a line, came while I was asleep, and found me in such a magnificent attitude of repose that lie respected it. But lie returned while I was dressilg, and we went to the sho1) of a dealer inll anti(luities, whereL I founld some very beautiful tilings. I chose a few tritles which seemed to me true bargains to snatch; you know I never buy in any other way. After leaving thlese shops we went to dinner,1 and then returned here for tea. I have lost five francs and won tlhe collaboration of Mlery for several plays that I have in view. lie is going to have the affair of the two sailants copied, and we will have it printed for you. A curious autograph of M\ry's and some verses he has charged me to send you are herewith inclosed. That will give you pleasure, will it not? See Memoir, p. 272.- TR. 1845] Letters to Mladame Hanska. 669 I leave to-morrow at eleven o'clock; so that I shall have stayed only-forty-eight hours at Marseille, where I have been much occupied by bric-a-brac, and somewhat by Mery. I must close this letter and send it, for the mail goes to-morrow to Italy. November 13, nine in the morning. Adieu again, dear countess; I shall not write you more until I reach Passy. You know well what is in my heart and soul and memory for you and your two children - for Georges is like a first-born to you. I am still stupid from the sea-voyage, even in writing to you; the roll of the vessel is in my head; you will excuse me, will you not? I wrote you with my feet still wet with seawater. To-morrow I take the mail-cart for Paris. I have spent a great deal, apart from my purchases. In the first place, on the ship the water was not drinkable; I had to have champagne, and I could not drink it alone beside the captain and the purser, who had been admirably attentive to me. All that was much extra. Then I had to ask some gentlemen to breakfast this morning at the HIItel de l'Orient; politeness required it; besides, that is part of my make-up as author of LA COMEDIE HUMAINE. Don't cry out at the extravagance; and say nothing, about it to Georges, who would take me for a Lucullus and laugh at me. Affectionate homage, and all tenderness of heart to your adorable child, and to the excellent Georges. I am going to work to rejoin you. Perhaps you will see Mery in Florence; he has arranged to make the journey with me. Take good care of yourself, and tell yourself sometimes that there is a poor being at Passy very far from his sun. I am like Mery, — very chilly when in Paris. You are my Provence. Mary talked much of you to me; you are very sympathetic to him. He took full notice of your Olympian brow, which has something of a Pagan 670 Hlonorc de Balzac. [1845 god and the Christian angel and a little of the demon (I mean the demon of knowledge). Those who know you as I (lo can aspire to but one thing beside you; and that is to comprehend, enjoy, and love your soul more a-ind more, if only to become better by intercourse with you anl your etherealized spirit. Tllat is my prayer, the desire of my human religion, and my last yearning thought towards you. IPAS.sv, November 18, 1845. Dear countess, I arrived here so fatigued that I was forced to go to bed, and have only just risen for dinner, and shall return to bed directly after it. I have a severe Ilumbago and fever; I feel all kneaded and broken. I went beyond my strength. At Marseille I was perpetually in company, and that adde(1 greatly to the effects of the voyage. You saw the life I led in Naples, - always going, rushing, looking, examinill', observino, and talking! So that tlhese last three nights in the mail-cart, without sleep, added to twelve days on shipboard and rushing about Naples, have vanquished my health, vigorous as it is. I went out this morning to the customhouse and to see hEmile de Girardin, and this evening to see M. F... I am not yet recovered; I still have lulnbago and fever, but a good night's sleep will cure mnc. November 1 9. Georges' commissions will be handed to him about December 15 by the captain of tile "'ancrede." His cane is ordered and will soon be finished. My affairs are doing well; but I shall not finish everything by tle end of the year; and as long as I have a single creditor, it would be imprudent to raise thle mask by becoming a property-owner. Chlendowski gives me the greatest uneasiness. IHe threatens to go into bankruptcy if he is not aided. I 1845] Letters to Mcadame JHanska. 671 never knew a man lie like him. What you did for love of France with Laurent-Jan, I have done for Poland with Chlendowski. Fate tells us, clear countess, to take care of none but ourselves. Honest folk, believe me, have enough to do in that way without undertaking the care of others. If Chlendowski fails, I shall lose tenl thousalnd francs; the thought makes me shudder. I have given orders to search Paris for a house all built and ready; for it is impossible, in view of the scarcity of money, that a fine house could not be had for a hundred and fifty thousand francs. November 21. I rose at nine o'clock, a lump of lead! I am making up my arrears of sleep. Alas! my good genius will hear with pain that I am forced to set myself an Herculean task. I must put my papers in order, and it is now ten years since I have touched them. What labour! I have to make a bundle for each creditor, with bill and receipt in perfect order, under pain of paying twice for what was never due. It will give me a fever till it is all done. But I am in such haste to return to Italy and to my dear troupe, never to leave them again, that I find courage to drive all my affairs abreast, -- manuscripts, completions of everything, publishers, debts, even the purchase of a property worthy of the author of LA G-R-I —R-ANDE COME D1E HuMAAINE. I must bid you abruptly adieu, and hurry out on business, so as to be able to-morrow to return to regular hours of rising and working. I intend to rise at four every day. Adieu, then, dear, distant star, which scintillates forever, ceaselessly, as memory and as consolation. November 25. Yesterday I rushed the whole day; twenty-five francs carriage hire! I went to see my sister; then to Girardin at the "Presse," where my account is settled. Girardin 672 I6onorc' de Balzac. [1845 takes "Les Petites Misbres," and I must now finish them. Then I went to Plon's printing-otlice. 1 saw A. e B... about the renewal of Chlendowski's notes; and I ai now expecting the said Chlenlowski to explain his position to me. After whicll, I must go out again and see MI. Gavault to regulate his account, and know what hle hias paid. All that is not proof of activity; it is simply becoming the wheel of a machine. Chlendowski came. I spoke to him sternly and withl dignity. I told himl that in order to help a man who had summloned ime, 1 imust have guarantees; I must have a (leed legally drawn, and a deposit of the wood-cuts which are to illustrate " Les Petites Misrers; " and on that cond(ition I was willing to renew his notes for three thousand eight hundred francs. The man took my arm, in the Polislh fashion, and kissed it humbly. In this way I shall be secured if he fails, and A. de B... consents to keel) the wood-cuts. See what diiliculties and worries! We have an appointment for to-morrow, and 1 must now go to I. (Gavault and consult on this (deed of guaranty. 1 (lil1e witlt In ile de (e G irardli, who wants to know if "Les Petites Mis'res " is pbl/is/t(loe. November 27. I have no news of 1my purchases at Amsterdam. But, on tle other ha(nd, I found on my return a letter from a shlip-ownler in Ilavre, asking for anll illterview. I wrote to MI. Periollas, at:-skiilg him to inquire about my cases, and also about tlhe sliip-owner. I have just received his answer; lie says lie knows nothing about the cases, but tliat tlhe ship-owner is building, a ship which he wants to call " Le Balzac; " and ]'eriollas asks me to write a pretty letter to the ship-owner because lie adores me. So, dear countess, your servitor will be carved on the prow of a vessel and show hlis fat face to all the nations; what (1 you say to that? 1845] Letters to Mcadame Hanska. 673 I have just heard strange, sad news, - Harel is mad, and Karr also. I prefer not to believe it. November 28. I have received a letter from Lirette inviting me to the ceremony of her taking the vows and veil. This letter has prevented me from sending my packet to you by the boat of December 1, for 1 want you to know of this at once; but it really hurts me to think what anxiety the delay may cause you. I assure you that my life here is no longer endurable. I live in a whirlwind of errands, business, consultations, legal notices, corrections, which deprive me of all reflection, pressed as I am on all sides, with not a soul to help me., doing all myself. Yesterday I worked seven hours on "Les Petites Miseres"... Is it written above that, until the end, I shall be harried and driven like a college drudge? PASSY, December 3, 1845. I could not write to you yesterday; I had very pressing proofs for the "Presse" (which wants the whole of "Les Petites Miseres" at once), and also for LA COM]iDrE HUMAINE. So that having risen at half-past two in the morning, I worked till midday. I had scarcely time to breakfast and reach the convent at one o'clock. These good sisters really think that the world turns for them alone. I asked the portress how long the ceremony would last; slhe 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-office. Well, it lasted till four o'clock! Then I had, in decency, to see the poor girl; and I did not get away till half-past five. But I don't blame Lirette; it was right that her dear countess and her Anna should be represented at the burial of their friend; so I went through it bravely. I had a fine place beside the officiating priest. The sermon lasted 43 674 Ilo; ore de CBalzac. [1845 nearly an hour; it was well-written and well-delivered; not strong, but full of faith. The officiating priest went to sleep (lie 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 on the other, behind the gratino' which was made transparent for the occasion. Lirette, together with the postulatits, listened to the exhortation-sermon on her knees and did not raise her eyes. IHer face was white, pure, and stampe(l with the enthusiasm of a saint. As I had never seen the ceremony of taking the veil, I watched, observed, and studied everything with a (eep attention which made them take me, I have no dloubt, for a very pi)ous man. On arriving, I prayed for you and( for your children ferveintly; for each time that I see an altar I take my flight to GodIl and humbly and( ardently dare 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; it belongs to the Order of the Visitation of Gresset. The ceremony was imposing and very dramatic. I felt deeply moved when the three new sisters threw themselves on the ground, and were buried beneath a mortuary pall while prayers for the dead were recited over those living creatures, an(d when, after that, we saw them rise and appear as brides, crowned with white roses, to nuake their vows of epousal to Jesus Christ. An illcident occurred. The youngest of the sisters, pretty as a dream of love, was so agitated that when it came to pronouncing the vows she was forced to stop short, precisely at tlhe vow of chastity. It lasted thirty seconds at most; but it was awful; there seemed to be uncertainty. For my part, I admit that I was shaken to the depths of my soul; the emotion I felt was too great for an unknown cause. The poor little thilng soon canme to herself, and thle ceremony went oii without further bhindran ice. 1845] Letters to Madamze Itanska. 675 When one has seen the taking of the veil in France, one feels a pity for writers who talk of forced vows. Nothing can be more free. If a young girl were constrained what prevents her from stopping everything? The world is there as spectator, and the officiating priest asks twice if she has fully reflected on the vows she desires to take. I saw Lirette after the ceremony; she was gay as a lark. " You are now Madame," I said, laughing. She replied she was so happy she asked God continually to make us all priests and nuns! We ended by talking seriously of you and your dear child. Dear countess, I hope you will find here a proof of my affection, for I was overwhelmed with work and business. But Lirette had written, "I am sure that nothing will prevent you from being present." I knew too well the meaning she attached to that not to determine it should be fulfilled. I was happy there, for I thought exclusively of you, after I had made my prayers. To think of you who are my religion and my life, is to think of God. I feel but too well that if your glorious friendship failed me I should lose consciousness of myself, I should become insane, or die. December 4, 1845. To-morrow I am croing to see, in the rue des PetitsHotels, Place Lafayette (you know), a little house that is there for sale. It is close beside that church of SaintVincent-de-Paul, the Byzantine church we went to see, and where a funeral was going on. You said, looking at the vacant ground near the church which I pointed out to you: " I should not be unwilling to live here; we should be near God, and far from the world." From what I am told I think I could buy the house and might even do so without consulting you; it would be firing on the fly at a pheasant. My next letter will tell you if it is done. The rue des Petits-HIotels joins the rue d'Hauteville (which goes down to the boulevard near the Gymnase), and, by 676 Honorc de Balzac. [1845 the rue Montholon, it intersects the rue Saint-Lazare and tlhe rue (le la Pepiniere. It is in the centre of that part of Paris which is called the right bank, and will always be the region of the boulevar(ls and theatres. It is also the upper banking quarter. AMy letter must go to-morrow if I want the "' Tancredee " to take it. "' Les Petites Misbres de la Vie conjug'ale " is finished. To-morrow I begin the last folio (sixteen p1ages) that remains t o (o on L. COMliiDIE IItMAINE; then all will have been delivered to Chlendlowski. I expect to finish the novel for Souverain by tlhe 20th or 25ith of December. Then I need three months for the seven volumes of " Les 1avsansl; " that will bring me to March 1;5. My mother's affairs will take some time, as well as the clearing, u1p of my liquitdation accounts. I (do wish, you see, not to leave any businless belilnd me in quitting Paris for perhaps eighteen monltls; an(l whlen I return it must be to my own home. I have promise(l you that, and I will no longer deceive mllyself b1y t'tinking that I an (do the iml)ossible. I see with grief that I shall, apparently, have to sacrif le e Floinee and R-ome to thle work and tlie business tlat will secure, as vo( say, the repos)e and safely of my future. To spend( immense snuns in going to see you for only eigh}t days, and returniing to find snits and worries of all kinds is senseless! T nmust have, as you say, tile courage to spare myself these mistaken calculations and these bootless sorrows. I shall try to go to Romne for Holy WVeek, for I shall then be so weary I shall nee(l some distraetion: but if by sacrificing that happiness I should obltain yoir scaisf t and what you call a ' position worthy of me," I should not hesitate. Will you, at last, approve of me a little? Tell me so, then, for I have great need of being sLustained by you in mny hard and cruel resolutions. Don't you see, notlling is ever done in thle time I assign for tllings. If LA Co1:DIE Ilr^MA rNE is 1n't 1845J Letters to HMadame Hanska. 677 finished by December 25, I cannot have the money for it before January 15, 1846, and if I do not get it till then, my payments are delayed that time. So with " Les Paysans; " I shall not be paid till March. Money rules me absolutely when it is a question of paying creditors. Well, between now and a month hence all will be done. But if you only knew the steps, the tramps! Creditors for three hundred francs cost as much search and verification as those for thirty thousand - it is a labyrinth, a hydra! Adieu, dear distant star, yet always present; soft and celestial light, without which all would be darkness within inme and without me. Oh! I entreat you, take care of yourself. I am not too anxious about your little illness; it is only an effect of the climate; they told men that on the ship, and strong constitutions are often the most tried. But I tell you and I repeat it to you: take care of yourself. Remember that you are the glory and honour and sole treasure of a poor being who loves' you exclusively, who thinks of you only, whose acts, as well as his thoughts and dreams, are emanations from that moral sun of affection which is his whole soul in its relation to you. Bless you a thousand times for your punctuality in writing! Tell me everything; all that happens to you, with every possible detail; nothing is insignificant to me if it concerns you. Do as I do. Among all the great worries of my life, as troubled as yours is calm and serene, I do not a pass a day without writing you a line, as a merchant makes up his day book. Well, a few more efforts, and a little patience, and I hope to have conquered the right to never leave you again. PAssY, Deceml)er 13, 1845. Dear countess; I am overcome by the same nostalgia which I felt before I went to Chalon. It is excessively difficult for me to write; my thought is not free; it no longer belongs to me. I believe that I cannot recover 678 7 llo lorc (dc ltalzc. L1845 my faculties under eilghteen months, perhap)s. You must resign yourself to endure me beside you. Since Dresden I have done no great thing. The be ginningL of " es Paysans " and the end of '" BIatrix were my last efftorts; since then, nothing has been possible to me. Yesterday, during tile whole dlay, I felt a sombre and dreadful gloom within me. Yet I must finish the six folios of Lx COMLI,)E LLUMAiNE. Furne has come. lie has excellent intentions. On my side, I must colmplete this undertakino, which is all my future. But the heart is as absolute as the brain, it is indifferent to whatever is not itself; millions to win, a fortune of fame and self-love satislied is nothilng to the heait. Your letter describes to me a similar state with tmuch truth and eloquence. That letter, in which. pain is more contagious than the plague, and over which I wept your tears, shuddering to find there what I felt myself, that letter has filled the measure of my inward and hid(len malady. Nothing but my interests can drag me out of tlie deep despondency that has now laid hold upon me. Paris is a dreadful d(esert; nothincg gives me p)leasure, nothing contents me; I amn under thle empire of some )assionate invading( force withlout analogy in my life. I compare the twenty-four towns we saw together with one another; I try to recall your observations, your ideas, your advice; motion fatigues me, rest depresses me. I get up, I wtalk, but my body is absent, I see it, I feel it; at times, as I tell you, this is madness. It is very probable that if my six folios of LA COMIrDIE HIUMAITNE were finished I coull(l go to Naples; and tlhat thought is tlhe only means of making me do them. What could I not obtain from myself under the hope of that immense joy, were it only for one week? I tell myself there are a thousand reasons why I ought to see you, consult you; that I can do nothing without you. In short my mind is the accomplice of my heart and will. 18451 Letters to Madame Hanska. 679 Meantime, awaiting the result, I make no complaint, I am dull and gloomy; I am like a Breton conscript, regretting his dear scones and his Bretagne. All that is not you was once without interest to me, now it is odious. December 14. Yesterday, dear countess, I went to see, in detail, the Conciergerie, and I saw the queen's dungeon and that of Madame Elisabeth. It is all dreadful. I saw everything thoroughly; it took the whole morning, and I had no time to go to the rue Dauphine to do Georges' commissions. When I went back towards the court of assizes I heard that the trial then going on was that of Madame Colomers, niece of Marechal Sebastiani, a woman forty-five years of age whom I wished to see. And I found, seated on the prisoner's bench of the court of assizes, the living image of Madame de Berny! It was awful. She was madly in love with a young man, and to give him money, which he spent on actresses of the Porte-Saint-Martin, she forged indorsements in negotiating the notes of imaginary persons. She took everything on herself (he has taken to flight), and would not allow her lawyer to charge the blame to him. I had never heard a case pleaded in court and I stayed to hear Crdmieux, who spoke well, ma foi! The unhappy creature, in order to get money to give the young man, had abandoned herself to usurers, to old men! Credmieux told me that she said to her lover: " I only ask you to deceive me enough to let me fancy I am loved." She is the daughter of a brother of the marechal, and the wife of the engineer-in-chief of Bridges and Highways, and a deputy. I was so deeply interested in finding a novel seated on that bench, that I stayed till half-past four o'clock beside the poor creature, who has been very handsome and who wept like a Magdalen; every now and then 680 80ITono (l de ailz tc. [1s845 I heard her sigh out, " Aie! ale! aie! " in three heartrending tonles. M:. Lebel, governor of the Conciergerie, who has locked tile door on every sort of crime for the last fifteen yea r;s, is, they tell me, the grandson of the Lebel who opened thle doors of Lolis XV. to the beauties of the Pare-auxcerfs. These vicissitudes, these striking analogies, occur in obscure families as in thle most aug'ust. The heir of the originalal I.tcel, tlle successor of him of royal pomps, llhad nothingo to leave on g(oing to hlis detath but a worn-out eravat a(l ain (ld praer-l)ook. \Whenl you come to Paris I must certainlly show you the Palais; it is curious and thrillinig an(1d coinpletely unknown. Now I can do my work [" la I)eili?'re li ecarnationl de Vautrin "]. O)1 my return home, I found I had missed Captier, Claret's frielnd. This is a pity; I should have liked to talk with him about a purchllase [ have in view. There is a chlance of buyiogi a lit of ground in the rue Jean-G(oujon in the best conditi)on. It is only a stone's throw from tlie Place (e la Concorde. Yesterdlay I found some distraction of my nostalgic misery in tlie Conciergerie, aind the court of assizes, and to-day I plunge into work vehemently. ' All! I mu,,t have my house bet-ween two gardens, without disa'reeab!e neighbourhood. And I will have a little greenhouse at the back of it- But I must leave you, I must work. You ldo not know that I amn silently colleeting very splendid art furniture by dint of researches and tramps ablout Paris, economy, and l)rivations. I (lon't wish to speak to you of tllis; I shall not unmask my batteries until my drearn takes, more and more, the semblance of reality. Deceumber 15. I am now launched into work. This niglht I have done six pages of the six folios I have to do; and I assure 1845] Letters to Midame ltanska. 681 you - I, who know myself -that that is a great deal. I shall try this week to finish LA COMIEDIE HUMAINE. Yesterday, after finishing my work, I went to see my sister, on a letter she had written me saying that her eldest daughter was dying. Sophie had really nothing more than a slight congestion of the head, which cooling drinks relieved. I heard from Laure that a M. Bleuart was on the point of ruin from having bought up the quartier Beaujon, and that several of the houses were for sale. I hurried there. There are, indeed, houses and vacant ground; but of all those houses there is but one that is anything like finished, and that one is immense; nine windows on the front. I am going there on Wednesday with a friend of Claret and a young man who is in the secret of AM. Bleuart's affairs. You see I bestir myself to find a really good tlhing, and repair in some degree the disaster of Les Jardies; but the important thing of all is to work. I met my old landlord of the rue des Batailles, and he told me that ground in the rue Jean-Goujon was selling for nothing, and I ought to make haste to buy at present prices. On returning from Beaujon yesterday, I went to pay a visit of half an hour to Madame de Girardin. Returning at six o'clock, I dined and was asleep by seven. In examining my resources, I think I can do without what you know of (the Dresden affair); it is, I have reflected, so dilfficult to write, receive, and send papers of that kind that I shall try to wait, and place the matter as a last result in its time and place. I am so in the habit when I write to you of thinking aloud, calculating, and recalculating, that you see and know all my hesitations, my backings-down, my additions, etc. You are always and in all things my sole thought; it is you, and you know it well, who are the foundation of everything. If I had the strength this night to apply myself to six folios it was because I want to go from Naples to Rome with you, and 682 Ilonorc de LBalzae. [1845 for that I shall try to leave here January 11. I want to install you in Rome, as I installed you in Naples. Madame (le Girardin calls me il vettmr'ino 2)er amore. Adieu for to-day. IHow are you? Do you amuse yourself sometimes? Does Georges take good care of both of you? If anything happenlls to you under his auspices I will crush his box of insects on the boat. I bless you every day of my life, and I thank God for your good affection. You are my happiness, as you are mv fame and my future. D)o you sometimes remember that morning at Valence on the bank of the RhoIne, when our gentle talk triumphed over your neuralgia as we walked for two hours in the dawn, both ill, yet without perceiviing the cold or our own sufferings? Believe me, such memories, which are wholly of the soul, are as powerful as the material recollections of others; for in you thle soul is more beautiful thlan the corporeal beauties for which tle sons of Adam (lestroy themselves. Adieu till to-morrow, gentle and spiritual power, who hold subjected to your laws your poor and fervent servitor. l)ecemThor 16. I received yesterday at four o'clock your number 4. I see that you are still uneasy; but you have not thought of one thing, which is that you began to write to me while I was travelling, and it requires time to establish our regular correspondence. Thus to-day, December 16, I have received four letters from you; well, you, between now and December 30, will have received four letters from me. What is the difference? - fourteen days. But those fourteen days were five at sea, three at Marseille, three in a mail-eart, and the first week in Paris, during which I wrote to you from here. I calculate that you have to-day received my packet by tlhe " Tancrede." That was my number 2; on the 24th you will get my number 3, sent by Anselne de Rothschild; and this will 1845] Letters to Madame Hanskca. 683 reach you on the 30th, because it will leave here on the 21st. So, dear countess, in spite of the uneasiness which this early failure of the superior force has caused you, you see I am not in fault; I have written to you every (lay, -too much, in fact, for I have done nothing but think of you, and I have written too little for posterity; and not to write retards my liberation. Mon Dieit, how your letters make me live! I have an idolatry for those dear papers; I am like a child about them; your punctuality delights me. Never think that I mistake the value of such goodness on your part. I entreat you, take care of yourself; those pains in your stomach worry me. Mine have disappeared, or at least I seldom suffer from them. What is deplorable is that work fatigues me, the symptoms that happiness and the journeys of this year drove away are returning. My eyes throb, the temples also, and I feel weary. I have had to buy a candelabrum for five candles; three were no longer enough, my eyes pained me. So that ugly little candlestick of tarnished gilt, which you must have noticed in my study, is now replaced by a ministerial candelabrum of unheard-of magnificence in bronze, chased and gilt; but it burns one franc fifty centimes' worth of wax-candles every night; do you hear that, madame? Now, two francs for fire, and fifty centimes of coffee besides, make four francs a night. The Arabian Nights cost dear. Dear countess, I can give Lirette her capital without any difficulty. Tell me how much you intend for her, and I will pay it to her at once. I will go to the convent and settle it with her. I shall be quite content to receive it back in May. Why give yourself the trouble of sending money here. Let me be, for once at least, your business agent. I have not yet obtained your fantastic set of jewels; but I shall have them soon. Froment-Meurice desires to distinguish himself on Georges' cane, and I don't know 684 Honore de Balzac. [1845 whether it will be done by New Year's day. Ile is a great artist. I assure you it is quite alarming to see how much talent and genius there are in Paris. I am so cautious about all that concerns you that I shall not risk sending this letter on the 17th; for the boat leaves on the 21st, and at this season the mail-cart might be delayed; therefore I prefer to put my letter in the post to-day, 16th. So I cannot tell you anything about the Bleuart houses; but you shall know all by the letter leaving January 1; you will know also whether I can take the steamboat that starts on the 11th. Do not insist, I entreat you, on forbidding it. In the first place I warn you that, not only you will not be listened to, but I shall be very happy in disobeying you. That means nothing, however, for the greatest happiness must always consist, for me, in the most complete submission to your sovereign will, ever and everywhere. But, I repeat, you alone will be responsible if you persist. I still have no news of my purchases at Amsterdam; those are furniture griefs. I have just heard of a great misfortune; the beautiful Ma-dame Dclaroche, daughter of Horace Vernet, is dead. Well, a tient(t. Consent with a good grace, because you will gain nothing by refusing. 1)o you not think it may be the food at the Hotel Vittoria which gives you those pains in your stomach? PASSY, December 17, 1845.1 Dear countess; my ability to work only lasted two days. I am again seized by spleens, complicated with nostalgia, or, if you like, by an ennui I never felt before. Yes, this is tru'e ennuii; nothiing amuses me, nothing distracts me, nothing enlivens me; it is a death of the soul, a death of the will, the collapse of the whole being. I feel that I cannot take up my work until I see my life 1 To Madame Ilanska, at Naples. 1845] Letters to Madame Hanska. 685 decided, fixed, settled. LA COMEDIE HUMAINE - I no longer care for it; I will let Chlendowski sue me for the folios that are lacking; I cannot think for the six that are to finish the sixteen volumes. More than that, tomorrow I was to go and see a house of which they tell me marvels; and that scarcely interests me. I am exhausted. I have waited too long; 1 have hoped too much; I have been too happy this last year; and I can wish no longer. To have been, after so many years of toil and misfortune, free as a bird of the air, a thoughtless traveller, superhumanly happy, and then to come back to a dungeon! Is that possible? I dream, I dream by day, by night; and my heart's thought, returning upon itself, prevents all action of the brain thought- it is fearful! I have sent for " Les Mysteres de Londres," which you told me had amused you; I will read it to escape myself. December 18. Yesterday I read "' Les Mysteres de Londres " from two o'clock in the afternoon till midnight; I read the book through. It is a little better than Sue 6r Dumas; but not good; it made me feverish. This morning Captier came for me; and I have returned with a bad cold from the Beaujon quartier. It was raining in torrents; we stood with our feet in the mud and our shoulders wet for three hours, and I was seized with a sore throat which has almost extinguished my voice. The house we went to see is held at two hundred thousand francs and we offered eighty thousand. It is large and handsome; with nine windows front, two storeys, a magnificent ground-floor, and ill-arranged first floor which would have to be entirely remodelled. There would be twenty thousand francs, at least, to spend upon it. Besides which, it has an insolent air; it looks like a great restaurant, and the sacrifices made to the outside are immense inconveniences; for instance, you enter it from 686 8olwori de Balzac. [ls84 a portico which would require a vast awning over it. Another thing: the land in the rue Jean-Goujon is impossible; they ask twenty-five thousand francs for it. There is no ground in Paris for a huncdred francs the metre; and there are nearly four metres ill a fathom. You can judge if the Monceau land is a good bargain. I shlall keep where I am, and not hasten anything; I think that is wisest. December 20. A terrible m-isfortune has happened. The Doubs has overflowed: the water is higher than in any former flood; the bridge mny brother-in-law was building has been swept away. I am now going to see my sister. I found at Laure's a very concise letter from the doctor of the " Leonidas " telling mei he had seen you in Naples. The letter only reached mne to-day and he says that he leaves on the 21st. HIe asks for an answer, which I have sent in four words, but I dlo not know whether he will receive it. Mly (ldepl)ression still continues. I am reading "Les Trois Mousquctaires," and I suffer from mny cold. I found dlesolation at my sister's home; her daughter is ill; I stayed thlere all (lay trying to brighten them up. Can you conceive that my brother-in-law, having two bridges to bild this year, should have gone to Spain witlh M. de P..., a man who, as I supp)ose, is looking for fortune on the hope of building a railroad in Spain. My sister ownel that it was she who induced her husband to make thiis journey; and the luckless man writes to her that Spain has cost him (lear, for if lie had himself superintended the building of the Doubs brid(oe it would( have b)een finished and(l delivered; in which case the Cdisaster from natural forces would have fallen on the goverinment. The contracts for the Chlemin de fer dui Nordl are oiven out to-clay; if Rotlhschild awards them, the shares of that railway will certainly ri e. i845] Letters to Aladame JHantska. Adieu for to-day. I re-plunge into '" Les Trois Mousquetaires," for life without work is intolerable, and I continue to think of you with a persistence that alarms me. I remain, stupid, in one place; and I don't know what would happen to me if I flung myself into work desperately. I have not a thought that is not for you; I have no will other than to go where you are; I am, as it were, driven by that desire; and, nailed to this spot by necessity, I remain motionless with grief. It is impossible for me to forget; I pass whole hours with my eyes fixed on that table-cloth embroidered by your dear little white-mouse paws; in gazing at its squares, red, green, and its striped lines, thinking of you, and recalling the infinitely trifling details of that journey - No, instead of scolding me, have pity on me, for I am truly too unhappy. I implore work, and it refuses me inspiration. I hope, nevertheless, that this may not last always, and that one of these days will see me seriously at my table for the service, if not the profit, of his Majesty the Public. December 21. I have read " Les Trois Mousquetaires " and that was all I did yesterday. I went to bed at seven o'clock, and I have now got tiup at four in the morning. I am better in mind; I have a real desire to work; and that desire seems to rie of good augury. Besides, it must be done; all things urge me to it, - the money to earn, the obligations to fulfil, liberty, and the possibility of seeing you the sooner. Can you imagine, dear star of my life, that money says nothing to me now? No, truly, it does not stir me. There is no longer in my soul any vestige of ambition, any desire for fortune; porcelains, pictures, all those things of luxury that I have loved, I am now indifferent to. Oh! what a tyrant is a sentiment like mine! how all things disappear before it! I can understand, dear couiitess, why you were shocked lon ore de Balzac. [1845 at " Lcs Mousquetaires," you so well-informed, knowing, above all, the history of France, not only from the historical point of view, but even to the smallest details of the cabinet of the kings and the private dinners of the queens. One is certainly sorry to have read tllis book, if only fromn disgulst with one's self for having wasted one 's time, - the precious stuff of which life is made. It is not so that we reach the last page of a novel of Walter Scott; this is not the sentiment with which we leave him; we re-read Scott, but I (lo not think we shall re-read I)umas. Ile is a ellcharming narrator; but lie ought to renounce history, or else study it, and know it better. Onl opening my window onl the street side this morning I had a giddiness, and I still have the blood in my head. 1 shall take a foot-bath and it will pass away. Besides, if I work, the equilibrium will be re-established, and I am going to work. Oh! if you only knew what respect I feel for myself, knowii)g that a being so perfect, a woman so accomplished takes interest in my existence. For a year past I have no memory except for her; for two weeks now I think of nothing but of how to return to her. I arrange tlle crumbs of my feast, I absorb myself in the recollection of nothings which turn into poems. 1)id vou know that Schwab was in Paris? Ile came to see me this morniwo, and -would you believe it? - I saw Schwab with delighlit, for Schwab is the Hague. Do you remember a certatin walk we took to the Chinese bazaar, behind tlhe children? No, never did two souls give themselves to each other with more poesy, more charm! These recollections are to me so many suns, shining on the Spitzberg; they make me live; I live by them alone. There are things in the past (the past that is yours) that give me the effect of a gigantic flower - which shall I say? - a magnolia, moving, walking, one of those dreams of youth, too poetic, too beautiful to be ever realizedForgive me! I have been sitting here stupefied; I have 1845] Letters to Madame Hanska. 689 wept like a child, - I am so unhappy to be at Passy when you are at Naples! I have let myself go, I have let myself write to you in this letter that which I dream at all hours, and in thought it is less dangerous than formulated. In thought it is the gossamer thread athwart the azure; here, upon this paper, it is an iron cable which wrings and presses me till the blood gushes out in tears of despair. Adieu for to-day; if I listened. to myself I should write you till to-morrow. I am beside myself with regret and pain; I implore my work to keep me sane. December 22. I dined yesterday with Madame de Girardin, and heard excellent music from Mademoiselle Delarue. She is the daughter of a worthy old man whom you knew in Vienna. Gautier, who was there, made me promise to go and take hasehish with him to-night at the Hotel Pimodan. I must now go out on all sorts of tiresome business. December 23. I resisted the haschisch; that is, I did not experience any of the phenomena they talked of. My brain is so solid that it needed, perhaps, a stronger dose. Nevertheless I did hear celestial voices and saw divine pictures; after which I descended Lauzun's staircase during twenty years. I saw gildings and paintings in a salon of fairylike splendour. But this morning, since waking, I am half asleep, and without strength or will.' December 25. Yesterday I slept the whole day, and to-morrow I am going to Rouen to see some ebony panels which, I am told, can be had for nothing. This morning M. Captier 1 Theophile Gautier has related this evening jin his essay on Baudelaire, in the ' Portraits et Souvenirs litteraires." 44 690 Hlonore de Balzac. s1845 is coming for me to see some land in the rue du Rocher. It is impossible to get that -Dujarier legacy paid. I have lost a whole day rushing about on that business and attained nothing. I still cannot work. December 27. I started yesterday from Passy at six in the morning; at seven I was on the railroad and at eleven I was at Rouen. It is the route I took with you and Anna. Is not that telling you that I thought the whole way of you two? I transported myself back in thought to that day when we saw Rouen; it was a fete I gave myself. I was happy, oh! very happy! I saw the treacherous confectioner, and I recalled my atrocious sufferings when I thought myself poisoned between Rouen and Mantes. Ah! how kind you were! then, as always, my guardian angel and beneficent star. I found at Rouen tlhe relics of a regal piece of furniture which I bought for eighty francs. That is doing business! True, it will cost a good deal to repair and arrange it; that frightens me, but I shall give it to a cabinet-maker, and then my remorse will be complete. Another result, not quite so satisfactory; as I had eaten nothing all day, I came back with a dreadful headache. December 28. I have just returned from the post-office; no letters from Naples. I beg(in to be very uneasy, for I ought to have one of the 18th, which is the day thle steamboat sailed; allowing six days for navigation and three days from Marseille here, that is nine (lays. I have just seen an advertisement of a house in the rue (du Montparnasse; they ask ninety thousand francs for it, with costs that would make it a hundred thousand. I will go and see it; it is in the Luxembourg quarter, 1845] Letters to 7iadame iancska. 691 I must bid you adieu; each time I close a letter and take it to the post I seem to be going myself to meet you. Ah! a jpropos, do not let us calumniate any one. The Due de S... died from other causes than those you think. It is a curious history, which 1 will tell you some day. He was going to be married, and when he saw that his bride would never be anything but his bride, less philosophical than Louis XVIII., he blew out his brains. M. Captier has brought me the plan of a house; to cost from forty to fifty thousand francs; with land costing fifty thousand, that would be a hundred thousand; but I cling to the hope of finding a house all complete for that money. I shall wait. My incapacity for work makes me very unhappy. On Wednesday, the last day of the year, I dine with Madame de Girardin, in order to take measures with Nestor Roqueplan for the Varietes. I shall then begin to work seriously at "Richard Cceur-d'Eponge." I tell you this that you may know what I am doing or expect to do. You will receive this letter on your first of January, which is our 6th, your anniversary. God grant that in this coming yeai of 1846 we may never be parted for a moment; that you will lay down the burden of your responsibilities, and will have no others. Those are my ostensible prayers; there is another that I keep for myself alone. I end this year loving you more than ever; blessing you for all the immense consolations that I owe to you, which even now are life to me. At moments I think myself ungrateful when I recall this year of 1845, and I say to myself that I have only to remember in order to be happy. What I have in my heart, that is my haschish! I need only retire there to be in heaven. Dear star, luminous, yet ever, alas! so distant, above all never be discouraged; hope, have faith in your fervent servitor; believe that when you read these lines I 692 lHonor5 de Balzac. [1845 shall again be working, sending off my sheets of " copy," and that I shall soon be free to go to you; if, indeed, you do not forbid it too rigorously. But no, you could not have the courage, knowing me so unhappy, to refuse me the only consolation that enables lme to bear miy life. 1846] Letters to Madame Hanska. 693 IX. LETTERS DURING 1846.1 PASSY, January i, 1846. ONE year more, dear, and I take it with pleasure; for these years, these thirteen years which will be consummated in February on the happy day, a thousand times blessed, when I received that adorable letter starred with happiness and hope, seem to me links indestructible, eternal. The fourteenth will begin in two months; and all the days of these years have added to my admiration, to my attachment, to my fidelity, like that of a dog. I have a very Grandet mind, I assure you. A few days more, and if the King of Holland were to offer me sixty thousand francs for my Florentine furniture, he could not have it! It is still more so in matters of the heart. I shall have proved it to you fourteen years from now, when you have seen me forgetting nothing of all my happinesses, great or small. January 4. O dear countess, I received this morning, at half-past eight o'clock, the letter of your dear child with the portrait of Leonidas; decidedly, I shall have an "Album Gringalet." I do not understand why on the 22nd you had not received my letter of the 3rd, sent from Rothschild's counting-room. When this letter leaves it will 1 Concerning the letters of this year, see Appendix. - TR.. 694 Honore de Balzac [1846 be the seventh on its way to you. I have never failed to tell you day by clay what happens to me; and you will see on your return that I have written the oftenest. I am going to see your dear Lirette; for 1 do not wish to forget that I am a substitute for both of you, mother and daughter, towards her; moreover, I want to know at what periods she wishes to receive tlhe sum you have given me for her. I dined, as 1 told you I should in my last letter, with Nestor Roqueplan, on the last day of the year, at tlhe illustrious Delphine's. We laughed as much as I am capable of laughing without you and far away from you. l)elphine is really a queen of conversation; that evening shle was l)articularly sublime, sparkling, ravishing. Gautier was there also; I came away after a long talk with him; lie had been assured there was no hurry about "Richard Cwur- c'Eponge," the theatre having more thanl enough on hand. Gautier and I may make our play together later. Such was the result of this dinner, tlhe history of which is your due. Returning home, I met two or three bores, who tired me much. You will not believe that, for you seem ignorant that I like to have no one but you, and to see none but you in the world. But, dear countess, the sad thing is, that I cannot write a line, and I groan - Jannary 5, midnight. Here is a strange thing! I received this morning your long letter, one day later than that of your daughter; this is a mystery, for both came from Marseille. Oh! dearest, what a day I iave had! atrocious, dreadful, awful! I had errands to do; I was to go to Froment-Meurice, then to MI. Gavau!t, then to a ship-builder who is building a ship lie is bent on naming for me, then to tlhe newspaper offices, especially the " Presse." At mi(dday, after breakfast, I went to the post; good! I 1846] Letters to Madame Hanska. 695 received a fine thick letter, very heavy; my heart quivered with joy. Ah! I was happy! so happy that in the carriage from Passy to Paris 1 opened my letter a thousand times blessed, and read, and read! At last I reached thle page dictated to you by the strange and ilconceivable conduct of Madame A. and Koref; and after having read your crushing reflections I was thrown into consternation. I closed the letter and put it in my pocket. At first, any one might have seen my tears; then I was overcome by a sadness of which the following were the physical effects: Two inches of snow were on the pavements of Paris; I was in thin boots; so unhappy was I that I wanted air, I was choking in the fiacre. I stopped it, and got out in the rue de Rivoli and walked, walked, my feet in the snow, across all Paris, through crowded streets, seeing no one, among the carriages, noticing none of them; I went, I went, on and on, my face convulsed, like a madman. People stared at me. I marched from the rue de Rivoli to the back of the Hotel de Ville among all those populous streets, not conscious of the crowd or the cold, or of anything. What hour was it? what weather? what season? what city? Where was I? Had any one questioned me I could not have answered him; I was senseless with pain. Sensibility, which is the blood of the soul, was flowing out of me in torrents through my wound. And this is what I was saying to myself: " I have never, in my life, uttered one indiscreet word; and here are the reasons of my silence: 1. honour and integrity; 2. certainty of injuring the object of my hopes; 3. certainty of rendering my liquidation impossible; 4. complete uncertainty as to the result of my wishes. And I am accused of ignoble speeches, - I, whose conduct is irreproachable!" To meet with this injustice, even involuntary, from you crushed me; I felt the blows of that club upon my head at every step. Koref is an 696 lonlorwc de Balzae. [1846 infamous spy, an Austrian spy, well known as such; he is not received anywhere; I do not bow to him any longer; I scarcely answer him when he speaks to me. Maaiame A... is ignorant of this, she confides herself and talks of your interests and of my affairs to the most dangerous man I know! It is truly incredible! Moreover, Koref is allied with a very bad womnan, a Madame de B... who spreads slanders, and spies as spies spy, even outside of politics, and merely to keep her hand in. Who knows if those people have not already made this the sublject of a report? Who knows if Koref, too well known to be trusted anly longer by the Austrian police, has not used Madame A.'s absurd confidences to get into the service of a hyperborean power? Ah! truly, Madame A. may have done us, without exaggeration, an incalculable injury! I, who already have suffered a great pecuniary loss through absurd cancans sent from Berlin, to have such suftiflerings, thanks to that woman, in addition! Thinking all this I walked on, seeing nothing before me but trouble and confusion- Koref! whom I have not seen for eighlteen months, and to whom I have not ad(lressed a word for three years, he to call himself y? friend! It is too impudent! -I walked with my heart bleeding, mny feet in the ashles of my longed-for future, and thinking ever of the pitiless reflections that Madame A.'s fatal letter had suggested to you. At four o'clock I reached Froment-Meurice; nothing was ready, neither your set, nor the bracelet, nor my seal (ful(je, vivam) which I have waited for so long. I went to Gavault's on foot, from the HIotel de Ville to the Madeleine. Gavault was frilghtened at my face when he saw me without soul, without strength, without life. From there, still on foot, I7 went back to Passy at eioght o'clock, without feeling bodily fatigue; the bruised soul numbed the body, mental fatigue was greater than 1846] Letter's to MadamZ e HanskCa. 697 all physical exhaustion. At ten o'clock I went to bed; impossible to sleep. I have lighted my candles and my fire, and taken my coffee. -1 have just read the end of your letter; and the balm of the last sheet has calmed me, without altogether making the last echoes of my suffering cease. Till to-morrow: bodily fatigue has come to me and I can sleep. I am going to bed; it is one o'clock. January 6. To-day, January 6, is your birthday, dear countess. I wish to express to you none but thoughts of gentleness and peace. Going to bed at one o'clock, I fell asleep among the charming things you said to me at the close of your letter, and I had no dreams at all. The fatigue of yesterday, moral and physical, was such that I slept till ten o'clock. I have just breakfasted and I return to your letter. That which is grievous in it does not come from you; it comes from strangers, from that silly Madame A...; and you could not have thought otherwise than as you did on reading her letter. By a strange fatality I read only half your letter, and I have suffered by my own fault. I could have taken aftac'e and read the rest; but, I see now, deep and violent sensations do not reason; they rush like torrents or thunderbolts. What upset me thus was that I saw plainly they were trying to give you malignant impressions about me. I have no need of " society;" far from it, I have a most profound horror of it; celebrity weighs upon me; I thirst for a home, a home of my own. I thirst to drink long draughts of a life in common, the life of two. I have no affection in the world that conflicts in any manner whatsoever with what I have in my soul, which is indeed the very substance of that soul; " the rest is all vain dream." To finish, once for all, with bad people and bad tales, tell yourself, dear, that society is composed 698 698 Ilowt re' dle fJcdz. LL1846 of criminals who have a horror of honest men and of men without sin; it hates the happiness that eludes it. Let mie, before, I close my letter, say this: my mind is made up; if I am forced to abandon my hopes, if, by force of hostile and secret persecution you should turn your back upon ine, my resolutions, are fixed; the haschiseli that I tried yesterday will render a man imbecile at the end of a year; he can remain so, knowing niothing further of the pains or joys of life, until lie dies. Ilaschisch, as you know, is only ani extract of hemip, and hemp contains the end of maim. No, if I cannot nave my beautiful drea~med-of life, I want nothing. Yesterday, all the treasures of frnriture wNhich I have collected were so many bits of wood aind crockiery to me! Poverty, were I alonle, has attractions for me. I want nlothing", cxc eJt in ila tion to the seciet object of my life; that object is the supreme motive of all amy prayers, my stelps, my efforts, ray ideas, my toils, of the fame I seek to acquire, in short of my future and of all that I am. For thirteen years this laslpiration. has been the principle of my blood -for ideas and sentiments work through the blood. I thanki you f or th-le instructionis you give me about Lirette. I will pay her the sumi ai'ree(i ulmon to-morrow at her convent, and I will inquire the amount that vou must still ad(l]. I am so glad to dlo any business for you that you oug(ht to make me give you a conmmission for it. Poor dear Atala [a namne by which lie called her in jest], poor dear Anna, the picture of your losses and financial deceptions distresses mce; alas! there is nothinly to be done but to return to your own home as soon ais the thermal treatmnelt at B~aden is duly accomplished. Yes, you will have to return courageouslv, to settle all and complete your wvork in order to obtain the righit to rest in peace. Ileave you to go to the post, for I expec-t a letter with 18461 Letters to iMadame Ican.ska. 699 news of my Amsterdam cases, which are as long delayed in coming from Rouen to Paris as they were between Amsterdam and Rouen. If I do not finish my letter to(lay I will to-morrow; and to-morrow it will jump into the letter-box, and the day after be at Roanne. What a hippogriff is the post! Adieu, dear; I am going to work like one possessed. I start April 1 by boat for Civita-Vecchia. Easter Sunday falls on the 12th; I shall see Rome for ten days; then I will return with you through Switzerland. There 's my plan. Between now and then I shall have my liberty. Take care of yourselves, all, but you especially. 1 will answer next wveek your dear child's letter, and also Georges'. When I think that after Baden you will have to return home, a shudder comes over me. You know when you enter there but you don't know when you can leave. But I will not end my letter sadly; find here within it the fresh flowers of an old affection. My heart blesses you, my soul is round you with all its thoughts. As for my mind, you know that is only the reflection and echo of yours. PASSY, February 8, 1846.1 No letters! my uneasiness has reached its height; I do not know what to think; I believe you are ill. I am tortured to the point of not being able to write a line to-day. I dine with M. F..., a sacrifice to make, and a great one, I assure you; but it is very essential not to displease him; he does my business well, and I am more and more satisfied with him. This week we attack an account very difficult to terminate; that of B... It is a matter of nine thousand francs to be paid. No letter! I am very unhappy. 1 To Madame Ilanska, at Naples. 700 lHonore de ]Balzac. L1846 February 9. What joy! I have your letter at last. I ought to write to you on my knees for such kindness, and such persistency and perseverance in that kindness. The passage in which you tell me you had been lost in a contemplation of the future like one of mine, and in which you seem so touched by those transports of worship I often have toward you, that true affection, so humble coming from a soul so lofty, gave me for a moment more happiness than I have ever had before in my life. Dear countess, do not risk yourself in Rome before Georges is perfectly recovered; put off the journey for your children's sake; Rome w;ill not be swallowed up to-morrow, but health is lost there in a week. Wait; wait. When you receive this letter LA COM(EDIE IIIUMAINE will be finished. I have paid M. Potier a thousand francs, for lie has had, you see, to incur expenses, - lie says so himself. This is a house of forty-live thousaind francs, and fifteen thousand for additions, sixty thousand in all. [The house in the rue Forlunee.] I llop)e to own the house and to have paid ul) all disquietiong claims by the end of February. But all these uncertainties p)revent me from working at my ease. I am like a bird on a branch. I hope you will let me come anld tell you of my installation an-d spend a few (lays with you in April. In going to Souverain's to-day I saw in the shop of a dealer in bric-)-brac a miniature of Madame de S6vign6e, done in her day it seemed to me, which can be had for very little. I)o you want it? It seemed to me rather good; but it must be said that I scarcely looked at it because I was in a hurry. February 10. I have seen that miniature again, and it is hideous. On the other hand, I have bought a portrait of Queen 1846] Letters to Madame Hanska. 701 Marie Leezinska after Coypel, evidently painted in his atelier. I bought it for the value of the frame; as it is one of those portraits that queens give to cities or great personages, though it is but a copy, I thought it would decorate a salon. I am more inert than I can tell you; I work badly, without inspiration, without taste, without courage; my life, my soul, and all my forces are elsewhere. I have asked Gautier to bring me an artist named Chenavard, a friend of La Belgiojoso, whom I know but whose address is unknown to me, to enlighten me as to the value of Marie Leezinska's portrait, because, like Louis XIV., "I don't choose to deceive myself." February 11. Much tramping, much fatigue, without result. M. F... has fallen dangerously ill, and that delays my business. You see, dear beloved countess, that I am not the master of this liquidation; the least effort would be punished; I must wait like a hunter on the watch. It is dreadful! I assure you that the harassment of my affairs, joined to that of my soul (which is tortured by absence as one is, they say, by remorse) affects my poor brain powerfully. Without vanity, I can certify to you that I am wonderful; I rise every night, I think of you, I write to you, and stay so for two hours before I am able to begin to work. Then I continue to write, but for you, and not, as I 6ought, for the public. Or if by a miracle it is not you of whom I am thinking, it is about one of the houses offered to me, its furnishing, its arrangement, and the thousand details of my business; for every affair of a thousand francs exacts as much care as a matter of a hundred thousand. Then I re-read your dear letters, I look at my proofs, and I reason with myself. The day dawns, and I have done nothing. I tell myself that I am a monster, that to be truly worthy of you I must forget you and girt my loins with the labourer's cord; I say in 702 Honoor' de Balzac. [1846 suits to myself; I grasp that ivory Daffinger; I think you there; I dream - and I waken to remorse for having dreamed instead of working. Madame de Girardin writes to ask me to go and see her. There is to be a lady present, daughter or grand(laughter of Sheridan, who desires to see me. I shall go ill my grand costume of fine manners. February 12. I went to bed this morning, my hours upset! and all for a tiresome Englishwoman who stared at me through an eyeglass as she might at an actor. Madame de Girardin, charming in a small company, is, it must be admitted, a less agreeable mistress of a house at great receptions. She belies her origin by her talent; but when her talent is not to the fore she becomes once more the daughter of her mother; that is to say, bourgeoise and Gay pif sang. The Due de Guiche, who has given in his allegiance, was there; he exerted himself, and was almost witty, whlich I had doubted. The memory of Madame Kalergi, whom I never knew, or even saw, as you know, pursued me. Admiral de la Susse described the regrets of the Baden society that I (lid not accept the invitations of that beautiful lady, but confined myself to a certain family who had confiscated me to their own profit. From that moment I became of a most stupendous stupidity; so that Madame de Girardin whispered to me, "What is the matter with you this eveninlg?" To which I answered, "Your Englishwoman has gone to my heart." At which she laughed and I kept the secret of my melancholy - I saw once more the scenery of Baden, the Hotel du Cerf, the promenades, etc. Ah! how you absorb me! It cannot be expressed; a word a nothing, brings me back to you. Dear countess, we must console that poor Georges. I will find a copy of the Dejean catalogue; it is very 1846] Letters to' Madame Hanska. 703 rare, the whole edition having been burned in the fire of the rue Pot-de-Fer (when the " Contes Drolatiques " were destroyed). I have found a work the title of which you will find on the sheet which envelops this letter. Write me whether Georges knows of it. It is the finest iconography of coleopteras in existence. Only seven copies remain; the blocks are planed and that ends it. If he wants the work I will bring it to him with his insects and the Dejean. In wandering about, Saturday, I found two vases (Restoration) on which were painted, for some entomologist no doubt, the prettiest insects in the world. They are the work of an artist and must have cost a great deal. Georges will like them, I know, and I shall return him painted pots for painted pots. Perhaps these vases weie a gift to Latreille; for no one, I think, would have done such conscientious work unless for some great entomological celebrity. It is a real trouvaille, a chance such as I never had before. No one knows what Paris is; with time and patience, everything can be found here, even at a bargain. Just now I am negotiating for the purchase of a chandelier which must have come from the palace of some Emperor of Germany, because it is surmounted by the double-headed eagle. It is a Flemish chandelier and came from Brussels no doubt before the Revolution; it weighs two hundred pounds and is of brass; I have bought it for the intrinsic value of the metal-four hundred and fifty francs. I intend it for my dining-room, which will be in the same style. I see you alarmed by this communication; but do not be anxious; no debts are incurred; I am obeying your sovereign orders. Lirette will be paid as you intend, and Froment-Meurice also. As to my personal affairs. the liquidation has more money than it needso FromentMeurice is really an impossible jeweller. Here it is February 17th, and the figure of Nature is not yet finished. lie says it is still in the hands of the chaser. 704 4Ionor5e (c/c Bai alzuc. L1846 Hle himself is wholly absorbed in a toilet-set for the Duchess of Lucca. February 18. I have received the letter in which you tell me that Georges gets better and better, and that he had come to see you at the Villa Reale. This good letter shows rne that calmness is restored to your heart anld mind, because you have returned to your habit of writing every evening when your good friendship battles with sleel)p, often vanquished to my prolfit. A strange thing! there are in this long letter that I am about to carry to the post things that reply to the questions in yours! This allinity with each otlher brings tears to my eyes. Hlow I love your letters! how true they are! In reading themn I seem to hear you speak; tlhey are indeed a balm to all my wounds. I beg of you do not go to Rome, I repeat it; the journey mioght be fatal to Georges; hle is very delicate. I was like that at his age; but I never thouLght of myself, and others cared still less for me. I am not working as much as I ought. You d(lo rilght to tell ine so; believe that I blame myself harshly. The. days are going," as you say; but youe d(lo not know the labyrinth through which lny liquidation is leadinug me; you are ignorant of time incessant trailps whllich upset all lmy (lays, anid often for stums not more than a hundred francs. My tranqullillity mleans owning property, settlement in a home, and reslpeet. Therefore I avow that even if I incur your blame (to me so terrible) I must put my liquidation before my literary work. I am g(lad that the engraving and device of your armed knight please(d you. No one helped your servitor; pray believe that; the Latin is my own property: Virens se~/uar and FP/,je, cb im.(t,, are worthy of the E inscribed on the star. I have the portrait of Queen MTarie Leezinska. It is not by Coypel, but was (lone in his atelier by a pupil, 1846] Letters to Madame Hanska. 705 either Lancret or another, as you please. One must be a connoisseur not to think it a Coypel. The portrait has been engraved, and I shall lose nothing on it, Chenavard says. I met Koref, who had the impudence to tell me he had been talking of me to one of your friends in the most eulogistic terms. I wish you could have seen me look at him as 1 said, "I do not doubt it." He left me instantly. ", PASSY, March, 1846.1 Dear countess, the person who will take to you this letter is a friend of mine, M. Schnetz, the painter of the beautiful picture of the " Madonna's Vow," which is in Saint-Roch. He is the Director of the French School of Art in Rome, and I profit by his kindness to send you news from me to meet you on your arrival in Rome. As M. Nacquart prophesied, my courage has been rewarded; to-day I can walk [he had been thrown from a carriage], and all my preparations for my journey are made. My place is booked in the mail-cart for Lyon; for the Marseille's post service carries so many letters that letters in my person are turned out of the mail-cart by the other kind. I must wear my bandages for another month; but nothing prevents me from seeing Rome with you, or rather you with Rome. Oh! it was God who led you to Naples, you and yours, more than you think perhaps. Now, the wisest thing you can do is to stay in Rome, and not continue your projected journey until you have received good news from the Ukraine; for they say that those provinces are in a state of disquieting fermentation; I even hear talk of a general insurrection. Eleven hundred seigneurs and land-owners in Galicia have been murdered by their peasantry, whom they were endeavouring to draw into rebellion against their sovereign, the 1 To Madame Hanska, at Naples. 45 706 HIonore de Balzac. [1846 Emperor of Austria. The Austrians are to-day in retreat (you will see that in the "D bats"). The revolt, or the insurrection, has been simultaneous throughout the former Poland- Prussian, Austrian, and Russian; the movement is communistic. I tremble for your cousin L... The insurgents, they tell me, are occupying Piotrkov. This is really frightful; no quarter is given on either side; priests, women, children, old men, all are in arms. Blntids of ten thousand starving Poles have thrown themselves from Russian Poland into Prussia (where the famniile began), and the Prussians are thrusting them back, as if infected with the plague, by a cordon of troops. Every one here foresees nothing but evil for that unfortunate nation; but the surprise is that Galicia, which seemed to be so well governed, so happy even, under the Austrian sceptre, should have revolted in this untimely manner. Chlopigki, whom they wished to put at the head of the movement, refused. IIe has retired into Prussia, sftying that lie would blow his brains out sooner than conmmand such a folly. All sensible people groan over it. They say that Lithuania and the provinces in tlhe west of Russia will rise also, on account of the recruitingi for the Caucasus. What disasters for the future of Europe must we not fear, with these populatiolns at a p)iteh of chronic insanity! And tlhe governments, which admit that they are already exhausted, will they be able to repress and control them? How fortunate that you are in Rome! for even you, so wise and so intelligent, have jealous and malevolent people about you over tlhere. Besides, no one knlows what might happen if you were caught between the insurgents and the troops. The " Gazette de Cologne " has published, under Prussian censure, an article which speaks of the blindness of thle governments in the matter of Poland, and dwells on tlhe fact that nationalities cannot perish. (I)on't speak of this to any one.) I hope 1846] Letters to Madame Hanska. 707 nothing unfortunate will happen to Countess Mniszech; but Georges must be very uneasy about his mother, for the whole of Galicia is expected to rise. They say that Hungary, hitherto so faithful, is also in arms. You can form no idea of my happiness ever since my place was booked in the Lyon mail. I am now making all my arrangements. I have given Lirette the money you gave me for her. I went to the convent myself, though still ill. Here 's a strange thing! She has been requested by Abbe L.. to send to Petersburg an affidavit declaring that neither he, the abbe, nor you had endeavoured to dissuade her from entering a convent, and affirming that she did not possess forty roubles and consequently had never given that sum to the convent. What does all that mean? I hope they will permit her to write, and that I shall bring you a long letter from her. Take care of yourself, and do not forget to let me know where you are in Rome, addressing your letter to " M. Lysimaque, at the French Consulate, Civita-Vecchia, for MI. de Balzac; " and try to find me a niche not far from you, if it is only a kennel. I hope my preceding letter has reached you through the Rothschilds. What do you think of M. (le Custine, who offered me a letter of introduction to Prince George (Michel Angelo)? Ile did not remember the prince's relationship to you! I take such part in your interests and those of your dear child that I tremble every morning as I open the newspapers. Mon Dieu! what anxiety when I think of the state in which your affairs are! You must not think of retirning there till all is quiet once more. Without adieu this time, but 4( bientot.1 1 Balzac started for Rome March 20, and returned to Paris May 1, 1846. IIonore de Balzac. [1846 To MADAME LAUiE SURVILLE, Paris. ROME, the Eternal City, April, 1846. MIy dear Laure, I feel in advance the pleasure you will enjoy in thinking that your brother has put his hand to the pen in the city of the Caesars, popes, and others. Give you a description of it? -I could not do it. Read Lamennais (" Affaires de Rome") and you will know nearly as much as he or I. 1 have been received with distinction by our Holy Father; and you must tell my mother that in prostrating myself at the feet of the father of all faithful people, whose hierarchical slipper was kissed by me in company with a podestat t'Avipynone (a hideous mayor from the Vaucluse district, who claimed to be his former subject), I thought of her, and I am bringing her back a little chaplet prepared by Leo XII. much shorter to recite than the old one. It is called La Corona, and is blessed by his present Holiness. I have seen all Rome from A to Z. The illumination of the dome of St. Peter's on Easter-Eve is alone worth the journey; but as the same might be said of the benediction given vrbi et orbi, Saint Peter's itself, the Vatican, tlie ruins, etc., etc., my journey really counts as ten journeys. I am so content in Rome that I am thinking of passing nearly the whole of next winter here, for I want to know everything about it. As there are three hundred churches, you can imagine that I have only been to see the principal ones. Saint Peter's surpasses all that one expects, but through reflection. I climbed to the ball above which is the cross- It would take a week to tell of Saint Peter's. Imagine that your house could easily be put into the cornice of one of tile flat double-columns of the interior third tier of the dome. Nothing could surpass tlhe liserere of the choir, which is so superior to tlle choir of the Sistina that I preferred to listen twice to 1846] Letters to Madame Hanska. 709 that of Saint Peter's: the first time, it was the music of angels (Guglielmni); the second time it was learned music (Fioravanti), which I thought bad, though the execution was perfect. Truly, everybody should lay by money and go once in his life to Rome, or he will know nothing of antiquity, architecture, spliendour, and the impossible realized. Rome, in spite of the short time I have staved here, will always be one of the grandest and most beautiful memories of my life.... I sail on the 22nd for Genoa, and shall go from there as quickly as possible to Paris. PASSY, June 14, 1846.1 Dear countess, I find in the " Presse " of yesterday an article sent from Russia, which seems to me so disquieting that I send it to you. To-morrow I will send you the "Presse " and the 'i Debats." You will receive them for one month. I rise at half-past three, not earlier, though I ought to be up at two. Sleep will not come as it should at seven in the evening, on account of the heat. It is now halfpast four, and I have not yet written a line! Adieu for to-day, till to-mlorrow. AI. F... is coming to see me to-day, and I shall have to talk business after working all night. The Russian article in the "Presse" points to very serious matters. I believe in the spoliation of the landowners by the government; my uneasiness about your interests is extreme. Will your children have time? What does the article mean? Tell me fully what you think about it. It seems to me to be written by some one who feigns ignorance on the subject. June 15. Yesterday I wrote eight pages; the heat was so intense that I put myself into a cold water bath. MI. F... 1 To Madamre Hanska, at Rome. 710 Honore de Balzac. [1 84; came to see me, and I did not go to bed till half-past seven. But I had to be waked out of my first sleep, for at thalf-past nine the carriers brought the 1' Adam and Eve" and the " Saint Peter," and my presence was necessary. The concierge had paid sixty francs too much, and I had to explain the error. The discussions as to this lasted till half-past eleven, and I did not get to sleep again till midnight. I had nothing to pay with but a thousand-franc note, for which it was difficult at that hour to get change; and besides, I opened the packages to amuse MI. F. and an artist who was with us. The Natoire is charming, signed and authentic. But IHolbein's Saint Peter was held to be sub)lime. The artist, who is a fine connoisseur, said that at public sale it ought to brinig three thousand francs. Now I have paid out one thousand and forty francs. I have only thle cases from Rome andt the one from G(eneva to receive, which will not be more together than five hundred francs, and a third from Genoa, five hundred more. So that leaves me still fifteen hundred francs, and tile Chernin du Nord pays a dividend in July; therefore, you see, I am not at all embarrassed. My situation is even better than I thought. With ten thousand francs all will be brought to an end by I. F.... and my principal creditors perfectly agree to tile broad mannler in which I am settling my accounts with them. I can easily suffice to pay all. My health is excellent, and my talent - oh! I have recovered it in all its bloom. 3My various treaties are to be concluded this week. Write me the time when you will permit me to come and see you again, so that I may get myself in readiness. Among the serious paintings that I have in my study, it must be owned that the Natoire [Adam and Eve] looks a little too mincing. I hope to sell that false Breughel for five hundred francs, and that will pay for Genoa, while returning me the cost of the picture. 1846] Letters to Madame Hanska. 711 Here is what I am now going to write: " L'Histoire des Parents pauvres," consisting of " Le Bonhomme Pons "1 (which will make two or three folios of LA COMEDIE HUMAINE) and '" La Cousine Bette" which will make sixteen; also " Les Mefaits d'un Procureur-du-roi," making six more; in all, twenty-five folios, or twenty thousand francs, newspapers and publishers combined; then, to conclude all, 1" Les Paysans." All that surpasses my payments. I have besides, for this winter, " Les Petits Bourgeois," and the regulating of LA COMEDIE HUMAINE; also the reprinting of the "Contes Drolatiques " and my comedy. I shall thus have acquired, I think, the right to travel a little. I shall have no debts, and a little house of my own. But much work is still necessary; if I do eight pages to-day that will be a good deal, for the weather seems threatening to be hotter than ever. I am now going to do a number of errands in Paris, and send you the ' Presse" and the "Debats." The Chemin du Nord will not be in full activity for three weeks yet, and that is the cause of the fall in stock which unnecessarily disturbs you. I have so much hope in it that, had I the money, I would again buy into it. The great bankinghouses are not anxious, for they are buying it. If the railway has a hundred thousand travellers in July, there will be a rise of two hundred francs; for the funds are placed at ten per cent. I should like to keep five or six hundred francs in the bank so as to buy thirty-five more shares - in case they fall lower, be it understood. No news from Rome. But I am not uneasy; I am in 1 In "Le Bonhomme Pons," afterwards called "Le Cousin Pons," will he found a description of Balzac's own passion for collecting antiquities and bric-a-brac. This passion was partly his natural instinct, and partly his desire to fill with treasures the home for which he longed. His collection. is described in "Le Cousin Pons." See Memoir, p. 323. - TR. 712 Honorde de Balzac. [1846 a phase of hope and confidence which surprises myself; for nothing is really changed in my position; yet I feel, I don't know how or why, less sad, less discouraged than usual. It is as if currents, waves, floods of affection came at moments through my heart for you; it seems to me to be a sympathetic effect between us, and as if at that moment you were thinking of me. You are indeed the princil)le of the new courage and talent that I feel within me; if I strive to be free and esteemed, it is for you. The world is nothijng to me; I do not care for it. I seek to pay all, to make my place clean, to have a home that is dignified and suitable. I devote myself to that result, so often preached to me by you, and the sense of the good I do for the future represses for the moment the pain of an absence which your ideas consider necessary. Moreover, the subjects I am now to write of please me, and can be done with extreme rapidity. The publishing business is at this moment in a bad state. This morning I am going to see Veron, Furme, and Charpentier; but to-day is Monday, and to-morrow is the inauguration of the Chemin de fer du Nord; so it is possible I may postpone these visits till the day after. June 16. It is now a week since I returned from Tours and I have only a dozen p'ages done, when I ought to have many more. But, as you know, one does not easily resume either hours of work or the faculty of workiing. Every day I go out for two hours to attend to business. I have not yet seen,Emile de Girardin, or Veron, or M. Deshayes. MI. Buquet has sent me a great many insects; show the list of them to Georges, and send it back to me when lie has chosen those he wants. Tell him to mark in pencil against them. Tell him also how keenly and deeply I have felt for his misfortune [the death of his father]. And this is very sincere; for there are but you 1846] Letters to Madame Hanska. 713 three in whom I take an interest in this world. The others are not worth naming; and it is that I may no longer be shackled, but wholly a thing all yours, that I throw myself up to my chin into work. I am now finishing "Les Paysans" and "Les Petits Bourgeois," and beginning to invent " Le Vieux Musicien" [" Cousin Pons "] and "La Cousine Bette." Those four works will pay my last debts, and this winter " L'Education du Prince" and i" La Derniere Incarnation de Vautrin" will give me the first money which will be really mine, and the beginning of my fortune. The times require that I should do two or three masterly works to overthrow the false gods of our bastard literature, and prove that I am younger, fresher, more fruitful than ever. The " Vieux Musicien " is a poor relation, crushed by insults and humiliations, full of heart, forgiving all, and avenging himself by benefactions. "La Cousine Bette" is another poor relation, overwhelmed by insults and humiliations, living in the homes of three or four families, and meditating vengeance for her bruised self-love and her wounded vanity. These two histories with that of "Pierrette" constitute the " Histoire des Parents pauvres." I shall try to put " Le Vieux Musicien" into the " Semaine," " La Cousine Bette " into the " Constitutionnel,"' at the same time that " Les Paysans" appears, and that the " Debats " prints " Les Petits Bourgeois." I will send my letters Thursdays and Sundays; next Sunday you will receive a packet. On that day I shall have begun "La Cousine Bette," and " Les Paysans" will be in full blast. Bertin does not want " Les Petits Bourgeois " till next September. No, to be far from you now is to be crucified daily. If you only knew under what heat I am working you would pity me. May your letters give me courage and hope. Ate revoir and a bientot, I trust. 71 A.:ti_ 1Ionore de Balzac. [1846 PASSY, July 13, 1846. Dear countess, a disagreeable thing has happened to me which will take much time; a creditor to satisfy for a very small sum; but the course he is taking is dangerous for me, and will annoy me much and necessitate a multitude of steps. You see, the end of liquidations is always difficult; it is not enough to have the money, the settlement must be negotiated. That is what crushes me and hinders my work. This new creditor will take a whole week of my time. I can't help it. M. F... is in Brussels, pursuing a bankrupt. Besides, the creditor in question refuses an intermediary, and insists on treating with ine. When this is over 1 will tell you what he has done to me. It is written above that I shall know all the horrors of debt. July 14. I have nothing new to tell you, except that I am much fatigued. I have passed the night in hunting for receipted bills and memoranda. It is an excessive bore. Buisson has returned; we are not agreed as to figures. If I (do not settle tllis affair now it will become onerous in the future and more difficult to terminate. I am fully aware tlhat I must attend to my liquidation before all else. I am really frightened to see very honest men asking in good faith for money that has already been paid to them and become stulpefied when they have their own receipts before their eyes. AI. Picard, my lawyer, says it happens every (lay. You have no idea what a hunted hare's life I have led from 1836 to 1846. The state of my papers expresses it in a lamentable fashion; it is enough to break one's heart! It will take six months at least to put them in order. In the hurry of my various movinus the business papers have been piled up without care, stuffed into boxes, twisted, pressed, erushed, torn. I need a vast library with numerous drawers in wliceh to classify and put them 18461 Letters to Madame Hanska. 715 away. Space is wanting here; I smother. The furniture, which is fine, is getting spoiled; a house is a necessity as urgent as the payment of -my debts. I am really as much hurried as I was in 1837, and it is an inexplicable miracle, to me how I ever did those sixteen volumes of LA COMEDIE HUMAINE between 1841 and 1846. Two years of calmness and tranquillity in a home like the Beaujon house are absolutely necessary to heal my soul after sixteen years of successive catastrophes. I feel, I do assure you, very weary of this incessant struggle, as keen to-day in paying my last debts as when it concerned the total of them. And always my crushing literary labour in the midst of these worrying affairs! Were it not for the new causes of courage which have come into my heart, I should, like that shipwrecked man whose strength surmounted for one whole day the fury of the seas, succumb to waves less rough and gentler within sight of port. To be torn perpetually from calmness and works of the mind by vexations and worries that drive ordinary men mad - is that living, I ask you? No, I have not lived in these last years, except at Dresden, Carnstadt, Baden, Rome, or in travelling. Thanks be to you, 0 dear and tender consoling angel, who alone have poured into my desolate life some drops of pure happiness, that marvellous oil which does at times give courage and vigour to the fainting wrestler. That alone should open to you the gates of paradise, if indeed, you have any sins with which to reproach yourself - you, wife so perfect, mother so devoted, friend so kind and compassionate. It is a great and very noble mission to console those who have found no consolation upon earth. I have, in the treasure of your letters, in the still greater treasure of my recollections, in the grateful and constant thought of the good you have done to my soul by your counsel and your example, a sovereign remedy against all 716 Honore' de Balzac. [1846 misfortunes; and I bless you very often, my 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 good, reach you often. Try to hear it sometimes in the murmuring sounds that whisper. in the soul though we know not whence they come. My God! without you, where should I be! With what ever increasing gratitude do I look at the casket in which are your letters, those treasures of intelligence. and kindness, thinking how you have ever been to me a beneficent friend, gentle and kind, without failure or deception of any sort, without reproaches or regretslike a spring ever flowing, so that, even now, in the midst of your personal anxieties, you are still concerned for me, for my literary and financial interests, for my future, in short! - Ah! how well I comprehend the tears shed by Teano when the memory of Caliste came back too powerfully to his sickened heart! It is a noble thing, admit it, the sacred chrism of tears shed on a head, on a brow irreproachable by a poor man who adores them and says, " Would that I could love you more! " July 15. Yesterday the affair of that creditor took my whole day. I also went to fetch my proofs at the " Constitutionnel." Alas! here it is July 15, and it is doubtful if by the 31st I can have finished " Les Parents pauvres." " Les Paysans" will take August and September; especially with the journey I am to make [that to Wiesbaden]. There's the naked truth; but if " Les Paysans" bring twenty-five thousand francs, that will be thirty-five thousand in four or five months; that 's a great deal. When I am paid for LA COI Dl)IE HUMAINE, yOU see, my liquidation will be well advanced; so I shall put off all solution till the month of November. The Beaujon house 1846] Letters to Madarme Hansica. 717 will not be free till then; then I shall know what to expect from the Chemin du Nord and from myself. I have my apartment here till August 1; so I must be patient, work, and liquidate. To-day I have to go again to the Palais de Justice about the affair of that creditor; it is a day lost. I will write you another line to-night before dinner. I have all my proofs to put in order. July 16. Yesterday I came in late and too tired to write you the promised line; moreover, I found the picture restorer waiting for me. He is the cleverest of his trade in Paris; a former pupil of David and of Gros; he is a great connoisseur. He thinks " Le Jugement de Paris" superb, and attributes it to Giorgione. He accepts the " Chevalier de Malte " for a Sebastian del Piombo; he thinks it a very fine thing, and deplores the accident to the Bronzino, which he considers a work of the first order; the hand especially enchanted him. He will restore them all, and also the flower-picture, which has been badly cleaned. He is a very good little man, much of a connoisseur, and has promised me his help on all occasions. He is to come back Saturday and make the toilet of the " Chevalier de Malte," supposed to have a layer of church grease upon him, - the smoke of candles and other disagreeable ecclesiastical glaze. You see, dear countess, what Paris is. I sent for the little man in question two weeks ago and it has taken him that time to get here. And my frames! ordered a month ago and not yet begun. That is Paris! it needs time and will to get the simplest and most trifling things; imagine therefore what is needed for serious matters. " La Femme" by Mireveldt, which you gave me, my restorer considered an admirable thing, a real marvel. He consoled me for my false Breughel, and did not despise it as Chenavard did. But no matter, I don't wish to keep it, 718 HIonore' de. Balzac. [18l6 nor the landscape by Krug-Miville, nor " Les Sorciers." I want good things or none. Now just imagine that a pretended creditor, - I have lhis receipts, - a mechanician, took an idea to complain of me at the office of the })ocrei'i-dlu-roi, and I was troubled by a letter requesting me to go there to answer a complaint; I! that is telling you all. I could not understand what it meant; I w~as too sure of myself to be uneasy; but I feared the malignancy of the newspapers, for I know of what they are capable when it concerns me. You remember that story of Brussels in 1843. HIowever, yesterday at half-past three, the substitute-procureur gave my pretended creditor a good lecture, and showed him his own receipt. He is a bad man, the accomplice of servants I had at Les Jardies; and they no doubt plotted tillhis fine tling among them. I owe him nothing but some unimportant costs, for which he may try to sue me. You see, of course, I can easily pay him those fifty francs (at tile most), but I want to give him a lesson and not pay him on account of his complaint, for others might try tlie same means. I have a project of making him pay five hundred francs to get his fifty. It is vengeance; but I think it is permissible in such a case. I am going valiantly to work, and with what ardour! I have now spent two whole nights on "' Les Parents pauvres." I think it will be really a fine work, extraordinary amongo those with which I am most satisfied. You sliall see. You know it is dedicated to our clear Teano, and I want it to be worthy of him. It is seven in the morning; I have been at my proofs for three hours. It is very arduous, for tlhis history is something between ' Cdsar Birotteau" and thle t Interdiction." The question is how to give interest to a poor and sinple-minded man, an old man. I have just been reading the papers. " L'Epoque " has passed over, skipped, forgotten to print the twenty finest lines in Esther's letter 1816] Letters to JMldamle Hanska. 719 to Lucien. I am in despair because of you. I must get them replaced if possible. You ought to be pleased with Mery's novel; it is enchalting! What wit the fellow has! Too much, perhaps; it is like a shopful of crystals. He breakfasts with me to-day, and we shall regale ourselves by talking of you. I want also to communicate to him the idea of my farce on the army, and propose to him to write it between us for Frederick. Must I bid you adieu, dear valiant soul, sister of my soul. I would I could send you back the good you do me from those heights where you shine, but that is impossible: I am a man, and you are an angel; I can only equal myself to you by the reflection of your intelligence, so powerful, yet at the same time so simple and so candid; to you, in whom all gracious details attract yet without detriment to the ensemble which charms and binds for life. If I did not fear to displease you I could go on thus forever; but if I wish to satisfy you I must work, work on, work ever. Besides, is not that being occupied with you? So I leave you for my "Parents pauvres," and I hope you will reward me by one of those exquisite letters of which you alone possess the secret. PAssY, July 17, 1846. Yesterday, dear countess, I had Bertin ' to breakfast, which was delicate, fine, superfine, I '11 answer for it. He was charming, and he stayed a long time, talking and looking at my pictures and bric-a-brac. My whole day was taken up, or very nearly; and I profited by what remained of it to go and see Veron, whom I did not find, and Gavault on business. I dine to-day with Madame de Girardin; I want to confer with her husband about 1 Armand Bertin; his father, Louis-Francois, founded the "Journal des )dbats;" after the latter's death in 1841, Armand Bertin edited the paper. - TR. 720 Holiore de Balzac. [1846 " Les Paysans." You will receive three newspapers: the "Presse," I" Debats," and " Epoque." I wish also to make you read an Opposition journal. Bertin was stupefied at my riches. lie thought that tefte-a-tete of old Sevres delicious; and declared I could sell my beautiful Chinese porcelain service for three or four thousand francs. He told me he had given commissions to one of the cleverest and most influential men of our embassy to China; he wanted fine vases of old porcelain, but was told there was nothing now to be bought in China but the modern. Old( china is all bought up by thle mandarins, the court, and the richll; and the prices are ten times higher than ours in Paris. All their admirable productions of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries are now in Europe. There is nothing left in Nankin or in Canton, and nothing in thle interior of tlie Empire, except what belongs to tlje emperor and private persons. I am notified that tile pictures from Rome will be here in five or six days, and the 1)icture from Heidelberg in three or four. They were very reasonable in Rome. I had only to pay twenty-five Roman crowns in duties (about one hundlre(l and fifty francs), but the total expense is more than three hundred. So if thle other Italian pictures arrive, what will become of me? I must make preparations, for I have received no letter from the consul-general, which seems to me ominous. I asked Bertin to send you the beginning of Charles de Bernardl's novel. Tell inme if you have received all, and whether you are satisfied. I re-read yesterday, according to your sovereign orders, " L'Instruction criminelle." You are right, as usual; it is a fine thing. Your semi-compatriot Walewski is to marry, they say, Mademoiselle Ricci, grand daughter of Stanislas Poniatowski, and descendant of Macchiaveili through the women. She has, I am told, a hundred thousand francs 1846] Letters to Mladame.Hanska. 721 as dot, and three hundred thousand in expectation. Walewski was madly in love with her, and, in his quality of dandy he found no other way of proving it to her than to marry her. What will become of the son of the great man, le grand Colonna Walewski with such a poor little civil list? I leave you to return to my old musician. I am very well; my head is full of ideas; I work easily, for I have the hope of going to see you at Kreuznach as soon as I have finished my three volumes: there's the secret of my courage. July 18. No letters, dear countess! that is not nice of you. Here I am very uneasy, very much worried, not to -say quite discouraged. It is midday; I got back at one in the morning from Madame de Girardin's. The dinner was given for a Madame de Hahn, a famous German actress, whom a gentleman endowed with fifty thousand francs a year withdrew from the stage and married, in spite of all the petty magnates of his family and caste. Madame de Girardin had her two great men, Hugo and Lamartine, the two Germans, husband and wife, Dr. Cabarrus and his daughter (the doctor is the son of Ouvrard and Madame de Tallien, and a friend from childhood of Emile de Girardin), and your servant. The dinner was over by ten o'clock. At the end of a political disquisition by Hugo I let myself go to an improvisation in which I fought him and. beat him, with some success I do assure you. Lamartine seemed charmed and thanked me effusively. He wants me more than ever to go to the Chamber; but do not be anxious, I will never cross the threshold of mine to enter there. I won Lamartine by my appreciation of his last speech (on Syrian affairs); I was sincere, as I always am, for, truly, the speech was magnificent from end to end. Lamartine has been very great, very dazzling during this 46 722 Hoonore de Balzac. [1846 session. But what destruction from the physical point of view! That man of fifty-six looks to be fully eighty; he is destroyed, ended; he has but a few years of life in him; lie is consumed by ambition, and worn-out by tlle bad state of his pecuniary affairs. E]mile de Girardin went off to the Chamber. so I had no chance to speak of " Les Paysans;" it must be for another time. As to Veron, he takes my novel of " La Cousine Bette; " but we have not yet agreed as to price and quantity. I am expecting the editor of " La Semaine " M. tlippolyte Castille. Beside " Les Paysans " to finish, I have eighteen more folios to do for L. (COIEDIE IIuUAINE. July 19. I went to bed at half-past six last evening and slept the (leepest sleep, in spite of tlIe 32 degrees of heat which we have here. I am now ready to work from two to ten in the morning, when Dubochet and Furne are to breakfast with me. We are to have a conference about the CoMiEDIE HIUMAINE, and God knows what will come of it; new griefs and worries perhaps! So I shall count only on my work and what I earn from the newspapers for my financial solutions. If I spend the whole of the month of August in doing "Les Paysans," Veron must have the manuscript of "La Cousine Bette" the first (lays of the same month. I shall correct " Cousine Bette" while I do "Les Paysans." I wish tlhat all my cases were unpacked, and all my beautiful things visible; for the anxiety to know in what state they are reacts upon me too vehemently, especially in the state of irritation I am in from a continued fever of inspiration and insomnia. I hope to have finished " Le Vieux Musicien " on Monday, by rising daily at half-past one in the morning, as I did to-day, being quite re-established in my workingr hours. I will tell you to-morrow how many pages I have done to-day; it must be twelve to satisfy me. 1846] Letters to Maladcame liH sk/ca. 723 July 20, 1846. I received your letter yesterday at half-past six o'clock and I could not answer then, for I had to dine, and after dinner Cailleux (to whom I had written about the furniture, the Salomon de Caux, etc., and about the portraits of the king and Madame Adelaide, which are at Geneva) chose the hour between eight and nine to come and see my collection. I had scarcely time to read your letter in the street, and none in which to answer it. "Le Vieux Musicien," that novel of fifty sheets, will be finished Tuesday. Wednesday I take up the other part of " Les Parents pauvres." This morning I treat with MAry and an editor of " Le Messager." In spite of the intolerable heat (30 degrees at nine in the morning!) my activity has never been more violent or my work more desperate; I am determined to pay integrally the sum total of my debts and win my independence and peace. I am very well satisfied with "Le Vieux Musicien;" but " La Cousine Bette" is only a formless sketch; it is not yet a question of perfecting it; much has still to be invented. Well, I must go and do the amount of " copy " I ought to do every morning. I send you my letters very regularly twice a week, but your answers are, alas! short and rare. Oh! I entreat you, on my knees, be less miserly of letters and details; scold me, tell me disagreeable things, but write me! the sight of your pretty little writing softens the bitterness of your wrath, which is never very terrible; for no matter how much you are displeased or even wounded, the angel of peace and mildness, who pardons and does not punish, is always in you. Ballard, an editor of the "Messager," and Mery came to breakfast with me this' morning. I need the " Messager;" for thirty thousand francs are not drawn too easily out of the well of the Parisian press. It is needful to have the support in the " Debats" of Bertin, in 724 Ilo2Iorr de Balzae. [ls46 the " Constitutionnel" of Veron, in the " Presse" of (de Girardin, in the " Messager" of the Minister of the Interior, in the " MIusee des Families" of lPicquee. I have also some other newspapers without any leading p)ersonlal influence. Now these articles are more difficult than you think; they are all invention, labour, dramna; the p)aylment is the object. As for the publishing of books, that is dying out, they say. The Public is going to sleep); it is necessary to wake up that bored despot by things that interest and amuse him. Just now, I am very well content with my " Vieux MXusicien." When you read this letter it will be finished, for I have now reached the thirty-fourth sheet, and( there are lbut fortyeight. Next week I shall work at " La Cousine Bette" for the " Constitutionnllel;" and as soon as those two manuscripts are delivered to the compositors I shall finish " Les Paysans." In April I shall do " Les Mefaits d'un procureur-du-roi; and this coming winter " Les Petits Bourgeois" and "L'Education du Prince." Will not this have been a well-employed year, specially when one considers a movingc like mine? I am now searching in the faubourg Saint-Germain, or the rue Royale, for a house. And nowN let me bec of you to drive away all useless and( unwholesome reflections; (do not be sad, (1o not even be pensive; be what you always are, the l)provi(lencee and joy of your home; be its mind, its heart, its blessing at all moments; a line of sadness, a word of anxiety in your letters gives me such pain. I want you happy; tlhat is my special ambitionl; andl my will is so strollng in all which concerns you that I d(lo not (ldoulbt its success in tlhis. There is not a (lay or a moment in my life when I would not fling niyself into a gulf to save you from care. That is not a form of speech, it is a sentiment of the heart, deep and true, and you have always seen it manifested in acts when occasion offered; 1846] Letters to liadame lianska. 725 what has been done in the past will not fail you in the future. Write me often and gaily, and do not tell me you are " obsessed" as an excuse; I am obsessed, too, by business, work, tramping; compare the obsession of the world with yours; yet I write to you every day as one makes one's prayer on rising; but this is because you are my whole life, you are my very soul, and the slightest, vaguest of your depressions casts its shadow upon me. Continue to relate to me your life and all its impressions; hide nothing from me; tell me all, - the good, the bad, and even the involuntary thoughts. C... came to see me yesterday; he is bitterly dull; I am alarmed when I see that the king takes him and M. Fontaine with him five times out of ten wherever he goes. The king commits the same fault that Napoleon committed; that is, in wishing to be all himself. There comes a day when empires perish because the man they rest on perishes or neglects to supl)ly his substitute. What is certain is that the peace and tranquillity of Europe hang upon a thread, and that thread is the life of an old man of seventy-six. You speak of complications in your affairs; what are they? But, as you say, we must trust in Providence, for all is da-nger when we sound the earth beneath us. I acknowledge that nothing surprises me more than to see you so troubled about things that you cannot change, you, whom I have always seen so submissive to the divine will, you, who have always walked straight before you without, looking to one side or to the other, and still less behind you, where the past like a corpse is buried. Why not let yourself be led by the hand of God through the world and through life as you have done hitherto, advancing towards the future with that serenity, that calmness, that confidence, which a faith like yours should inspire? I must admit that in this 726 Ifonor' de 'alzac. [1846 fact of seeing my star which shines with so pure a lustre thus concerned about material interests there is something, I know not what, that I do not like and which makes me suffer. You have already given too much of your time ani( your beautiful youth. In spite of ycur instincts and your repugnances, you have been mastered by necessity, the welfare of your child, and your sense of duty. Now that you have fulfilled with such scrupulous and meritorious thoroughness your obligations to your adorable daughter, who understands so well all that she owes to you, and now that you have established her according to the choice of her heart and in accordance with your own ideas and sympathies, you have nollhing' further to do than to let yourself rest in that quietude of repose which you have so fully earned, giving the burden of business affairs into the hands of your children, who will continue the work of your patient and laborious administration. What can you fear for them, so wise, so enlightened, so sensible, so perfectly united, so exactly suited to each other? Why foresee events that are hostile to their safety?- why fear catastrophes which, I like to believe, will never happen? By spending your strength in creating imaginary dangers you will have none to defend you against real danger-should any ever threaten you, wlich I do not believe will happen. l)oes n't it seem to you rather strange and odd(-you who have so often consoled and sustained me in my troubles and streng-thened my beliefs-that I should insolently take my turn in daring to give you counsel, I who have constant and incessant need of being sustained, guided, and sometimes scolded by your high wisdom? I don't know if you can decipher this shorthand scribbling in haste, which, according to our agreement, I (do not take the trouble to read over. Be very tranquil on the subject of nostalgia; I have 1846] Letters to 1Madame lIanska. 727 forbidden my heart to have any more; it is crushed by toil. Do the same with your dark ideas; disperse them by confiding them to me and permitting me to combat them. Adieu for to-day; to-morrow the continuation of this scribbled conversation. My tenderest regards to your dear children; you know well what is in my heart to both of them. Adieu and au revoir. PASSY, July 27, 1846. I hope my wandering and vagabond troupe will not be alarmed by a thing which will bring us nearer to each other. For the last five days I have not felt well, and this morning I went to see my doctor, who told me an epidemic of severe cholerine was raging, due to the excessive heat we are suffering at this moment; he has prescribed a strict diet, and gum-water to drink. I intend, therefore, to rest 'myself by going to meet you at Kreuznach and spending three or four days with you if the mail-cart permits. Tlhis illness will be absolutely nothing, and therefore do not disturb yourself about it; but if not taken in time it might develop into a case of sporadic cholera. I have given up fruits, which 1 ate in abundance. I had no strength, I slept incessantly, and had to give up all work. It is probable that I shall buy the Beaujon house. I will bring you the plan of it. In August and September they are to make the repairs, put in the heaters and do the painting. In October the upholsterer will do his work, and in November I can move in. If my affairs go well, I shall have a year to buy a bit of adjoining ground for a greenhouse and the indispensable stable and coach-house. Then, perhaps, I shall stay in this species of chartreuse for the rest of my days, " the world forgetting, by the world forgot," as Chenier says. Ah! dear luminous and sovereign star, this time last :728 lionore de Balzac. [1846 year we were at Bourges when posting; but you were ill and sad, even while seeing those beautiful things. To suffer amid happiness, that is my lot; for am I not happy in loving you?- yet I suffer here, wllen I knlow you to be at lKreuznach. But it mnust be, when fettered by work and business as I am now. July 28. This day year we were at Montrichard; and you saw for a few hours the beautiful valley of thle Cler. Ai! how I feel, in thus turning back to the past, that there is 1no0 happiness for me without you; since yesterday, when I began to rest, I am a prey to one fixed idea, - see her, listen to her! I)o not be affronted, I entreat you, but I need to see you as we need food when hungry; it is odious, it is brutal, it is all that is most revoltilng, perhaps, )but it is true. MAy thought carries me to Kreuznach at every moment. I must finish my work for thle "Constitutionnel," and then go and book my place in the mail. Slhall I have a letter this mornino? I (dare not hope it. July 29. I found in the post a letter fromn your children. Anna had put in a little line which makes me very uneasy. Shle writes: " Mamma is sa(l and ill; you ought to come and help us to chleer her." I went at once and took my place as far as Mtlayencee, and I shlall be there punctually to mneet you; you will not (lo me the wrong to doubt it, I am sure. Adieu for to day. July 30. The king has again been shot at; you will see it in the papers. It is truly odious! it will nmake our unhappy country impossible and( hateful to foreigners. I amn very much bettelr; the (doctor was a prophet; in two (lays all was over and restored in good order; I am still dieting, but to-morrow I can resume mny usual food and 1846] Letters to Madame Hanska. 729 my work. The heat has become more frightful than ever; as I write I am afloat; every pore, every hair, has its drop of moisture; I am soaked as if I were just out of a bath. Last night I saw the fireworks; I had slept all day, so much had weakness and heat reduced me. The illuminations were very fine; I doubt if Peterhof ever showed anything finer (in spite of your admirations). How I wished for you here! and how many times I said to myself that, positively, you should see it with me next year. In spite of the heat and the diet, I feel so recovered that 1 shall go this evening to the first representation of " Le Docteur noir," and to-morrow I shall return to my usual ways and my nocturnal work, minus coffee, be it understood; and on the 17th you will see me at Kreuznach, rely upon it. The end of " Esther" has had a great success. The letter was like an electric shock, everybody is talking of it. The profound truth about our judiciary morals, made dramatic, has startled the men of the robe. Expect now "' L'IHistoire des Parents pauvres," and you will see that I shall make a very fine work of it -but don't feel too much confidence, for I may deceive myself about it. So all goes well, and will go better and better. But I love you so much that there is no other misfortune possille for me than that which might come to you either in health or feelings. Tears come into my eyes as I recall certain gestures, certain motions of your dear person in the dim chamber of my brain where are pictured all your features, your adorable nature, your heart infinite in goodness, your mind, your walks with me, our walks along the roadsides, even to your gentle scoldings-in short, our whole history, in which you have always been the noblest, purest, most saintly, and most excellent of human creatures. 730 Hlonor5 de Balzac. [1846 July 31. Forty degrees of heat in my apartment! My weakness is extreme, on account of the strict diet the doctor ordered me. This will explain to you the brevity of my talk with you this morning. Last night I saw " Le Docteur noir; " it is the height of stupidity, of mediocrity in its saturnalia. I got to bed at one o'clock and did not rise till nine. I have just returned from the post-oflice; no letters, alas! 'T was a soldier of the " Medusa," looking out on the horizon and seeing nothing, who came back without letters just now! Well, I must read and correct my proofs. PASSY, August 1, 1846.1 I have your letter! it is the great event of my life. In it I see two atrocities; 1st, " Do not come, you would be so bored;" 2nd, "You do not think enough of your health; you let yourself be worn-out by frantic work; do take a little more diversion; amuse yourself." ]Bored with, you! amuse mvyself without you! Is that enough insult and injustice? Am I required to refute them? I am quite well again this morning and I wish to announce that news for a beginning, so that my dear troupe may feel no more uneasiness about its illustrious leader. My doctor is coming to dinner to-day with MAry (one of your believers), L,'on Gozlan and Laurent-Jan. That ought to fully reossure you; I am now only a man without strength, food. or appetite. But the intestines are all right aoain, I believe; and next week I shall finish with the " ConstitUtionnel." August 2. Dear fraternal soul, I have just finished " Le Parasite." for such will be, as I told you, the definitive title of what I have hitherto called " Le Bimnhomme Pons," 1 To Madame IIanska, at Kreuziiach. 1846] Letters to Mlldame Htanska. 731 "Le Vieux iMusicien," etc. It is -to me at leastone of those fine works of extreme simplicity which contain the whole of the human heart; it is as grand as the "Curde de Tours," but more clear and quite as heartbreaking' I am enchanted with it; I will bring you the proofs, and you must tell me your impressions. Now, I am going to work on " La Cousine Bette," a terrible novel, for the principal character is a composition of ny mother, Madame Valmore and your aunt. It is the history of many families. Yesterday my dear star seemed veiled for me; I had many annoyances. "Le Messager" was ready to reproduce, for one thousand francs, " Madame de la Chanterie," the proofs of which you and I corrected together at Lyon; but the publisher, assignee of Chlendowski, was inexorable; he would not consent to the publication, even in receiving part of the price. The " Messager" is sent gratuitously to peers and deputies; it prints a thousand copies. So I failed through the greatest piece of ill-will I ever met with in my.life. This will show you what the business of literature and publishing is. I am goingo to send you the " Courier," in which George Sand is bringing out a novel; for I perceive that you are reading only the ministerial newspapers, and you ought also to readl a little of the Opposition ones, in order to understand something of our political mess. August 4. At last I have your letter; and now that I have it after wishing for it so much, I fear that it tired you to write it in such heat. Be tranquil in mind, as you ought to be in heart; I only bought the Greuze and the Van Dyck because I have a purchaser at a higher price for two of my pictures, - namely, " Les Sorcieres " by Paul Brill, and the sketch that Miville sold to me at Bale. I have exchanged the little picture bought for fifty francs, i32 IIJotore de Laulzac. [1846 which Chenavard said was not worth two sous, for a delicious little sketch of the birth of Louis XIV., called tin " Adoration of the Shepherds," in which the shepherds are bewi(gged in thle fashion of the times. Louis XII. and his ministers are represented. Well, well! I shall win your confidence sooner or later, in bric-ilbrac at any rate. You can't imagine to what point I am fretted and what anxiety fills my mind when I discover that I have sominething inferior as a matter of art in my collection. Therefore set your mind at rest; I follow your good advice exactly; I continually deny myself; I never yield to any spontaneous fancy; I buy nothing without consulting, examining, reflecting; and that is the same as telling you I buy nothing but line things. I write to you in 50 degrees of heat, as you will have seen by the " l);bats." My study is 15 degrees higher than that; for the laundry-man below ine keeps a coal lire like that of a locomotive, and above my head is a zinc roof; in short, I live in a stove. But in spite of this heat my health gets better and better; nourishment no longer distresses me; and the intestines are comingr back to a normal state. The doctor says my illness came only from heat, which is to me what it is to you. One must cling to doing, one's (lduty, as 1 do, in order to work under tllis lhysical dissolution. Adieu; proofs are calling me, and I have not. as at Lyon, an. intelligent comrade to correct them cleverly and gaily. I have still twenty-six slieets to write. August 5. I met Potier in the Passy omnibus; I questioned and sounded him, and gained the certainty that he lhas another l)urchaser in view for the Beaujon house, arind considers me only as a pis rller; but I cannot put myself in the way of offering more than I have for tlIe last year. 18461 Letters to Madame llanska. 733 I saw Veron yesterday, who wants as many folios as I can write. He told me that the public was not content with Sue's publication; it was thought repulsive and shameful. The pretty sinners of the great world think to rehabilitate themselves by making an outcry against "such revolting immorality," as they call it. On the other hand, V6ron made me many compliments on "L'Instruction Criminelle." At the Palais de Justice both magistrates and lawyers think it splendidly true and irreproachably accurate. If they only remembered Popinot, they would see that Popinot and Camusot are two aspects of the Judge.1 I see with joy, by your letter, that you are rather better; also that you have had an earthquake, which must make Germany uneasy. Suppose a crater were to open expressly to prove Georges' theories! Oh! how I wish I knew when you will be really in possession of a prolongation of your passport. I hope to leave here by the 15th or 20th, but I absolutely must finish " Les Parents pauvres" first. I have booked my place for the 15th, but I can exchange it for the 20th if necessary. Ah! so you are not content with my title of " Le Parasite; " you think it a comedy title of the eighteenth cen tury, like " Le Mechant," "Le Glorieux," L'Indecis,' " Le Philosophe marie," etc. Well, it shall be as your autocratic and supreme will decides, and inasmuch as you declare that the pendant to " La Cousine Bette," can only be " Le Cousin Pons," " Le Parasite" will disappear from LA COMEDIE HUMAINE and give place to "Le Cousin Pons." Work, occupation, difficulties in regulating the payments of the last sixty thousand francs of debt, all that mass of fixed or floating cares, repress within my heart 1 This refers to the examination of Lncien de Rubempre before the juge d'instruction, and the description connected with it of the Palais de Justice. -TR. 734 Honor e de Balzac. [1846 the desire to see you, and the need of consulting you and talking over with you my literary and pecuniary affairs. But as you will not permit me to go to you until I have finished " Les Paysans," or at least " La Cousine Bette," I endeavour to obey you. It is tlhe order of the day to me; and it bestows upon me a strength for work I have never yet known. "' Le Cousin Pons" and " La Cousine Bette" will give me ten thous;tnd francs; that will pay HIetzel, and the seven thousand francs to my mother. If I can be with you next winter, counting from September, I shall do three works: "Les Petits Bourgeois," " Le Thefitre comme il cst," and " Le Deput6 d'Arcis," which, according to my calculation, are worth, taken together, forty thousand francs. So you see that not only will everything be paid, but I shall even have money in hand for the rest of the winter. Dear sovereign star, be very tranquil about my conduct; how do you suppose that at my age any enthusiasm could make me compromise the result of fifteen to sixteen years' labour? I shall not ruin myself in buying pictures any more than I will "bind myself to write novels against the sum that would free me entirely." In spite of that lofty wisdom of yours, you are no more prudent and reasonable than I am. I am really ashamed to rel)eat these thlings so often. No news from Rome; I think there arc as many reasons to fear as to rejoice. To-miorrow I write again; but 't )ientot I hope to see you. It is Laurent-Jan and Achard who are doing Grimm's letters; and it is Laurent-Jan who is just now pl)llishing " Jeunesse" in the " Epoque." August 7. The heat is so dissolving I cannot write a line: I soak two shirts a (lay by merely staying in my arm-chair and reading Walter Scott. I must love you much to write even these few words; my hand and forehead are stream 1846] Letters to Madame Hanska. 735 ing. This delays me and makes me groan. I expect Potier to-day; 1 have decided to settle with him if possible before my departure; so that everything may be done, repairs and all, during my absence, and I can then remove there on my return. Adieu, all my thoughts are with you, and with what can make you happy, were it even at the cost of my life and happiness. Before the end of the month I hope to see you! I shall work firmly, that there may be no delay in my journey. I hope you will be satisfied with the work I bring you. MIy dear critic;;ill be too tenderly moved to be very severe. PASSY, October 18, 1846.1 Here I am, dear sovereign star, imperturbably before my desk, at the hour named, as I announced to you yesterday in the little letter hastily written in the office of " Le Messager;" and before resuming my work, my heart, that poor heart all yours, feels an imperious need to shed itself into your heart, and tell you the little details of a life become your life through that miracle of thought, constant, immutable, during so many years of exclusive affection, of which you alone, besides myself, can appreciate the immensity and the depth. From F'rankfort to Forbach I lived in you only; I went over those four days like a cat which has finished her milk and licks her whiskers. All the precautions with which your kindness and that of your dear children surrounded 1 Balzac's visit to Wiesbaden, Stuttgard, etc., was paid between the date of the last letter and that of the present one. It has been stated, on what proof I (lo not know, that during this visit Madame IHanska promised definitively to marry him as soon as permission could be obtained from her government. Before Balzac left Paris lie purchased the little house in the Beaujon quarter, since known as the house in the rue Fortunee, now rue Balzac, and began to store it with his treasures of furniture, pictures, and blric-'a-brac, many of which, lihe says in a letter tc his sister, belonged to Madame Hanska. -TiR. 736 Honore de Balzac. [1846 me, the shawl, the hood, cured my cold perfectly; I feel admirably well. While they changed the luggage I wrote you a line, to prevent you from doing yourself harm, so anxious about me did I leave you. I paid the duties on the little Dresden service. They told me at the custom-house that they had orders to send my cases to Paris, and I asked them to wait till the Wiesbaden cases came so that all might 'go together. Custom-houses (0o not respect heart-griefs, ancid I had to leave my reveries and memories (more and more tender beneath the charm of your smile, and your glance ever present with me) and attend to my cases. As my cold disturbed my stomach I relayed that organ with two little rolls and two large slices of AViesbaden ham between Frankfort and Forbach. This, I hope, is a sufficient bulletin. I was alone in the mail, and that was a blessing from heaven. At Metz, no one. At Verdun I encountered Germeau, coming from Paris with his wife, and I thanked him for his intervention at the custom-house. When you come to Forbach in your carriage you will be received with all the respect due to your social position, and your things will not be searched, I promise you that. I flew with the mail to Paris and arrived here at six o'clock in the morning; I went to bed at seven, and got up at eleven to breakfast. In the midst of my frugal repast the editor of the " Constitutionnel" fell from the clouds upon me, and found me half eating, half correcting the proofs of " La Cousine Bette," which he owned to me was having an astounding success. Veron's anxiety was consequently all the greater; but I calmed it by telling him of my journey and assuring him I had come back to finish everything. All this kept me till one o'clock. I have written to Lirette, and shall send her your collective letter. But I shall soon go and see her and give 1846] Letters to Madame IHanska. 737 her all details. Here is the dawn, just breaking; I must leave you, you, who are always there before me, blessing my work, like the soft white dove that you are. You will hear with some pleasure, I am sure, that an immense reaction in my favour has set in. I have conquered at last! Once more has my protecting star watched over me; once more an angel of peace and hope has touched me with her vigilant, guardian wing. At this moment society and the newspapers are turning favourably towards me; more than that, there is something like an acclamation, a general coronation. Those who fought me most fight no longer; those who were most hostile to me, Soulie for instance, are coming back to inme. You know that he (Soulie) made me honourable amends in his new drama at the Ambigu. It is a great year for me, dear countess, especially if " Les Paysans" and " Les Petits Bourgeois" are published rapidly one after the other, and if I have the happiness of doing them well, and if your taste and that of the public should agree in thinking them fine - Come, tell me to stop, and bring myself back to " Cousine Bette;" truly, I am talking too much, and with too much pleasure; but it is to me such delicious, irresistible joy to throw myself thus wholly into your fraternal soul. Ah! I have read your pretty letter which arrived the morning after I had left Paris, as I see by the postmark; had it reached me in time I would have dressed differently and so escaped my cold. Poor dear, you see once more in this that I comprehend you at a distance. I was already at Mayence when your letter reached Passy telling me that as I was ill I must drop the " Constitutionnel" and come and rest near you. You have so spoilt me by kindness that I had already done this without knowing whether you would approve of it. The time that I have lost on business errands and proposals is really frightful. Furne is making gigantic 47 738 Honore de Balzac. [1846 announcements of LA COMEDIE HUMAINE. I hasten to tell you this as I don't know whether I shall be able to write to you again for some time. It is now the 20th. This letter can only go to Dresden, Hotel de Saxe, and it must even wait for a line from you before I send it. Allons! to the pen, and to work! October 24. Yesterday I worked like a negro; I wrote the amount of two chapters and corrected thirty columns of proof which I had on my desk. Just now, I can only count on money from the ~' Constitutionnel," or on that of a treaty by which I should bind myself for another work, but that other work is quite impossible for me to do. In my present labyrinth I must work and work without cessation to end, first of all, " Les Parents pauvres." It is not elegies that will give me money, and I need some; there is none here just now, at this moment, and I am at the mercy of certain payments to make, besides which I am expecting cases from everywhere, Geneva, Wiesbaden, etc. Nevertheless, do not think of my affairs or cloud the purity of your brow by useless anxieties. Publications will give something - but when? Voil(! I hoped to find a letter from you at the post-office this morning telling me where to address you. I have half a mind to send this letter to Dresden by Bossange; but suppose that by chance you do not go to Dresden? Evidently I ought to wait for your next letter, which cannot be long in coming. I entreat you, do not harass you.self about all this: do not punish me for having believed in the luck of business in default of other happiness, more complete but impossible. I shall work, as I have always worked. It is only a habit to resume, not to begin, which would be more difficult. I feel young, full of energy and of talent before new difficulties. When I 1846] Letters to Madame Hanska. 739 am settled in my little house at Beaujon [rue Fortunee], very cosy, well furnished, very quiet, safe from the intrusion of unwelcome persons, I shall write successively " Les Paysans," " Les Petits Bourgeois," " La Derniere Incarnation de Vautrin," "Le Depute d'Arcis," " Une Mere de famille;" and the plays will go on as well. It was especially to give myself up to this immense, but necessary production, that I wished to house myself as soon as possible at Beaujon, for it is quite impossible to stay longer at Passy. Most Parisians think I did not go to Wiesbaden; that it was only a canard; that's Paris! Madame de Girardin told me that she had heard from a person who knew you well, that you were excessively flattered by my homage, and sent for me to join you wherever you went, out of pride and vanity, being much gratified in having a man of genius for patito, though your social position was too high to allow him to aspire to anything else! And thereupon she laughed satirically, and told me I was wasting my time running after great ladies, who would only strand me! Isn't that Parisian? But, as you see, the contradictory statements of the Paris cancans make them little dangerous. To-day, all the exterior work on the Beaujon house is finished, except tile gallery which is to be added, and is, in fact, a new building; that will be covered in this week. So, in this respect, at any rate, I am tranquil. It is four o'clock; I must brush up copy; I salute you as the birds are saluting the dawn. The combined letter of your dear children has made me very happy. I see them so contented, so charmed, without the slightest fear of mischance in the future; but then, how you have brought-up your Anna! morally and physically how you have trained her! In truth, Georges owes you much, and I think he feels it, for a brain like his comprehends everything; there is in him 740 Honore de Balzac. [1846 the union of great knowledge and great character. Pity me to be once more battling with business, the house, repairs, buildings, contractors; I go from one to the other, on foolish errands and vexations of all sorts. Yet I must write as if I were tranquil, and devote myself exclusively to that intolerable and hideous old maid who calls herself Cousine Bette, when I would much rather be with you and you only. It is really atrocious; and 1 never had such a time in my life. But my faith and belief in you give me a courage, a patience, a lucidity and a talent that amaze the boldest and most hardened toilers. Alas! I must leave you; time has marched while I have been talking thus at random with you. I must carry this letter to the post. PARIS, November 20, 1846. I was saying yesterday, dear countess, that I had scarcely more than time to write to you if I were going to see you on the 6th in Dresden. But how can I help writing? heart and soul are at Dresden, only body and courage are in Paris. To talk with you is an imperative need; I must write to you, tell you, relate to you everything - about my books, my furniture, my financial calculations, the architect, the house, the bothers, the nothings, the conversations, just as I talk to myself - are you not myself? have you not long been my conscience? If you were not, should I have talked to you with such freedom and sincerity of my follies, my faults, - in short, of all that I have done either of good or evil? Yesterday I went to the Vaudeville, where Arnal made me die of laughing in '" Le Capitaine de Voleurs," and I put my letter into the post for yesterday's mail. It will not go till to-day. This morning I have still thirty-two pages to do on " Cousine Bette" and sixty-four on " Cousin Pons." Total, one hundred between now and the 29th. On Friday I shall go and book my place in the mail. 1846] Letters to Madame Hanska. '41 Ouf! I have just corrected eight hundred lines of "Cousine Bette" and the eight first chapters of " Cousin Pons." Since this morning I have not risen from my chair, and it is now a quarter past three. I put wood on the fire, and think of you, there, as if near me. What happiness in the idea of soon seeing you again! My whole soul quivers at the thought. I have such need to be with you three. And to think that I have still a hundred pages to write and correct! Decidedly, I shall send to Tours for that secretary and bureau of Louis XVI.; the bedroom will then be complete. It is an affair of a thousand francs; but for that money what sort of modern furniture does one get? bourgeois platitudes, paltry things without taste or value. November 22. I have your letters, yours and those of the children. Thanks be to God, they tell me you are better, and that I can meet you on the 6th at Leipzig. I have just reread your letter, for the paper is so thin that one side of the page prevented me from reading the other in a carriage. I went to the post, from there to your house, where nothing is getting on. You tell me not to work so hard, to take care of my health, to amuse myself, to go into society. But, dear countess, did I not write you that I had pledged myself to the payment of my last debts, counting on a rise to sell my shares in the Chemin de Fer du Nord? Well the Nord fell yesterday from 627 frs. to 575 -two hundred francs below the price at which I bought them. So, you see, my pen must earn what the shares should have given me, and work to pay my creditors, to whom I will keep my word. Do you think I have time to amuse myself? It will be a miracle if I pull through at all. I have almost doubled in production; I have done forty-eight folios of LA COMEDIE UUMAINB instead of twenty-four; and you know that 742 Honore de Balzac. [1846 can't be done by scribbling as I am doing now to you. Ah! bon Dieu, it is fearful! I tremble as I write of it. I am not sure that even that will get me through. I must finish "' Les Paysans" and perhaps something more. It is necessary, even indispensable. If I go to you I shall hardly see you, for I could not leave my table and papers. I cannot think about my health, or take any care or thought of myself; I am a copy-machine, and nothing else. My courage is really amazing; I recognize that, and you will be convinced of it when I tell you that since my return from Wiesbaden I have done all you will read of " La Cousine Bette," - which, parenthetically, has a prodigious success - all those twenty chapters, dear countess, were written currente calamo, done at night for the next day, without proofs. You have been, this time as ever, my inspiring genius. November 23, 1846. Yesterday I went to see Laurent-Jan and proposed to him to dialogue my play for the Varietes, for I have an avalanche of work up to November 30, and as I want to start December 1, I have no time to do the play. It would have paid him some thousands of francs, but lie declined, on the pretext that it was too strong, too colossal for his " feeble talent." The real cause of this touching modesty is his invincible laziness. Nature gives talent, but it is for man to put it to work and bring it to sight by force of will, perseverance, and courage. Now, that fellow has talent, but he will never do anything with it except spend it in pure waste, wearing it out, like his boots, on the boulevards, or in the boxes of the lesser theatres with actresses who laugh at him. Here I was interrupted by Dr. Nacquart; he scolded me well when he found me at my table writing, after all he had said to me about it. Neither he nor any of his friends the doctors can conceive how a man should subject his brain to such excesses. He said to me, and repeated his 1846] Letters to Madame Hanska. 743 words with a threatening air, that harm would come of it. He entreated me to at least put some interval of time between the " debauches of the brain," as he called them. The efforts on "Cousine Bette," improvised in a week, especially alarmed him. He said, "This will necessarily end in something fatal." The fact is, I feel myself in some degree affected; sometimes in conversation I search, and often very painfully, for nouns My memory for names fails me. It is true that I ought to rest. If I had not had so much anxiety about my last financial affairs, the cares to be given to the arrangement of my little house would have been a happy and good diversion to my literary occupations. I have continned to be unlucky financially. When the doctor made me the above observations on my literary excesses, I said to him - "My friend, you forget my debts. I have obligations which I have bound myself to meet at certain fixed dates, at the end of each month, and I will not fail to do so; I must therefore earn money; that is to say, I must write until I make my chains fall off by force of courage and toil." You will never divine the doctor's answer. It paints the man; but start with the principle that he is a friend, who loves me truly and has not only much affection, but also much esteem for me. "Well, my friend," he said, "I can't write fine things like you, but I manage my affairs better. As a proof, I'll tell you that I bought at auction three days ago, a house of five stories in the rue de Tr6vise, for which I paid two hundred and thirty-five thousand francs; as there were twenty-five thousand to pay on costs, that makes two hundred and sixty thousand francs." The whole spirit, the whole character of our bourgeoisie is in that; it turns its money over and over, as the aristocracy of old made theirs by privileges and personal 744 Honore de Balzac. [1846 advantages. You must not find fault with the poor doctor, he is an excellent, worthy man; he is of his caste and his epoch, that is all. Regarding what you say to me of your affairs, I shall not cease to repeat to you, " Make haste! " You must have read the article in the " Constitutionnel" on Siberia; it is enough to make persons more confiding than you shudder. Therefore, do not lose any time, for the future does not seem to me coulear de rose, I assure you. I see Italy and Germany very ready to rise; the present state of peace hangs by a thread, the life of LouisPhilippe, who is getting old, and God knows, when the struggle comes, what will happen to us. For a young and ambitious sovereign, not willing, like Louis Philippe, to die tranquilly in his bed, see how favourable this moment would be to recover the right bank of the Rhine! The populations are harassed by idiotic little sovereigns; England is grappling with Ireland, which wants to ruin her or separate from her; the whole of Italy is making ready to shake off the yoke of Austria; Germany wants its unity, or perhaps, only more liberty. In short, believe it firmly, we are on the eve of great political catastrophes. In France, our interest lies in gaining time, - our cavalry and our navy not being strong enough to make us triumph by sea or land. But the day when those two arms are strengthened, the fortifications mounted, our defences finished, and our public works completed, France will be very formidable. It must be owned that by the way Louis-Philippe has administered and governed the country he has made it the first power in the world. Reflect on that! Nothing is factitious; our army is a fine army; we have money; all is strong, is real, at this moment. The port of Algiers, just finished, gives us a second Toulon opposite to Gibraltar; we advance towards controlling the Mediterranean. We now have Belgium and Spain witb us, 1846] Letters to Madame Hanska. 745 Certainly Louis-Philippe has made great way; you are right in that. If he were ambitious he could sing the Marseillaise and demolish three empires to his profit. If he puts a paw on Mehemet-Ali, as he has on the Bey of Tunis, the Mediterranean will be all for France in case of war. It is a conquest made morally, without firing a gun. We have, moreover, made giant strides in Algeria by the displacement of the centres of military action. This means conquest consolidated, and revolt rendered impossible. I hope you will be content with me, and will think that I at last do justice to a sovereign whom you have always supported against me, not from sympathy, you say, but from conviction. Perhaps you are right in the main. Perhaps France has less need of glory than of liberty and security; and inasmuch as she has obtained these two great benefits, let us wish that she may know how to appreciate them and keep the government that has given them to her. Here is the dawn; for two hours I have been talking to you with pleasure and no fatigue; and I say to you. joyfully, a bientot.1 TO M. LE COMTE GEORGES MNISZECH, AT WIERZCHOWNIA. PARIS, February 27, 1847. My dear Anna and my dear Georges: do not have the slightest uneasiness about your dear mamma. In the first place, she is here in the strictest incognito; next she is thoroughly re-assured about her health; and lastly, charged with the immense duty of taking the place of her beloved children so essential to her happiness (and I may 1 This is the last letter to Madame Hanska given in Balzac's Correspondence in the Edition l)dfinitive of his works. Soon after writing it he went to Dresden, and brought Madame Hanska, witllhot M, and Mne. Mniszech, to Paris, in January, 1847. TR, 746 Honore de Balzac. [1846 say to my own, for all my human affections are centred on three cherished heads), I have put myself into forty thousand pieces, not to make her forget those who are the soul of her thought and life but, to render their absence as endurable as possible. Our dear Atala [his family name for her] is in a charming and magnificent apartment (not too expensive); she has a garden, and goes much to the convent and a little to the theatre. I try to amuse her, and to be as much Anna to her as possible; but the name of her dear daughter is so daily and continually on her lips that last night, as she was amusing herself much at the Varietes and laughing with all her heart at the " Filleul de tout le monde,'" played by Boulff and Hyacinthe, in the midst of her gaiety she asked herself, in a heart-rending tone that brought the tears to my eyes, how she could laugh and amuse herself without her I" dear little one.". You know that in the month of April I take her back to Germany, and from there she will go to join you at Wierzchownia. As for me, who cannot now live away from you, I hope to follow her a little later. NOTE.- Balzac left Paris early in September, and reached his much longed-for Wierzchownia by October 1, 1847. The rest of this sad story will be found in the Mlemoir to this edition, pp. 318-349; and in the Correspondence, vol. xxiv. of the Edition Definitive, pp. 561-662. - TE. APPENDIX. I. Pages 104, 112, 113: regarding Madame de Berny. Letters to Madame Carraud, written at the same time as the letters from Geneva. (Edition Definitive, pp. 191, 178.) GENEVA, January 30, 1834. " Do not accuse me of ingratitude, my dearest flower of friendship! I have thought of you much. I have even talked of you with pride,, congratulating myself in having a second conscience in you. " Go to Frapesle? of course I will. Mon Dieu! you are angelically good to have thought of her whom all my friends (I mean my sister and Borget) call my good angel. [Madame Carraud had invited Madame de Berny, who was ill, to stay at her house with Balzac.] If I have not written to you, or to our Borget, it is because I am so little my own master here. Keep this secret at the bottom of your heart; but I think my future is fixed, and that, according to Borget's earnest wish, I shall never share my crown, if crown there be. " After April, yes, I can go to Frapesle.... Some day, cara, you will know, when reading the 'Etudes de Moeurs' and the ' Etudes Philosophiques' in your chimney-corner at Frapesle, why I write to you now so disconnectedly. I am congested with ideas that crowd upon me, I hunger for repose; and besides, I am weary of my position as bird upon a branch.... It is written above that I shall never have complete hap 748 Appendix. piness, freedom, liberty, all, except in prospect. But, dear, I can at least say this, with all the tenderest effusions of my heart, that in my long and painful way four noble beings have constantly held out their hands to me, encouraged, loved, and pitied me; that you are one of those hearts that have in mine the unalterable privilege of priority over all my affections.... "If Frapesle were only on my way back to Paris! but neither Frapesle nor Angouleme now for me! I return, three days hence, to Paris, through that wearisome Bourgogne, to resume my yoke of misery, after refusing from hands of love money that would have freed me in a moment; but I will owe my gold to no one but myself, my liberty to none but me.... " Yes, be sure of it, I will go to Frapesle, and I think I shall obtain the company of Madame de Berny.... That life is so much to mine! Oh! no one can form a true idea of that deep affection which sustains my efforts and soothes at every moment my wounds. You know something of it - you who know friendship so well, you so kind and affectionate...." Now, is it possible that Balzac wrote those words with the same pen, the ink not dry upon it, that is supposed to have written the insinuation made on pages 112, 113? No, never! A few months earlier, August, 1833, he had said to Madame Carraud: " You are right, dear noble soul, in loving Madame de Berny. In each of you are striking resemblances of thought; the same love of the right, the same enlightened liberality, the same love of progress, same desires for the good of the masses, same elevation of soul and thought, same delicacy in your natures. And for that I love you much." II. Page 476: relating to the letters Madame Hanska, then Mladame de Balzac, gave to MM. Levy in 1876 for their Edition Difinitive of the Works. IN various foot-notes to " Lettres a l'Rtrangbre," and also in "Un Roman d'Amour," an effort is made to represent Madame de Balzac as having suppressed parts of these letters for some Appendix. 749 purpose not legitimate. " These letters," it is said, " copied by the hand of Madame de Balzac, were given to M. Michel Levy to be placed, in 1876, in Balzac's general 'Correspondance.' But she who was then no more than the widow of a man of genius did not, it must be owned, deliver the authentic and integral text of those letters." Ten of the letters that Madame de Balzac gave to M. Michel Levy appear also in " Lettres a l'aEtrangere." I have carefully compared these, and I find certain differences, but nothing that does not come within the legitimate province of an editor. These differences are mainly as follows: 1. Unpleasant comments on persons then living are omitted; also certain painful details about his family and hers which ought never to have seen the light. 2. Some affectionate expressions to herself are omitted, and some, apparently from other letters, are added. 3. Additions, also apparently from other letters, and one at least from Balzac's other writings, are made. Possibly the passage about Louis XIV. (page 476) is one of these; it may have been added by Madame de Balzac as being more just to his real opinion. 4. Passages have been transposed; probably through some confusion of the sheets in copying or in printing. But there is nothing omitted, changed, or added that gives the least colour to the idea conveyed of suppression or insincerity. The letters can be compared by every one. Their dates, and the pages on which they appeared in the Edition Definitive are as follows: - (1) August 11, 1835, p. 217. (2) October, 1836, p. 239. (3) January 20, 1838, p. 273. (4) March 26, 1838, p. 284. (5) April 8, 1838, p. 290. (6) April 17, 1838, p. 290. (7) April 22, 1838, p. 291. (8) May 20, 1838, p. 294. (9) June 15, 1838, p. 303. (10)'July, 1838, p. 309. III. Page 544. The Peytel affair. IN 1831, a young man named S6bastien-Benoist Peytel came to Paris to try his fortunes in literature; he lived among the journalists and writers who are described in " Un Grand homme de province h Paris." After a time he became part-proprietor 750 Appendix. of the paper called " Le Voleur," to which Balzac himself contributed from time to time. Balzac describes him as hot-headed, gifted with great mental and physical strength, ambitious, proud, and passionate, carried away at times by the force of his own words, but good essentially. Ile had an eye that always looked a man in the face; and he was not tricky or deceitful. During this time he seems to have been the friend of all the young writers and artists, especially of Gavarni. He was a lover of art, antiquities, and bric-h-brac, and having inherited some property from his father, he spent money on forming a collection. After a while, however, his attempts at literature and journalism not satisfying him, he became a notary, first at Lyon, then at Belley, near Bourg. But before leaving Paris he married a young girl named Felicie Alcazar, described as a creole, with a mother and four sisters but no father, and with relations who mingled in good society. M. de Lamartine was so far intimate with Peytel that he acted as father or guardian to Felicie Alcazar on the occasion of the marriage, signed the contract, and took the bride to the mayor's office and to the church. The marriage was not happy from the start. The wife disliked and even hated the husband, and showed it. He, on the contrary, appears to have been attached to her, and he led an irreproachable life. One night, at eleven o'clock, as the husband and wife and their man-servant were returning from Bourg to Belley along the highroad, the wife and servant were murdered by means of a pistol-shot and a hammer belonging to the carriage. There were no witnesses to the deed, but the husband immediately gave himself up, or, as Balzac puts it, "' accepted the responsibility of the homicide." The explanation Peytel gave, and which his friends afterwards adopted, was that he suddenly on this drive discovered criminal relations between his wife and the servant, Louis Rey, and in a moment of ungovernable fury he had killed the man with the hammer. The latter had endeavoured to escape, but he pursued him; the man then turned to shoot him, but the shot killed the wife instead. The authorities, on the other hand, charged Peytel with murdering his wife to obtain her money, and killing the man Appendix. 751 as witness of the crime; they also brought charges against him of past dishonesty. Prejudice was strong against him in Belley because he was a stranger. " No matter how the affair took place," said one who knew the town; " Peytel is a dead man." Up to this time, the matter taking place in the provinces, Peytel's friends seem to lave thought but little of it, supposing that he would certainly, under the circumstances, be acquitted. He himself felt so sure of this that he wrote to Gavarni to come and take him to Switzerland. On the contrary, he was condemned, and the condemnation roused his friends in Paris to the highest pitch. Balzac and Gavarni took up the case and studied it; Lamartine wrote the following letter to Peytel in prison: - PARIS, November 12, 1838. Your deplorable situation fills all minds here; no one doubts that unforeseen revelations, to which time and circumstances always lead, will completely justify the details that you yourself have given, and cause pity and universal interest to take the place of the prejudices you speak of. Meantime, monsieur, I am glad to be able to assure you that those prejudices have no access to the mind of any one here, and that if you need to add other proof than your unhappiness and despair, you will find it here in the unanimous assertion of the purity of your antecedents and the irreproachability of your life. Receive, with the expression of my sorrowful sympathy, the assurance of my distinguished sentiments. DE LAMARTINE. Balzac and Gavarni went to Belley, Bourg, and Macon, employed counsel, and brought the matter before the Court of Cassation (Appeals). Balzac wrote, and published in the " Siecle," a long argument of the case (see Idlition Definitive, vol. xxii., pp. 579-625), to whlich a brother-in-law of the murdered woman replied, rather weakly. Balzac rejoined in the " Presse," prefacing his second statement with the following words to the editor:October 2, 1839. "Monsieur, I am obliged to make use of the newspapers, who have published my letter on the Peytel affair, to thank collectively all those persons who have addressed congratula, 752 Appendix. tions to me; and to assure those who have sent me startling testimony in favour of Peytel that their declarations will be received if the Court of Cassation grants a new trial." The following very curious letter relating to this subject, from M. Moreau Chiistophe, inspector-general of prisons, to Gavarni, is worth preserving. PARIS, September 29, 1839. My dear Monsieur Gavarni: you ask my opinion of the Peytel affair. What shall I say to you? When there is a woman, that is, love, in a crime, it is a tangle, the thread of which escapes the most clear-sighted. They think they hold the thread because they have got hold of the skein. The material of a fact does not constitute the truth of it. Why do you talk of judiciary trials [debats judiciaires]? A judiciary trial is to my eyes a legal lie. The accused lies to the lawyer, the lawyer lies to the judge, the newspapers lie to the public. How do you expect truth to come to light through that criss-cross of lies? She is just as much hidden from us at the Palais as if she were down at the bottom of her well. It is only behind the bolts, after condemnation, that truth can be found. And even then one must be very expert to find her. That was where I discovered the truth about the Laronciere affair, and several other love tangles, about which you think you know through the newspapers, whereas you know nothing at all. That was how you yourself discovered the truth in the depths of Peytel's dungeon. Balzac has brought startling lights out of that dungeon. But, - shall I say it? -in spite of the immense dialectic and legal talent he has just displayed in the "4 Siecle" in defence of your unhappy friend, I fear that under his pen truth is impregnated with an atmosphere of romance. Lawyers sometimes fade the cause they plead. Besides, it is too late. Moreover, instead of saving the man who did the act, a subsequent revelation will only the more surely lose him, when lie adds to the blood of the victim after the act a stain, however just, upon her memory. That is Peytel's case. Truth cannot save him now. A lie will kill him. MOREAU CHRISTOPHE. Appendix. 753 French legal arguments never commend themselves to the Anglo-Saxon mind; there seems to be a radical divergence of comprehension as to how truth can be got at, and Balzac's argument is certainly not convincing. But with the events of the past year before our minds we cannot be sure that prejudice and injustice on the other side may not have justified it. The Court of Cassation rejected the appeal, and Peytel was executed as stated in the text. A history of this case is given in " Le Notaire Assassin," by Paul d'Orcieres. Paris. 1884. IV. Page 693. Coccrning the letters of 1846. In " Un Roman d'Amour," which (as stated in the Preface to this volume) is the authority given on page 1 of " Lettres a l'Etrangbre," to vouch for the authenticity of those letters, the following statement is made (page 94): - " Ile [Balzac] lost in November, 1846, a daughter, born at six months. The birth of this child gave occasion for one of those great hidden dramas of which the celebrated novelist was the hero; and the rapid progress of his heart disease was due in part to this terrible adventure." Now, a man of Balzac's emotional excitability - plainly shown iii his walking distraught about Paris on reading one page of a letter without waiting to read the next (see letter to Madame IHanska of January 5, 1846) - could not have passed through such a crisis without some sign of it appearing in his letters. I have therefore studied with great care those for the year 1846 given in his Correspondence. The letters addressed to Madame IIanska are all here, in this volume, for the reader to judge. Balzac returned, about October 15, from Wiesbaden, where Madame Hanska, it is said, pledged herself definitively to marry him as soon as matters could be arranged with the Russian government. From October to December there are five letters to M. and Mme. Mniszech, all very lively and gay. Here are a few quotations from them: - 48 754 Appendix. October: " To-morrow our great and dear Atala [his family name for Madame Hanska] will receive a letter from me. But I charge you none the less to assure her that there is not a fibre in my heart that is not for her, and that I am, as I have been for thirteen years, the sole moujik of Paulowska, who will be hers for time and for eternity." " Anna's dear mother is, as you know, the only affection I have in all my life. She has been my only consolation in my griefs, my toils, my misfortunes; she has sufficed to appease all, to counterbalance all." November: " I thank you with all my heart for the punctuality with which you give me news of our great and good Atala Notify me, I entreat you, of the day when I must stop sending letters to Dresden. I imagine that the doctor will not forbid your dear, beloved mother to read. In which case I shall write to her every day. As soon as she wrote me she should stay in Dresden till the end of November I sent all the newspapers and ' La Cousine Bette' there to amuse the dear invalid." " Pbre Bilboquet [his name for himself], believe it, is buying nothing more; he is only thinking of paying and.worrrking [trrravailller] in the market-place of Literature; yes, I have given myself the task of earning 40,000 francs in six months. Ohl! how I wish I could see my troupe in their fine carriage. This is stolen from the quantity of copy I have to do.. "Duc DE BILBOQITET, " Peer of France and other regions." The letters to Madame Hanska of October 18, 19, 20 are unusually cheerful and hopeful about his future; and those of November 20, 21, 22, 23 are full of his work, and mention his intention to join her December 6 at Leipzig. In point of fact, he did join her in the course of that month, and she returned with him to Paris some time in January, 1847. She remained in Paris till the following April, when she returned to Wierzchownia, where Balzac followed her in September. Now, if the reader has read the letters to Madame Hanska during this year (1816) attentively he will see, not only that there is no symptom of any such crisis with its attendant circumstances in Balzac's life, but that there was actually no time for it. Appendix. 755 To this record I must add that in 1889 M. le Vicomte de Spoelberch de Lovenjoul proposed to sell me the papers of Balzac in his possession; and in giving me a general list and description of them he wrote: - " A cloud of letters exist, but they tell nothing; they are not the letters of women who had a part, either great or small, in his time or in his thoughts." Warped minds, that is, degenerate minds judging all things by a standard of evil, may persuade themselves that this outspoken, impulsive man is the deceitful, double-faced being that they represent him. But will any sober, reflecting, commonsense, true judge of human nature, in presence of these letters, agree with that opinion? No. It is surely an important duty to rescue a great name, and a great nature, from undeserved obloquy, and I hope the readers of this volume will second my effort by studying the truth of this matter and maintaining it. KATHARINE PRESCOTT WORMELEY. Al~~~~~~~~~~~~~ -i? -: -i_ ~r;i ~ ~r:~ -: s,l~ 21;.~ '. — i;;i- ~ -t '4 Ci I — -. - -— ~1 I~ Ilr. ~r i:l 'i~ 'i .... DATE DUE *-c. /I';.. T EUIESYOFC"i ^.~...' r'......... NO.,;,. —'' * ' ' ' -09tM^- - - D EDU X T.':f':.S____ UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 3 0502463 7962 'i-imnci by Preservation 1993 DO mu I " NOT REMOVE OR ITILATE CARDS I v, I