Honoré de Balzac: His Life and Writings | Page 6

often difficult to discover. Sometimes he would pretend to be rich
and prosperous, when he thought an editor would thereby be induced to
offer him good terms; and sometimes, when it suited his purpose, he
would make the most of his poverty and of his pecuniary
embarrassments. Madame Hanska, from whom he required sympathy,
heard much of his desperate situation after the failure of Werdet, whom
he likens to the vulture that tormented Prometheus; but as it would not
answer for Emile de Girardin, the editor of /La Presse/, to know much
about Balzac's pecuniary difficulties, Madame de Girardin is assured
that the report of Werdet's supposed disaster is false, and Balzac
virtuously remarks that in the present century honesty is never believed
in.[*] Sometimes his want of candour appears to have its origin in his
hatred to allow that he is beaten, and there is something childlike and
naive in his vanity. We are amused when he informs Madame Hanska
that he is giving up the /Chronique de Paris/-- which, after a brilliant
flourish of trumpets at the start, was a complete failure--because the
speeches in the Chambre des Deputes are so silly that he abandons the
idea of taking up politics, as he had intended to do by means of
journalism. In a later letter, however, he is obliged to own that, though
the /Chronique/ has been, of course, a brilliant success, money is
lacking, owing to the wickedness of several abandoned characters, and
that therefore he has been forced to bring the publication to an end.
[*] "La Genese d'un Roman de Balzac," p. 152, by Le Vicomte de
Spoelberch de Lovenjoul.
Of one vanity he was completely free. He did not pose to posterity. Of
his books he thought much--each one was a masterpiece, more glorious
than the last; but he never imagined that people would be in the least
interested in his doings, and he did not care about their opinion of him.
Nevertheless there was occasionally a gleam of joy, when some one
unexpectedly showed a spontaneous admiration for his work. For
instance, in a Viennese concert-room, where the whole audience had
risen to do honour to the great author, a young man seized his hand and

put it to his lips, saying, "I kiss the hand that wrote 'Seraphita,'" and
Balzac said afterwards to his sister, "They may deny my talent, if they
choose, but the memory of that student will always comfort me."
His genius would, he hoped, be acknowledged one day by all the world;
but there was a singular and lovable absence of self-consciousness in
his character, and a peculiar humility and childlikeness under his
braggadocio and apparent arrogance. Perhaps this was the source of the
power of fascination he undoubtedly exercised over his contemporaries.
Nothing is more noticeable to any one reading about Balzac than the
difference between the tone of amused indulgence with which those
who knew him personally, speak of his peculiarities, and the
contemptuous or horrified comments of people who only heard from
others of his extraordinary doings.
He had bitter enemies as well as devoted friends; and his fighting
proclivities, his objection to allow that he is ever in the wrong, and his
habit of blaming others for his misfortunes, have had a great effect in
obscuring our knowledge of Balzac's life, as the people he abused were
naturally exasperated, and took up their pens, not to give a fair account
of what really happened, but to justify themselves against Balzac's
aspersions. Werdet's book is an instance of this. Beneath the
extravagant admiration he expresses for the "great writer," with his
"heart of gold," a glint can be seen from time to time of the animus
which inspired him when he wrote, and we feel that his statements
must be received with caution, and do not add much to our real
knowledge of Balzac.
Nevertheless, though there are still blank spaces to be filled, as well as
difficulties to overcome and puzzles to unravel, much fresh information
has lately been discovered about the great writer, notably the "Lettres a
l'Etrangere," published in 1899, a collection of some of the letters
written by Balzac, from 1833 to 1848, to Madame Hanska, the Polish
lady who afterwards became his wife. These letters, which are the
property of the Vicomte de Spoelberch de Lovenjoul, give many
interesting details, and alter the earlier view of several points in
Balzac's career and character; but the volume is large, and takes some

time to read. It is therefore thought, that as those who would seem
competent, by their knowledge and skill, to overcome the difficulties of
writing a complete and exhaustive life are silent, a short sketch, which
can claim nothing more than correctness of detail, may not be
unwelcome. It contains no