1. These discrepancies are additions in one version, and omissions in
the other; they are _not_ changes in the phraseology.
2. Balzac'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, though identical to a certain point with that of 1856,
gives additions to it.
Twenty years later, in 1896, forty years after its first publication
by the person who received it, the same letter appears in "Un 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 Neufchâtel [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unpublished, addressed to his sister, Madame Surville; this letter
is certainly the most important which, until now, has been brought
to light on the opening of that celebrated passion. We shall 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
rôle which the feminine element always played in the life of the
master.... Here is the complete text [_texte complet_] of this letter,
certainly written very rapidly, for we find several words omitted, 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]
[Footnote 1: One of these "adjonctions" is the signature!--TR.]
[PARIS] Saturday, 12 [October, 1833].
MY DEAR SISTER,--You understand that I could not speak to
you before Eugénie, 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. He kept between the petticoat of his wife and my
waistcoat. [Neufchâtel 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 that we are twenty-seven years
old, beautiful to admiration; that we possess the
handsomest black hair in the world, the soft, deliciously
delicate skin of brunettes, that we have a love of a
little hand, a heart of twenty-seven, naïve; [in short,
she is] a true Madame de Lignolles, imprudent to the
point of flinging herself upon my 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-Joyeuse, but infinitely better?
[She possesses] a lingering eye [_œil traînant_] which,
when it meets, becomes of voluptuous splendor. I was
intoxicated with love.
I don't know whom to tell this to; certainly it is not
[possible] either _to her_, the great lady, the terrible
marquise, who, suspecting the journey, comes down from
her pride, and intimates an order that I shall go
to her at the Duc de F.'s [Fitz-James], [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 naïve
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'Étrangère_,
precisely because _L'Étrangère_ 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 Angoulême, 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.
_Mon 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.
Isn'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
here, my four hundred count as much as the eighteen
hundred of my _fiancée_. 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 Gérard's. Three German families--one
Prussian, one from Frankfort, one from Vienna--were
officially presented to me. They came faithfully to
Gérard'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!
_Ma foi!_ as they were good Germans I let myself believe
[all] that. It restored to me 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 "Eugénie Grandet," and write the "Aventures d'une
idée [heureuse]" and "Le Prêtre 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 idée [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.
The affair of the "Études de Mœurs" 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 "Médecin [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.