me about it, and say with me that the Germans are very worthy people. Fraternal handshake to Monsieur Canal. [Poignée de main fraternelle à M. Canal]; tell him that 'Les Aventures d'une idée heureuse' are on the ways.
"I send you my proofs of the 'Médecin de Campagne' to read."
When, twenty years later, Balzac's Correspondence appeared in the Édition Définitive (Calmann Lévy, 1876) Madame Surville's little memoir was made 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: "What the devil are you doing so late at M. … ?" after which, the following additions are given:—
"However, you are free, and this is not a reproach, it is curiosity; between brother and sister that is pardonable.
"Well, adieu. If you have a heart you will reply to me. A fraternal handshake to M. Canal; tell him that the 'Aventures d'une idée' are on the ways, and that he can soon read them.
"Addio! Addio! Correct 'le Médecin' well; point out 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 make 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. 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 This document consists of an autograph letter, almost entirely unpublished, addressed to his sister, Madame Surville; this letter is certainly the most important which, until now, has been brought to light on the opening of that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]
[1] One of these "adjonctions" is the signature!—0TR.
[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
